#i wanted to make more panels for this but nothing would co-operate with me

[sirtadcooper]

Your demeanour should be all cheer, gentlemen. You understand? It’s going to be tight, but that’s what we signed up for, an adventure for Queen and Country.

An adventure of a lifetime.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 309: Gotta Go My Own Way

Previously on BnHA: Muscular was all “well if it isn’t the protagonist on his solo journey of self-discovery, for some reason I’m unironically glad I get to fight you!” Deku was all “hey Muscular before I finish kicking your ass would you please take a moment to answer these two survey questions? Question one, do you regret being a total piece of shit? And question two, if you could do anything at all in the world other than being a total piece of shit, would you?” Muscular was all, “pfft, no and no.” Deku was all, “thanks buddy, your feedback helps make me a better hero, here’s a coupon for fifteen percent off your next ass-whooping.” Then he whooped his ass.

Today on BnHA: Deku is all “what up All Might can you believe you’ve been here this entire time?” All Might is all “I sure can since that’s literally my catch phrase, anyway how are your magic movie 1 gauntlets holding up?” Deku is all “they’re holding up fine, how are Hawks, Endeavor, and Best Jeanist doing?” Hawks, Endeavor, and Best Jeanist are all “we, your fellow co-conspirators, are also doing fine, thanks for asking!” Flashback!Deku is all “anyway so I secretly have All Might’s quirk and the most dangerous people in the world are after me, so sorry mom but that’s why I’m dropping out of school.” Inko is all “I CAN’T ACCEPT THAT” while totally accepting it. All Might is all “I GUESS WE’LL JUST HAVE TO GO ALONG WITH IT SINCE I DON’T FEEL LIKE TRYING TO STOP HIM.” Hawks, Jeanist, and Endeavor, as previously mentioned, are all “yeah that sounds like a good plan”, and Gran is all “see ya kid, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” So basically everyone in the entire world has suddenly teamed up with Deku to defeat AFO, except for the one person whose entire foreshadowed endgame is “teaming up with Deku to defeat AFO.” O Kacchan where art thou.

dear tumblr image limit: okay look. you don’t like me, and I don’t like you. but just as an experiment, I’m gonna try writing this recap with as few images as possible and we’ll see how it goes

(ETA: spoilers for how it went: it didn’t, lol.)

oh my god WHY ARE WE OPENING WITH MORE KETSUBUTSU ACADEMY KIDS.ffs we’d better at least finally get some Ms. Joke content out of this

(ETA: seriously who do I have to bribe.)

so these two KB kids who no one cares about are watching Deku leap away from the scene after dispatching Muscular. but more importantly wtf is this chapter title omg. “I can’t stay being a child” so that’s how it is huh. we’re gonna have feels and we’re going to like them. well then

oh my god he’s hauling Muscular away dhfksklfkh okay this is gonna have to be our first image because I can’t fucking help myself. look at this

just. Deku is so tiny and he’s carting away this massive unconscious lump of a man like it’s nothing why is this so funny to me. it’s like when people buy furniture, and they don’t want to pay extra for delivery and so they’re like, “I can definitely fit this king-sized mattress in the back of my compact sedan if I fold the fucking seat down, idk.” and they refuse to be talked out of it, and the next thing you know you’re watching them drive home with their open trunk door haphazardly tied down with bungee cords, and somehow it fucking works. because it turns out the compact sedan has super strength

anyway for SOME REASON now Horikoshi is all “have fun with that Deku, meanwhile we now return you to your regularly scheduled SHINDOU CONTENT” whyyyyyy

look at this. we’re really using up a whole fucking entire page on everyone arguing over who gets the honor of carrying Shindou

love how the civilians are all, “shit lol is this actually our fault?? quick, how do we play this off all casual like we were the reasonable parties here all along”

turns out all it took to finally get them to listen was making them watch while a kid got his insides ground into a pulp because of their stupidity!! what a heartwarming conclusion to this little standoff

anyways THANK GOD we’re cutting back to Deku now!! well actually we’re cutting back to Muscular who is being dropped off at the police precinct, good bye and good riddance lol

so Deku’s leaving him there and bounding away and okjdlSKFJLKJDSL OH MY GOD

no fucking way. no fucking way this little jaunt is All Might-sanctioned and approved. are you serious?? then who else is in on this?? what the hell is going on

so All Might is just WAITING FOR HIM IN AN ALLEY FFF WHO ARE YOU, JIM GORDON. or would Alfred be a better analogy here?? but like, Alfred if he ditched the suit for a moto jacket and shades

this new ensemble of All Might’s may or may not severely impact my ability to take this forthcoming conversation seriously; please stand by

also, quite the spectacular landing there, Deku. seriously lol what was that

“HOW ARE YOUR LIMBS” “THANKS TO YOU THEY’RE COMPLETELY FINE” I’M SORRY WHAT

LOL WHAT. “THANKS TO THE POWER OF THESE MAGIC GLOVES” OH I SEE THAT EXPLAINS IT

are these the same gauntlets from the first movie, then? well that’s all well and good, except that now there’s going to be more Deku Discourse than fucking ever lol. so if it’s all the same to you guys, I’m gonna once again go ahead and declare this week’s post a discourse-free zone, at least when it comes to the specific discourse of Deku’s merits as a MC, and the impact that him kicking ass and having working arms has on said merits. this has been something of a low mental energy week for me, so I’d rather reserve the energy I do have for more fun topics, such as All Might’s bitchin’ leather jacket

anyway so All Might’s saying that the gauntlets will help reinforce Deku’s arms, but they can’t withstand OFA at 100%. so basically it’s a support item designed to maintain the status quo lol. we’re basically in the same situation we were before, arm-capability-wise

homg All Might’s getting a call. time to see who else is in on Operation: Deku Alone?? or not so alone for that matter

omg

HI HAWKS, WHERE ARE YOUR WINGS

(ETA: seriously are they really gone for good?? why would he even be back on active duty then?? does he have his own American ex-boyfriend who can hook him up with exclusive support items?? dammit Horikoshi we want answers.)

looks like Jeanist and Endeavor are teaming up as well, just like they said they would. I would gladly follow this trio around all day long tbh

is this the same giant villain from the very first chapter??

looks like it to me, and it would tie in with that callback from the end of chapter 306. we all thought that was Muscular, but maybe it was this guy, and Deku left these three to deal with him while he ran off to take Muscular down

oh my god now Deku is running off again just like that

kids these days

ffffff I have not had nearly enough sleep to follow along with whatever tf Hawks is talking about here sob

like, is he trying to say that All Might is keeping Deku’s whereabouts unknown to anyone except for him?? in order to keep him safe?? but Hawks is pointing out that that’s a bad strategy and probably won’t do shit against AFO and it’s better if he lets Deku work with the rest of them?

(ETA: so @hanashimas​’ translation makes a lot more sense -- it’s not All Might who’s being overprotective, but Deku. in other words he’s trying not to drag All Might into his battles. and in addition Hawks is saying that their strategy is to take the offensive and go after AFO themselves rather than wait for him to come to them. which I’m not too sure about myself, but that’s another topic for another day.)

btw I can’t help thinking how much better this entire conversation would be if All Might was still wearing his sunglasses. put them back on my dude. it’s not too late. embrace your inner badass

DKLJSLDKFJL FLASHBACK ALERT, FUCKING FINALLY

“turns out, we were just trying to scare you straight. fuck lot of good that did though lol”

also what is this. one true love: the hospital bed. is that a scanlator joke or is Horikoshi actually that funny omg

SKLJDFLJLK

ITSA ME!! omg I love this hospital so much. though it’s sure not helping me in my quest to try and keep this post below ten images. I’m already up to eleven haha r.i.p. to me if tumblr doesn’t get its shit together

whaaaaaat, so he’s saying that Deku’s injuries were external (i.e. Tomura beating the shit out of him) rather than internal this time?? whaaaaat. excuse me but that’s some bullshit lmao. believe me, I was there

okay now he’s going on to explain that Deku’s “internal structure” seems to have been protected from the inside and out, and the corresponding panel seems to be implying that using Blackwhip as a brace paid off. huh

and also that his body is just stronger now?? so I guess he’s better able to withstand the quirk after an additional year of training?? I’M NOT SURE IF I BUY ANY OF THIS LOL but I’m willing to suspend my disbelief

OH MY GOD RED ALERT, INKO IS ASKING ALL MIGHT TO EXPLAIN WTAF DEKU’S QUIRK IS, IS IT FINALLY THAT TIME OMGGGG

SO HE’S EXPLAINING IT TO HER OFF-SCREEN, AND INKO IS JUST LIKE

I GUESS THAT’S FAIR LOL. IT’S TRUE INKO I’M SO SORRY, YOUR SON IS A PROGATONIST R.I.P.

AHHKKJH DEKU ANGST IS IT FINALLY THAT TIME OMGGGGGG

what is this soft pop beat that’s suddenly being pumped in over the speakers. I’VE GOT TO MOVE ON~ AND BE WHO~ I~ AM~~~, I JUST DON’T BELONG HERE, I HOPE YOU UNDERSTAAAAAAAND. also, follow-up question, when is Kacchan finally going to come back so he can jump in with the “WHAT ABOUT US~~~” bridge, huh. come the fuck on, Horikoshi

lmao All Might jesus christ

but given that it’s a stupid-ass decision...

anyway, yes!! finally that sweet, sweet “I don’t want to put anyone else in danger” angst!!

mmm that’s good angst Brent. Kacchan with center panel honors as usual, you love to see it. anyways though who do I have to yell at to get Deku a goddamn HUG around here seriously

so Inko is of course reacting with panic, and sensibly saying that she doesn’t approve of Deku’s “RUN AWAY AND FIGHT THE BAD GUYS ALL ON MY OWN, DON’T WORRY MOM I’LL JUST GET STRONGER, EASY AS PIE, IT’S A FOOLPROOF STRATEGY” plan

son of a bitch this manipulative green asshole is really gonna sit here and smile fondly at his mom and try to convince her that he’s Not A Little Kid Anymore. the hell you’re not mister

y'all are really just gonna sit there and let him talk you into this?? surely it can’t be that easy??

OH MY GOD

THE FEELS oh my god oh my god. BUT ALSO YOU’RE SERIOUSLY JUST GOING TO COLLAPSE INTO HIS ARMS SOBBING AND LET HIM DO WHATEVER THE FUCK HE WANTS LKJLJLFK. WHERE ARE ALL THE STRICT PARENTS AT?? AIZAWA, GANG ORCA, MITSUKI, SOMEONE PLEASE COME AND TELL DEKU TO SIT HIS ASS THE FUCK DOWN. NOW LISTEN HERE YOUNG MAN!!

“EVEN IF I TRY TO STOP YOU YOU’LL STILL LEAVE” WELL SURE, IF BY “TRY TO STOP HIM” YOU MEAN POLITELY TRY TO TALK HIM OUT OF IT FOR THREE SECONDS. HE’S SIXTEEN WTF WHEN DID HE BECOME THE BOSS OF YOU ALL. SOMEONE NEEDS TO COME AND TELL HIM HE’S GROUNDED

anyway sob so that’s the story of how Deku talked his parents into letting him drop out of school, and even convinced All Might to be his own personal Guy In The Chair. holy shit. this kid really went and rolled a nat 20 and the rest of them had no choice but to fold without argument

meanwhile here’s a panel of Best Jeanist trying to braid his phone into his hair just cuz

I’m dying to know which part of his language he considers to be crude here. you literally didn’t even use a contraction my guy

so now flashback!Deku is talking to Gran in the dark, and Gran is all “can you believe I’m not fucking dead yet lol that’s too funny. anyway, you sure I can’t interest you in killing Tomura after all?? no?? okay then here’s my cape.” truly a heartwarming scene

I’m kind of torn here tbh. on the one hand, my adhd ass wasn’t all that interested in sitting down and having an extended scene between these two when there’s so much else that I want to get to. but on the other hand, even I can admit that cramming this entire reunion into a single page seems just a BIT rushed. idk. like maybe someone can let Horikoshi know it’s a marathon and not a race. Deku didn’t even get any dialogue here, some of us want to know his thoughts!! but anyway

AND JUST LIKE THAT?!

how did all four of them let him con them into this. I literally just watched it happen and I still can’t figure out how. “I GUESS THIS SIXTEEN-YEAR-OLD HIGH SCHOOL DROPOUT IS OUR LEADER NOW” ffflfjf. when Aizawa finds out he’s gonna go apeshit. AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON BAKUGOU KATSUKI, WHO I HAVE BEEN ASSURED DOES IN FACT STILL EXIST. WHAT ABOUT USSSSS, WHAT ABOUT EVERYTHING WE’VE BEEN THROUGH. WHAT ABOUT TRUST???! YOU KNOW I NEVER WANTED TO HURT YOUUUUU

btw lol don’t get me wrong, I am enjoying this, and I’m honestly glad Deku’s not alone because that would suck for him! but that said, Hawks and Jeanist have lost any credibility they might have once had as far as being The Responsible Ones, and as for All Might and Endeavor, fucking hell lol. everyone just deposited all of their fucks in a bank somewhere for safekeeping and decided to never look back. godspeed you mad lads

[kali-writes-meta]

Have Qrow and Ironwood Ever Liked Each Other?

And was Ironwood always so -- misguided? Let's look back and see.

RWBY 202

Ironwood: (cordially) Ozpin!

Ozpin stands at attention.

Ozpin: Hello, General.

Ironwood: Please, drop the formalities. (Both approach and shake hands as Glynda also approaches.) It's been too long. And Glynda! It has certainly been too long since we last met.

Glynda: Oh, James! (Gives a personable wave and then drops all pleasantries.) I'll be outside. (She walks away.)

Ironwood: Well, she hasn't changed a bit.

(Notice that both Glynda and Ozpin express subtle disapproval.)

RWBY 303

Ironwood: If you were one of my men, I would have you shot!

Qrow: If I was one of your men, I'd shoot myself.

**********

Ironwood: You've been out of contact for weeks! You can't just go dark like that in the field!

Qrow: I'm not one of your special operatives, Jimmy!

Winter: General.

Qrow: Whatever. You sent me to get intel on our enemy, and I'm telling you, our enemy is here.

Ironwood: (leans against Ozpin's desk) We know.

Qrow: Oh! Oh, you know! Well, thank goodness I'm out there risking my life to keep you all informed!

Ironwood: (exhales) Qrow-

Qrow: Communication's a two-way street, pal. You see this? (pulls out his Scroll and points to it) That's the SEND button.

*******

Qrow: Despite what the world thinks, we're not just teachers, or Generals, or Headmasters. The people in this room, The leaders of the other two academies, we're the ones that keep the world safe from the evils no one even knows about! (getting up in Ironwood's face) It's why we meet behind closed doors, why we work in the shadows. So you tell me, James, when you brought your army to Vale, did you think you were being discreet, or did you just not give a damn!?

Ironwood: Discreet wasn't working. I'm here because this is what was necessary.

Qrow: You're here because Ozpin wanted you here! He made you a part of this inner circle and opened your eyes to the real fight that's in front of us!

Ironwood: And I am grateful.

Qrow: Oh, well, you've got a real funny way of showing it.

Ironwood: The people of Vale needed someone to protect them; someone who would act. When they look to the sky and see my fleet, they feel safe, and our enemies will feel our strength.

Qrow: (starts laughing) You... You think they're scared of your little ships? I've been out there and I've seen the things she's made, and let me tell you - they are fear.

********

RWBY 305

Qrow: You know, he's making you look like a fool.

Ozpin: His heart is in the right place. He's just... misguided.

Qrow: Sometimes, I'm not even sure he has a heart. 

RWBY 311

Ironwood: This area's secure! We need to-

Suddenly, Qrow's expression changes into what appears to be anger. He transforms his sword into a scythe and charges toward Ironwood.

Ironwood: Qrow! This isn't my doing!

Qrow continues charging, despite Ironwood's words. The general flips his gun in his hand and gets into a battle stance, preparing for the perceived attack. However, Qrow leaps past Ironwood, who turns around just in time to see a large Griffon lunging at him. With one swing of Qrow's scythe, the Griffon is sliced in two. Upon landing, Qrow turns around to address Ironwood.

Qrow: (Scoffs) You idiot. I know you didn't do this.

RWBY 702

Ironwood: Qrow.

Qrow stops and turns around, and Ironwood descends the stairs and approaches him.

Ironwood: I meant it when I said it was good to see you again.

Qrow: (awkwardly) Uh, yeah, you too.

Ironwood steps forward and hugs Qrow, who looks confused at first but then hugs back with a smile and an eye roll.

(Note that this is the UNUSUAL behavior for Ironwood, not the normal.)

RWBY 704

Qrow: Big day for you, huh, kiddo?

He walks over and sits next to Ruby.

Ruby: It's… definitely a lot to take in.

Qrow: Which part? The finally getting to Atlas part, getting your license part, or the not quite disclosing everything to Ironwood part? Or… all of the above?

Ruby: (soft laugh) All of the above. I'm trying to do what I think is best, but I really can't tell if what's best is what's right, or if I'm no different from Oz.

Qrow: Ruby, Oz only trusted himself with the whole truth. You're trusting others, but you're making sure they prove themselves first.

RWBY 707

Ironwood: We have to stop Salem. Nothing matters more.

Oscar: Some things matter more, I think.

Ironwood stops walking.

Oscar: Keeping our humanity. It's what makes us different from her.

Ironwood resumes walking and stops in front of the elevator's control panel. He taps the screen.

Ironwood: Sometimes I worry that's her greatest advantage. Without humanity, does she still feel fear? Does she ever hesitate?

RWBY 713

Ironwood: You still think I'm afraid?

Oscar: We all are. It's what we do in our fear that reveals--

Ironwood: That's easy for you to say!

RWBY 801

Ironwood: I’m going to do everything I can to defend this kingdom.

Camilla: What in God’s name do you think you’re doing, James?!

Ironwood: No matter the cost.

This is not the story of a friendship. These are co-workers with no more than the minimal level of trust between them to do their jobs. Harriet describes them best.

Harriet: (raising an eyebrow) Friends?

Elm: (laughs) This isn't the schoolyard, kid.

Yang: But, I mean, when you go through so much with someone, it kind of changes things, doesn't it?

Harriet: We get along well enough, sure. I count on them to keep me alive. They do the same. But that's the job. We don't confuse the two.

It's worth remembering that Qrow is a spy. His life depends on his ability to accurately assess people, and both he and Glynda had reservations about Ironwood from the beginning.

This is also not the story of a nice guy who one day started acting strangely. It's the story of a man who has been making bad decisions since Day 1, whose bad decisions are catching up with him, and who is responding by doubling down on his bad decisions. That's a definite contrast with Qrow, who made bad decisions since Day 1, whose bad decisions caught up with him, and who responded by changing his ways. One of these men is moving forward, and the other is tearing his morality apart in his efforts to be seen as immovable.

[fletchphoenix]

May You Always Be Satisfied

Short Chapter but Chapter 18 of coffee tastes better aka the coffee shop au!! sorry its so short, I broke my arm literally like....a week ago? I’m kinda struggling to type a bit so aha hope this is enough <3 love you all

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

Hugo hadn’t been to a wedding since he was around eight. Cyrus and Mona’s wedding was beautiful, the woman looking akin to an angel (not the biblical version) as she virtually levitated down the aisle. He’d shuffled uncomfortably in his suit as Donella’s hands rested on his shoulders to hold him in place in a bid to stop him shifting from foot to foot. Cold hands picked at all the little details: the out of place hairs that stuck out from his ponytail, the loose threads on the shoulders of his suit jacket, straightening the tie that was only just off centre. He knew she just wanted him to relax, but how was he meant to stand still when he was just so excited? The boy had watched Cyrus, nothing but love and happiness in his eyes as he smiled back at his wife. Even then he knew that they would be perfect together.

He’d watched as they swayed across the dance floor, Mona’s dress brushing across the floor as her head rested on the tall man’s shoulder and the music played in the background. There were flowers everywhere - white lilies were in little baskets that hung from the top of the pavilion they were under. Donella also pointed out to him the hydrangeas, orchids and magnolias as well as the carnations and Amaryllises. They were quite pretty in his opinion. His eyes had focused on the fairy lights that illuminated the area and provided a fantastical feel to the whole wedding, making it almost otherworldly and ethereal. If he’d been older, he would’ve been taken aback by the sheer beauty and care taken in decorating the place if he was being honest. 

He remembered going home and taking all the botany books Donella owned, researching the meanings behind the pretty flowers that he’d seen. He knew they put a lot of thought into them, with all of them representing love and acceptance, unity and beauty...it was all so interesting, yet confusing. Why did people give meaning to something as simple as a flower? In many ways, it didn’t make sense to the young boy, though at the time he’d just supposed adults were dumb and wanted to see meaning in everything that didn’t mean anything - symbolism in things that didn’t need to represent anything. “It makes things feel more meaningful.” Donella had told him, though he didn’t really understand why. Eventually, she’d grown sick of his questions and told him to go to bed, though he still stayed up all night to research them and grumpily refused to go to school the next morning. 

He hadn’t been to a wedding since then, Donella always giving him the option to stay home. He’d preferred to stay home anyway. He never really thought he would ever get married anyway, so what was the point in seeing others happy when he didn’t think he deserved it? Well, the metal on his finger reminded him of a certain raven haired man, a smile on his face as he twisted it over the skin with his other fingers. The boy he loves with all his heart and soul loves him back, and that was enough to keep him happy. He could already tell their wedding was going to be something to remember - something beautiful, fun and nothing short of spectacular. After all, it was him and Varian! If their wedding wasn’t something as wonderful as a royal wedding, then was it even their wedding? “Hugo, you ready?” His fiance called from the other room, Hugo being abruptly brought back to reality. Ah, yes. It was Cass and Irene’s wedding today. The long-awaited marriage of the two had Varian nothing short of excited for the whole week, the other man hardly able to keep a conversation without it spiralling into a rambling session of ‘I bet it's going to be amazing’ and ‘I can’t wait for them to finally get married!’. Sure it was cute, but Hugo could only take so much of Varian talking about the couple, so for the day to finally arrive was like a saving grace. His hands shifted to try and fix his tie, the emerald fabric not co-operating at all or doing what he wanted it to do. Letting out a frustrated groan, the blond kept trying. Why would he suddenly not tie a tie? What was this so damn difficult when he wasn’t even that stressed?

A pale hand settled on his shoulder as the raven haired boy forced him to turn around with a gentle smile. “Let me help you.” He muttered, Hugo absolutely hypnotised by the way his hands twisted and moved the fabric with a smile on his face, his fringe that usually covered his eyes now pinned back and the single blue streak still as prominent against the sea of black locks as it was when they first met. Wow. He was still beautiful, the suit he was wearing complimenting him nicely as he stepped back and examined his work. “See something you like?” The blond teased, pushing his glasses up his nose as he snaked his arms around the raven haired boy’s waist and brought him closer to his chest. 

“Pfft. Yeah, sure.” Varian rolled his eyes, though his arms still wrapped around the other’s neck and brought him down into a gentle kiss. Somehow it still took his breath away each time his boyfriend pressed a kiss, warming him up on the inside as he let out a happy sigh against the other’s lips. They broke after a while, Hugo taking a moment to drink in all the features of his boyfriend’s face as though he were a dying man in the desert. A familiar flush came to his boyfriend’s face as he was gently pushed backwards. “No time for staring, Hugh. We have a wedding to get to!” The raven haired boy declared as he grabbed the other’s wrist with a wide grin, before pulling him along down the hall and towards the door of their apartment.

Hugo let his head rest against the back of the seat as his boyfriend drove, the blond letting his eyes flutter shut for a while. He hoped his wedding would be more interesting: with lilies and Varian in a pretty suit, all done up and ready to commit to each other. They’d get married somewhere fancy too, like an old house or something like that, just for the sake of bragging that they were THAT cool (though it would be extremely fuckin’ expensive for the two of them). He’d want Yong to be the ring bearer: that sounded quite fun, the boy would be ecstatic to find that out, after all, Varian still went to the library to help him study on Wednesdays. And Nuru would be a bridesmaid, maybe even the maid of honour, though that would most likely be reserved for Donella (if the woman would even accept the role was a question unto itself, so Hugo decided to ignore it in favour of his fantasy). Maybe even Rapunzel? Eugene would probably be the best man. The guy had helped Varian so much, it was the least he could do. Visions of first dances under the stars, holding Varian’s hands as they exchanged rings and laughter filled his head, until he was rudely awoken by the car jolting to a stop.

“We’re here. Damn, did you really not sleep enough last night?” Varian laughed as Hugo grumbled and fixed his hair, leaving the car and dusting off his suit. Midway through his ministrations, a flurry of purple rushed forward and gripped him in a rib-crushing embrace. Ah yes, his future sister-in-law. He’d forgotten about her death grip hugs. His grip on life slipped briefly as the woman rushed hellos before shifting to hug his fiance, the blond wheezing to catch his breath as Eugene patted his back with a loud chuckle. Hugo raised his head to glare, a frown on his face. Of course the brunet wasn’t given the death hugs from his wife. What a lucky bastard. Finally, after greetings and useless conversations, they went inside and sat down. The place was beautiful, the women deciding to get married in something akin to a conservatory. The sun shone through the glass panels making up the roof, vines dangling from the ceiling and intertwining with each other as they descended. Flowers climbed up lattice, fond memories of climbing up it to see Varian flooding through Hugo’s mind and making a small, barely there smile appear on his face before they took their seats, the blond interlacing his fingers with Varian’s as he kept looking around. Pillars of marble stone sat organised along the walls, little baskets of flowers propped onto the tops, Hugo could only point out the carnations and lilies that resided in the baskets. He smiled at the sight, thinking of Mona and Cyrus. He’d have to invite them to his and Varian’s wedding - that would be nice. Maybe they could help them with decorating? 

Music began to play as he turned his head, Cass standing in a black suit, a dark blue tie showing between her jacket. Her undercut had been arranged to be gelled back, her green eyes focused expectantly at the door with a gentle smile on her face, shifting from foot to foot. Finally, Irene stepped out, a rose wedding dress covering her body with a lace top and a long skirt, as well as a veil decorated with lace flowers on her head. She looked beautiful as well, Hugo not being able to help the little smile on his face as he saw the look the couple exchanged as Irene walked down the aisle and stood opposite her girlfriend. 

The ceremony was just as beautiful as Hugo had expected, the pair absolutely infatuated with each other as they held hands and smiled, tears welling in their eyes at the mere sight of each other and the sheer amazement of the moment. As the ceremony wrapped up and the sky darkened, the DJ played music across the stereo, Hugo’s hand resting on his fiance’s waist as they watched the pair dance and sway across the floor, his boyfriend’s head resting against his shoulder. Hugo smiled to himself as he kept watching. “This’ll be us soon.” He whispered to his boyfriend and pressed a kiss to his temple, the other simply nodding and shuffling closer. And for once, Hugo was happy they’d gone to the wedding, watching the pair in front of them so happy and the mere thought that him and Varian would be that happy one day was enough for him.

[nutmegalomania]

amuse me

a bakugou x reader ff

description: working at an amusement park might seem like fun and games, but when you're stuck with your coworker bakugou katsuki, things may or may not be amusing—to say the least. with the way the two of you sling insults back and forth, your fellow coworkers had nicknamed the two of you 'love birds', a nickname bakugou was quick to shut down every time it's brought up. on the other hand, maybe you wished the title were true, but you'd never tell him that. or maybe you would.

ingredients: bakugou katsuki/reader, bakugou katsuki, tsundere bakugou, swearing, amusement park, co-workers, roller coaster, ferris wheels, make out on ferris wheel, one shot

flavor: sweet 🍬

calories: 8,562

🥐

A bead of sweat trickled down the back of your neck, and even with all the fans blowing cool air around you, the heat didn’t dissipate as you sat at the control panel for the rollercoaster, people shuffling in line as they waited, whether from the intense heat or from nerves, you didn’t know. To distract yourself from the sweltering heat, you picked at the dirt beneath your manicured fingers and waited for the cars to return back to the station so the riders could exit and new victims—you meant, amusement park goers—could settle into their seats and experience the ride you operated. The shifting of those waiting in line rang in your ears and mixed with the heat to give you a headache.

The rails clinked as the cars returned, the riders sitting in silence with their messy hair from the wind, eyes wide as they processed what happened. You pressed the button to unlatch everyone’s bar that secured them in place, and little by little, the people pushed it out of their way and exited the cars, excitedly talking to their friends about how every twist and turn caught them off guard and how they’d be willing to ride it again. You didn’t miss the few glances sent back at you as a group of teenage boys whispered to each other about you, the comments about how pretty you were inflating your ego, and you offered them a little wave and smile, topped off by a wink that sent them blushing and scurrying away.

You chuckled to yourself and leaned back in your seat, relishing in the cool air that blew against your warm face. A burning sensation on your face that wasn’t from the heat grabbed your attention, and you dragged your eyes up to look at your coworker, Bakugou Katsuki, who glared at you, arms crossed and forearm muscles flexing as his eyes told you to hurry up. With a roll of your eyes, you grabbed the microphone on the control panel, and after hitting the button below it, urged the people waiting to file into their cars and ready themselves for departure. You pressed the button to lower the seat bars and watched as Bakugou went around to each person to check their seats to make sure they were secured.

Air blew through your nose as you suppressed a laugh from escaping your mouth as you watched a girl twirl her hair around between her fingers, eye-fucking Bakugou as he leaned forward to push the bar down, and you didn’t miss the way she placed her hand on the bar before he retracted his. He offered her a nod with a deadpan face, and you covered your mouth as the girl sat there with wide eyes. Another girl called out that she thought her seat was loose, and Bakugou sighed before he walked over to her to check her seat, which you knew was fastened well. Another day, another attempt at the girls to flirt with Bakugou, though he met each attempt with the same bored expression. Once he pulled away from the cars and stood off to the side, you grabbed your handy-dandy microphone again and tapped it a few times to test it.

“Are you all ready to depart from the station?” you asked with your best announcer voice, and a few mumbles met your ears. You shook your head. “I couldn’t hear you! I said, are you ready to depart?” This time, a loud chorus of voices cheering “yes” answered you, and you smiled while Bakugou gave you an irritated look. You ignored him and focused on the buttons in front of you, a small smile spreading on your face as you eyed the red button in the center, aka your favorite button to press. “Okay! You’ll be departing in… Three… Two…” Before you reached one, your hand dipped down to slam into the red button, and the roller coaster shot off from the station, confused screams echoing as the people shot forward without warning.  

You turned your attention towards the people waiting in line, and you offered a sickly sweet smile and wave of your hands as they gave you frightened looks. Bakugou made his way over to you, his shoulders shaking as he tried to hide his laughter. He stood beside your little hut and leaned his forearms against the window.

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” he said, and you let out a scoff.

“Says you. I saw you trying to hold back your laughter. This is like the fiftieth time I’ve done this, so you shouldn’t be surprised anymore. Plus, it’s the only thing keeping me from running away and dunking my head into a bucket full of ice.” You shuddered as another bead of sweat rolled down your spine, and an idea came to your mind. You turned your head to the side and gave Bakugou your sweetest smile and tilted your head. “Would you be a dear and buy me a cool drink? I might just pass out at this rate,” you said.

“No.”

Damn, you didn’t expect him to shoot you down right away.

“Why not?” you whined, really wanting a cool drink to help with the headache and heat stroke.

“Because you’re gross. Don’t try to treat me like those pubescent boys you love flirting with. Makes you look ugly.”

“But I have a headache,” you said, and he rolled his eyes.

“Not my problem,” he said, and he pushed himself off from the window. Before he could leave, though, you grabbed his arm to keep him there, and he looked at you with annoyance.

“Now look here, Ba-chan,” you said, loving the way his jaw twitched at the nickname he so hated from you. “I’m not the one who came to work late now, am I? I’ve been here two hours longer than you have, meaning I’ve had to work in this sweltering heat two hours more than you. I had to walk back and forth those two hours because you weren’t here to do your job, so the least you can do is get me a drink as a thank you for my hard work.” You leaned in closer to his face, and he flinched slightly at your proximity to his face. “You have about 10 minutes left before the next batch of people are up."

“First off, don’t call me ‘Ba-chan’, ugly,” he said, prying your iron grip from his arm. “And second off, stop bringing that up, you whore. The boss already chewed me out for being late, even though I told him I had to take an important exam, so I don’t need your annoying voice adding to my irritation. Get your own drink if you have time.” 

You retracted your hand and crossed your arms over your chest. “But I’m sitting down, and you’re standing up. It only makes sense that you go. I can even give you money, so just grab a drink. You already wasted like half of the time by doing nothing, shrimp dick. Now get going or I’ll kick you.”

“What did you call me, bitch?” He glared at you, and if you didn’t have millions of pictures of blackmail of him, you would have cowered in your seat from fear. Instead, he just looked like an angry pomeranian.

“Nothing, asswipe. Now go or I’ll tell Boss you tried to ditch work to fool around with a girl.”

“You manipulative slut.” He let out an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through his puffy hair. “I’m five seconds away from killing you right here and now.”

You bit your lip and gave him a wink. “That’s sexy.”

His lip curled in disgust. “Die. Just die, you disgusting excuse for a human being. I’ll get you your damn drink if it means you’ll never spew shit like that ever again.”

You tapped your chin and hummed in thought for a few seconds, hiding your smile as you watched Bakugou shift in place as he waited for you to say something. “Deal,” you said after a few seconds, and you shoved money into his hand before waving goodbye to him.

He didn’t miss the chance to curse you out as he stomped away from the ride towards the nearest drink stand, and those in the line watched him in silence as he disappeared. With him gone, you leaned forward and rested your elbows on the panel in front of you, your forehead positioning itself against your hands as you rubbed your temples in an attempt to alleviate your headache. It didn’t take long before Bakugou returned with both his hands full and a bucket clutched between his arm and torso. He stood behind you and shoved a cup of shaved ice into your hand while he placed the other cup he held into the bucket, which you found out housed ice water. 

You reached a hand up to ruffle his hair, shocked by how soft the strands felt against your fingertips. “Good boy,” you said.

“Yeah, whatever. Now don’t complain about your headache anymore. It’s annoying,” he said after he swatted your hand away from his head.

You smiled at him and spooned a chunk of shaved ice into your mouth, your eyes turning into crescents as you lost yourself in the refreshing feel of coldness that rushed over your body and mixed with the sweet flavorings. You hummed in content with a wide smile on your face, and Bakugou crossed his arms as he watched you eat.

“There’s a drink by your feet in the bucket if you get thirsty.” He pointed towards the bucket he placed near your feet, and you followed with your eyes.

“Thank you!” you said, and he rolled his eyes. You grabbed a spoonful of shaved ice and held it out for him. “Say ‘ah’!”

Bakugou gave you an incredulous look and pushed the spoon out of his face. “I don’t like that flavor.”

You huffed and plopped the spoon into your mouth. “You should have got one you liked so we could share it!” you mumbled around the spoon, your eyes trailing after a sweat bead that trickled down the side of his face and his neck before it disappeared underneath the collar of his shirt. 

“Just do your job,” he told you as he turned around and walked back towards the railway as the sound of screams and wheels screeching came closer. Though he acted like that, you didn’t miss the redness of his ears as his back became smaller.

“Fine, be that way, fucknugget. I’m never offering you any food ever again, bitch!” you called out to him, and he responded by flicking his middle finger at you. 

The cars returned, and you released the restraints and watched the riders stumble out of their seats towards the exit. You and Bakugou’s eyes met, and you stuck your tongue out at him, his hand tightening around his bicep as he suppressed the urge to strangle you. As the next group of people settled into their seats and Bakgo adjusted their seats, you pushed the button that shot them forward after they answered your question, not even bothering to count down. This time, Bakugou didn’t hold back his laughter, and you felt your chest warm as the sound spread through the air and reached your ears, bringing a small smile to your face as you watched his chest bounce from the laughter. Maybe you could handle being stuck here a little bit longer.

---

The moment one of your coworkers offered to take you and Bakugou’s roles at the roller coaster, you jumped on the chance to leave and get some well deserved rest. You and Bakugou walked side by side while you sipped on the Cola he bought for you a couple hours ago, no destination in mind. All you wanted to do was eat some good ass good and sprawl out on a comfortable chair instead of a rickety wooden stool that wobbled at the slightest movement. Your face lightened up when you spotted a group of your coworkers sitting around a group of tables, munching on burgers, pizza, and chilli dogs, and you rushed over to them to steal an empty seat. 

“Heyya, there,” one coworker said.

“Hi, Yurina. Junta, Mina, Daisuke, Haru.” You saluted them as you pulled out the chair and plopped down into it, spreading your legs out and slouching as Yurina slid you a slice of pizza. Bakugou took a seat across from you and fixed you with a disappointed look. You took a bite of pizza before you sipped on the Cola, the liquid disappearing and leaving behind a sucking sound that irked Bakugou.

“Shut up. You’re pissing me off,” he growled, and the other coworkers stopped their conversation to look between the two of you. Junta pulled out a bag of popcorn and munched on it while watching with wide eyes and slapped Mina’s hand away when she tried to steal some.

“What? I’m just finishing my drink off. Don’t get your panties in a twist, sweetums,” you fired back, and he clenched his jaw.  

“If you’re done, then you don’t need to keep sipping from it, fuckface.”

“I gotta make sure I get every last drop, okay? Just chill out. Eat a Snickers. You’re not you when you’re hungry,” you said, and your coworkers chuckled before they shut up when Bakugou turned his irritation towards them.

“Shut. Up.”

You leaned your head against the back of the chair. “Getting really creative there, aren’t ya, Ba-chan?”

“I’ll kill you, fuckslut.”

“I’d like to see you try, shrimp dick,” you shot back.

“Stop calling me that.”

You just shrugged your shoulders and shook the cup in your hand. The ice rattled around inside it, and a drop of condensation dripped down onto the ground as you sat there in silence. “But it’s the truth.”

Your coworkers froze as they waited for Bakugou’s reaction, and it didn’t take long for it to happen. The moment those words left you, he stood from his seat, the chair screeching against the ground, and stalked towards you. You crossed your legs to keep a distance between the two of you as he stood in front of you with neck veins popping. Your leg between the two of you didn’t stop him as he leaned forward, hands bracing against the arms of the chair as he brought his face close to yours. Your body tensed as you stared right into his eyes that burned with irritation.

“Do you wanna bet?” he said, and you gulped, cursing yourself for getting intimidated by him.

You tried to play your hesitation off by scoffing, and he cocked an eyebrow at your response. “What are you gonna do? Whip it out right now? I don’t think that would be a good idea. You don’t want to ruin everyone’s appetite now, do you?” 

“I really want to strangle you right now,” Bakugou breathed out, and you smirked at him.

“Do it then. I’ll enjoy it.”

Your response left him speechless, and before he could do anything, a coworker interrupted.

“Okay, that’s enough, lovebirds. We get it. The two of you are madly in love,” Yurina said, and Bakugou stared at her with a wide open mouth and disbelief in his eyes.

“Huh?! What makes you think I like this ugly bitch?” Bakugou questioned as he pointed a finger at you. 

You held your hands up in mock surrender, eyebrows raised as you leaned back in your chair even more. “Hey, I know I’m irresistible, Ba-chan, but to deny your undying love for me that hard? Sounds fishy to me.”

He whirled around to look at you, eyebrows furrowed and forehead creased. “You hate me just as much as I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, asseater. Whatever you say.” You waved a hand in front of your face in dismissal of his words, and he readied himself to stomp forward and wrap his hands around your throat to shake you by your neck.

Daisuke held up a hand to stop him. “Hey now. Don’t go attacking her. She’s like our mascot, so don’t mess up her cute face.”

Mina sighed. “I’m right here. I thought we agreed that I was the mascot of this amusement park.”

“You’ve got nothing on Y/N,” Haru said as he ruffled Mina’s hair and chuckled when she whined and slapped him.

“Yeah, if you’re gonna do something to her, Baku boy, do it where people won’t see it. I’d say your best bet is to kick her ass or give her a purple nurple. That would be funny!” Junta said, and Yurina stole the popcorn bucket from his hands and threw it away, much to the boy’s dismay.

“You should know better than to purple nurple a girl, stupid,” Yurina told him.

“I thought the name calling was Y/N and Bakugou’s thing…” he trailed off, and Yurina pinched him.

Before anyone could say anything else, Bakugou let out a loud sigh. “I’m off. See you losers later,” he said as he walked towards the park entrance, his hand raised beside him in farewell.

“Huh? But I thought we were having a nice conversation...” Haru said, but Bakugou didn’t respond.

“Boss is gonna get mad at you, Baku boy!” Junta called, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice. “You came two hours late and got off before everyone else. Get ready for another lecture tomorrow!” 

“Fuck off! I’m leaving cuz there’s nothing else for me to do, and all of you guys are pissing me off.” He flicked you all off before he disappeared out the entrance, and you took one last sip from your cup, wincing at the watered down taste of Cola hitting your tastebuds.

“I guess that’s my cue to leave! See you all later!” you said as you jumped out of your seat and dropped your cup full of melted ice mixed with droplets of Cola you didn’t quite get out. 

“Aw, come one! You’re gonna be a wet blanket just like Bakugou?” Junta asked, and you shook your head.

“I’d love to laugh with you over funny park goers, but I’ve had a headache for the past 4 hours, and it hasn’t gotten better. I’m going to take some medicine and catch some Zs so that I can return tomorrow in tip-top shape! Love ya!” You blew all of them a kiss before you skipped off after Bakugou to reach your car.

You saw your target fishing his keys out of his pockets, and you snuck forward before you jumped out and poked him in the side. He cursed and clutched his side as he whirled around at you.

“What the fuck, bitch. Don’t do that shit,” he cursed at you, and you giggled.

“Yeah yeah, I won’t do it again. Just wanted to say see you tomorrow, shrimp dick,” you told him, and he rolled his eyes.

“I hope you get your day off soon so you can leave me the hell alone,” he said before he slipped into his car and drove off without another word, leaving you waving at his retreating car. He rolled his window down and stuck his middle finger out at you, and you chuckled before going to your own car and sighing as you turned it on.

Oh, how you hoped you would get your day off soon, too. 

---

Your next day off came too late, in your opinion. A full week of sitting on a hard, wooden bench made your ass ache, and the constant summer heat didn’t help any, especially when it combined with Bakugou’s constant annoyed glares whenever you stopped moving to collect your bearings. Now, you could relax the whole day without worry of pubescent boys trying to flirt with you as the heat threatened to kill you. The only problem was you had no idea where to go. 

As the amusement park was your job and required a large amount of your time, it was the only place you could think of going besides maybe the mall or a cafe, which you had already stopped by on your way home from work the few days before to grab some cute outfits. You made sure to check the weather forecast this morning, and a smile stretched across your face when it showed that today would be a lot cooler than the past week had been. You decided to wear one of the new outfits you bought since the weather would permit it.

After you pulled on your jean shorts that showed off the curve of your body and stared at your ass in your body length mirror longer than you would care to admit, you pulled on a tank top and wrapped a flannel around your waist before finishing the outfit off with combat boots. You got into your car and drove off towards the amusement park to let yourself loose. Families and couples filed into the park, and you settled into the line to get your ticket before you walked around the park to find something to do. 

You decided to play at the arcade for an hour, too afraid to go on a ride by yourself. A few boys tried to chat you up, but one glare from you sent them turning away with their tails between their legs. When you died in your zombie game, you cursed and exited the arcade to find your next time waster. Outside a restaurant, you spotted two familiar people, one of them furiously twisting their head around to get a look at their ass. 

You walked up to them, and Yurina greeted you while Mina busied herself with pulling her shorts around to check them. A red splotch on them told you all you needed to know, and when Mina spotted it, her eyes widened.

“No, no, no , no! This can’t be happening. Oh my God!” Mina freaked out as Yurina checked her backside to be safe.

“Shit, you did bleed through. You don’t have any spare shorts, do you?” she asked the panicking girl, who shook her head and crouched onto the floor while she clutched her head.

“This is so embarrassing! What-what if one of the guys saw? Do you think they’d make fun of me?”

You crossed your arms. “If they do, I’ll beat their asses for you.” A hand reached down to the knot that kept your flannel secured around your waist, and you untied the shirt to hand it to Mina. “Wrap this around your waist. It’s thick enough, so it should cover it up. Plus, it’s red and black, so nothing should show up.”

“Oh, thank you, Y/N! I’ll make sure to clean it before I give it back to you tomorrow!” Mina said as she grabbed the shirt from you and wrapped it around her waist, bowing to you in thanks once she fastened it.

“Just don’t overwork yourself. I’ll be getting going now. There’s many more rides for me to go on!” You waved goodbye to the two of them and set off to your next destination: a food stand because hunger gnawed at your stomach. 

Though several restaurants stood around you and beckoned for you to come inside, all you wanted was a corndog from your favorite stand. The line wasn’t long, luckily for you, and you walked up to the window to give Haru a smile as he readied himself for your order.

“I’m guessing you just want what you always get,” he said, and you nodded.

“Yup! You know me so well.”

He shook his head as he busied himself with getting your food for you. “You should really get something else than just this all the time. It isn’t healthy, and it doesn’t taste that good.”

“Should you really be saying that about the food you’re making?” When he shrugged, you sighed. “You’re right, but I honestly don’t care anymore,” you said as you placed your money in front of him and leaned against the frame of the stand. “I came here just for you.” You winked at him, and he rolled his eyes with a smile.

“Just take your corndog and get out of here. You’re holding the line up.”

You took the corndog from him and stuck your tongue out at him before you left the line and worked on eating the hot dog on a stick. As Haru said, it wasn’t very good, but anything was good enough for your hungry stomach. You just wanted to see Haru in his cute little hat to recharge your battery, hence why it was your favorite stand.

The taste of wood hit your tongue, and you pulled the stick out of your mouth, the corndog gone. You flicked the stick into the trash can and hummed as you shoved your hands into your pockets while you walked around aimlessly. A familiar mop of fluffy blond hair caught your eye, and you hurried forward to catch the person as they stood in front of a drink stand. They looked off to the side, and you gasped.

“Ba-chan!” you said in surprise as you locked eyes with Bakugou, a finger pointing at him, and he scowled as he paid for his drink and left the line.

“Stop calling me that, asshat.” He took a sip of his drink and stepped towards you to drop your hand that pointed at him. 

You hmphed and crossed your arms. “Then what should I call you, huh?” A name crossed your mind, and you held back a chuckle. “How about ‘Tsukki’? Y’know, cuz Katsuki! Am I genius, or am I genius?”

“What the fuck…? No. No way in hell are you calling me that. Not even my parents call me that.” He glared at you as you giggled to yourself over your nickname for him.

“It’s either Ba-chan or Tsukki, sweetums. Take your pick.”

He rolled his eyes at you. “Fine. Just call me Tsukki.”

You squealed in excitement and fished out your phone, going to contacts—you forced him to give you his number in case of emergencies—and changing his name to ‘Tsukki 🤬💢🖕🏻💣💥'. “Ooh, what’s my name in your phone?”

“Annoying, useless shitfuck,” he said, and you stared at him. “What? It fits you.”

“Well then, if I’m so annoying, then I guess I’ll just stick to you the rest of your time at the amusement park.”

“No. Why the fuck would you do that?”

“Because I want to annoy you. Also, you’re alone, and I’m alone. It’s depressing going on rides without someone else. You’re my scapegoat so that people don’t judge me,” you told him, and he crumpled the empty cup in his hand and tossed it into the trash. Without a word, he walked in the other direction, leaving you behind to scramble up to him. “You didn’t answer whether you’d mind or not.”

He kept his eyes focused ahead of you and didn’t spare you a glance. “Just do whatever the hell you want.” 

A bright smile lit up your face, and you grabbed onto his arm, much to his surprise, and dragged him to a ride. Though it wasn’t as hot as the past week had been, the sun still bore down on you, and all you wanted was to cool off. The amusement park’s version of Splash Mountain moved on in front of you, people squealing or yelling when water splashed them. You kept a grip on Bakugou to keep him from running, and he didn’t try to shake you off. 

Your turn came, and you settled into the seat with Bakugou grumbling to himself as he climbed in next to you. You tapped your feet in anticipation, and the bar lowered. Junta came over to press them down, and his eyes widened when he saw you sitting next to Bakugou. 

“So you two finally decided to go on a date, huh? Took you all long enough,” he said as he secured the bar and pushed it up against your thighs.

“Like hell it’s a date. There are other people on this ride, so go secure them in, dipshit,” Bakugou snapped at him, and Junta chuckled before he went to the other passengers.

“You’re getting a little defensive there, aren’t ya, Tsukki? Are you sure you don’t want this to be a date?” you asked him as you wrapped your hands around his bicep to lean close to the side of his face.

“Your nails are digging into me,” he said, and you released him.

“Oh, sorry.” You placed your hands in your lap and sat straight in your seat. Before long, the ride started, and you sat stiffly in your seat as Bakugou stared off to the side with a bored expression. 

You let out a sigh as the cart rose up a small hill, ready for it to crash down and send water splashing all over you. The ride stalled at the top of the rise, tottering ever so slightly, and screams erupted when it shot forward down the steep slope into the water that waited at the bottom. You hummed in content as cool droplets of water splashed over you and drenched your warm body. You wiped wet strands of hair out of your eyes and pulled your shirt off of your body before you turned to the side to look at Bakugou. Your hand shot up to cover your mouth as you looked at his usually puffy hair sitting flat against his face, lips turned into a scowl as his bangs blocked his vision.

“You look like a wet dog!” You couldn’t hold back your cackles as you pointed at him and clutched your stomach as it began to hurt from how hard you were laughing. 

He pushed his hair back out of his face and glared at you as the cart pulled up to a stop and let you off. You kept laughing at him as he stomped off. After you let all your giggles out of your system, you rushed after him to drag him to the next ride. Though he complained, he still let you pull him around.

Even when you forced him to stand in line for the spinning teacups, he acted annoyed, but he never left the line and stood right beside you. He fixed you with glares whenever you spun the teacup as fast as you could, but he never yelled at you, the happy smile on your face enough to keep his mouth shut. With the wind whipping around you, his hair dried and returned to its puffy shape. Once the teacup ride ended, you pulled a wobbly Bakugou to bumper cars where you targeted him and harassed him while he cursed at you, earning a lecture from Daisuke about keeping the language to a minimum when children were around when the bumper cars stopped. 

You watched as Bakugou kept his head down while Daisuke chastised him, and you covered your mouth to hide your laughter. Daisuke let him off with a slap on the back, and he wished the two of you a happy date, which Bakugou gave him an earful for even suggesting. You then dragged Bakugou off to go-karts after he calmed down. The way you lapped him with ease made you wonder how he even got his license, but you kept that question to yourself. 

You and Bakugou slumped onto a bench to catch your breaths from all the running around you forced both of you to do, and you leaned your head back and spread your arms across the back of the bench. Bakugou braced himself on his knees as he took deep breaths. He leaned back against the bench, and when he hit your arm, he grabbed it and placed it in your lap.

“You’ve had your fun of dragging me around, so it’s my turn to choose where we go,” he said, and you nodded, not listening to what he was saying.

You wish you had because the rollercoaster he dragged you towards was one you’d sworn to never ride in a million years. The many loopty loops and steep drops coupled with twisting rails and sharp curves made you five seconds away from pissing yourself from fear. Just staring at it as the cars shot around it at a furious pace made your legs weak, and you readied yourself to run away. Too bad Bakugou had an iron grip on your wrist as he pulled you towards the stairs that led up to the platform. When you reached it, he urged you to go first, whether to keep your from running away when he wasn’t looking or to stare at the view of your ass, you didn’t know. 

With a trembling leg, you stepped up onto the first step and then the next, and the next, Bakugou right behind you. You felt eyes boring into your ass, and to hide your shaking, you glanced over your shoulder.

“Are you staring at my ass?!” you asked as you turned around to see your ass level with Bakugou’s face as you stopped climbing the stairs. He tilted his head to the side as his hand gripped the railing, and he fixed you with an annoyed expression.

“You’re the one shoving it into my face. Either hurry the fuck up or let me go in front of you if it bothers you that much, dumbass.”

“I’ll fucking sit on you, pomeranian,” you told him through clenched teeth.

“And I’ll push you off, shitlicker.”

You hmphed and started up the stairs faster until you reached the line for the roller coaster. Though you played it off and acted nonchalant about everything, you couldn’t hide the fact that your legs shook and that sweat formed on your hands and made them clammy. You’d never admit it to Bakugou, but you hated roller coasters, even though you worked at one with him. The twists and turns mixed with the zipping speed of the cars made you sick to the stomach. The line moved forward, but you stayed in place. Bakugou nudged you with his elbow, and you stumbled forward, your legs threatening to give out from underneath you at any moment.

“Get moving, dumbass. You’re holding the line up.” When you didn’t move, he leaned down into your ear, his hot breath fanning the shell of it. “Don’t tell me you’re scared. The Y/N who acts all high and mighty being scared of a little roller coaster? Unthinkable.”

“Shut up,” you ground out, and you forced yourself forward until you stood right against the gate that led to the platform, the batch of people in front of you settling into their seats and being secured in before Yurina started the ride and watched them shoot off. 

Shallow breaths came out of you as your chest heaved, and you clutched the railing to support your failing legs. When you just about crumpled to the floor, Bakugou wrapped an arm around your waist to steady you.

“Are you okay? If you couldn’t handle this roller coaster, you should have told me. We can exit the line now if you need to,” Bakugou told you, and you shook your head.

You looked back at him and gritted your teeth as you glared at him. “I’m… I’m not a pussy…” As the cars returned, you pushed yourself up, gave a worried Yurina a weary smile, and waited for the gate in front of you to open up and let you file out into your seat.

Once the people left and the gate opened, you trudged forward towards a seat somewhere in the middle, Bakugou trailing after you. With shaky legs, you clambered in, almost tripping as your leg fell down. Bakugou grabbed your arm to stabilize you, and you would never let him know how much his warm hand on your skin calmed you. Your leg bounced as you waited for a worker to secure the bar around you, and nerves ate at your stomach as the countdown for the ride started in your mind. 

Your whole body shook, and Bakugou wrapped his larger hand around yours to settle your nerves. If the iron grip you had on his hand hurt, he didn’t show it and let you lace your fingers with his to squeeze his hand like a stress ball. The gears on the cart groaned, and you jumped, clutching onto Bakugou’s arm and hiding your face in his shoulder. The fear overcoming you outweighed your embarrassment from relying on Bakugou, and when Yurina pressed the button and sent the carts off, you squeezed your eyes shut and held onto his arm for dear life as you felt the wind whip around you and throw your hair around willy nilly. Bakugou never let go of your hand, and whenever you clutched onto him harder, he squeezed your hand a few times to calm you. 

The ride came to an end, and you thanked all the gods you knew that it was over. You didn’t have to be told twice to get the hell off there. After throwing the bar up, you clambered over Bakugou to set foot onto the safe and stable platform. Your whole body shook, and bile threatened to come out of you. Bakugou climbed out after you and rested a hand on your back. He rubbed circles on your back while you walked towards the exit.

“Have fun, love birds,” Yurina called out to the two of you, and Bakugou didn’t say anything as he held onto your arms to steady you and lead you off of the platform and down onto the main walk areas. You stood in place at the base of the steps for a few minutes to make the shaking in your legs calm and your heart rate return to normal. 

“It was cute how you clung to me on the roller coaster. If I knew you’d be that adorable, I would have dragged you on it long ago,” he said to break the silence between the two of you, and once the words left his lips, his face reddened.

Your face mirrored his as the words sank in. “Sh-Shut up,” you stammered, still shaken from the roller coaster, and his words only added to your nerves.

“Sorry,” he said, and he zipped his lips. You weren’t used to a quiet Bakugou, but you were glad he didn’t resort to his usual curses or anger and instead let you calm down.

You took a deep breath once your heart returned to normal. The sky above you reminded you of cotton candy, and you realized how late it was becoming as the sun sank in the sky. The day was coming to an end, and you still had one thing left to do.

“Let’s ride the ferris wheel,” you said, and Bakugou blinked at you.

“No,” he told you with a shake of his head, and you rolled your eyes.

“Come on! No amusement park visit is complete without the ferris wheel! It’s a classic, Tsukki.” You gripped his hands and tried to pull him towards the line at the colorful wheel, but he didn’t budge.

“It’s so cliche though. Let’s just go on the Death Drop and finish there,” he said as he planted his feet to keep from moving. You almost fell as you pulled him, and you scowled at him when you regained your balance.

“Don’t be like that! There’s nothing wrong with the ferris wheel! Are you just afraid that others will misinterpret it?” You perked your eyebrow up at him, and his lip pulled back into an annoyed snarl.

“Hell no.”

“Then there shouldn’t be a problem now should there?” you asked, and he sighed.

“I guess not.”

You smiled, happy you won the small argument, and without a word, the two of you trekked off towards the ferris wheel line. Though it was long, your excitement to ride one after several years outweighed it, and the long wait seemed to pass by in a few seconds as you bugged Bakugou. Once your turn to get into a cart arrived, you didn’t waste any time yanking him into it. You settled down onto your seat, Bakugou taking his across from you, and the cart moved.

As the ferris wheel climbed in the air, you leaned against the window to peer down on the people below. You giggled as you watched the people scurry around on the ground, couples running off to rides together or parents corralling their kids to tables to eat. You peered over at Bakugou, who sat with his legs sprawled and arms crossed over his chest as he let out irritated sighs.

“What crawled up your ass and died?” you asked while you gave him a disgusted look.

“Nothing. Just let me enjoy one damn ride in peace,” he said, and your eyebrows shot up on your forehead as you stared at him in disbelief.

“Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Bakugou stared at you with slitted eyes. “Today was supposed to be my day off, but instead of being able to relax by myself, you come along and drag me everywhere. Then, when I try to go on a ride that I enjoy, you freak out and almost run off.”

“Well sorry that I thought maybe you’d have fun on bumper cars or go-karts.” You crossed your arms over your chest and returned the glare to him.

“That’s exactly what I mean. You thought I’d like them instead of actually asking me what I’d like to do.”

You blinked as his words sunk in. It was true; you had only dragged him around with you to rides you thought he’d enjoy instead of getting his opinion on the matter. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t think of it that way.”

Bakugou sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, clearly you didn’t. I have to deal with you every single day at work, and on the one day I thought I’d be free from you, I got stuck with you against my will.”

Okay, now that stung a little. You were all for the little name slinging you two had going on, but this wasn’t the same. His jabs at you dug into your heart, and you stood up from your seat and stalked over to him.

“And don’t get me started on the way you flirt with every boy that so much as glances at you. Could you be any more of an attention whore? If you want attention that badly, just go-” You didn’t let him finish as you fisted his hair in your hand and slammed your lips into his.

You swallowed his words as you tilted your head to the side and shoved your tongue inside his mouth, running it along the roof of his mouth. You clambered on top of him and straddled his legs. The sweet flavor of soda melted onto your tongue as you swirled it around his mouth and relished in the way he tensed underneath you. His hands gripped your waist as you placed both your hands onto the side of his face. A sudden realization hit you, and you pulled your lips off of his.

“Shit! I didn’t ask for permission.” You pulled away from him and placed your hands onto his shoulders while you stared into his eyes. “Can I kiss you, Tsukki? Because you keep talking, and it’s pissing me off, and the only other way I can think of shutting you up is to hit you.”

“Wha-?” His ears reddened, barely visible in the dimly lit ferris wheel cart, but the way he hid his face with the back of his hand and avoided your eyes made it obvious how flustered your question made him.

“Yes or no, Tsukki. If you don’t want to, I can climb off right now, and we can act like this didn’t happen. Just don’t keep insulting me to my face and think I won’t do anything about it.”

“Sorry…” he said as he looked into your eyes, apologies swimming in them, and his disheartened face tugged at your heart strings, but you wouldn’t let him manipulate you like that. “I said more than I should have and made you uncomfortable. I especially shouldn’t have called you an attention whore. You’re doing nothing wrong, but I just got mad that you weren’t looking at me and were focusing on the other guys that are leagues below you.”

“Jealousy isn’t an excuse, Tsukki,” you said, though you couldn’t stop your heart from swelling a little at the thought of Bakugou getting jealous over the random boys you decided to wink at. 

“I know. I will never do it again because thinking of how my words hurt you even if you try to hide it pains me.”

Though you didn’t fully forgive him for hurting your pride like that, you weren’t going to drag it out and make everything uncomfortable. Time heals all wounds, as they say. Plus, you were tougher than that. You brought a hand up to cup the side of his face.

“Are you going to answer my question now?” you asked, lips hovering over his while your thumb caressed his bottom lip.

“Please,” he breathed out, and you smiled before you tilted his head up to capture his lips with yours.

You pressed your chest flush against his, the warmth emitting from his body heating you up and making your mind fuzzy as you twirled your tongue around his. A hand went down from your waist to cup your ass, and when he squeezed it, you moaned into his mouth and rutted your hips against him. His bulge grew beneath you, and it took all your willpower not to drop to your knees right there to take him into your mouth.

Your hands gripped his hair to pull his head farther back, and you pushed yourself up onto your knees as you deepened the kiss. Both his hands grabbed onto your ass, and he kneaded the jean covered flesh in his large, calloused fingers. The feeling of his fingers against you made your body burn, and you bounced yourself on his lap as you rubbed your lips against his. The softness of his lips against yours became a quick addiction, and when your lungs burned for air, you pulled away for a quick breath before you dipped back down to capture his lips once more.

His eyes turned glossy as he lost himself in the feeling of your soft lips against his, a scenario he had only dreamt of before unfolding before him. Your body against his, pushing closer and closer to him out of desperation for his warmth and lips reminded him that this was very much real. 

You held his jaw in one hand as you pulled away from him, teeth gripping his bottom lip and tugging on it as he panted. His hands on your ass slipped down to your thighs and behind your knees. He used the chance to pull you forward, and you felt his erection pressing against you more. Your mouth went dry as it prodded you, and you smashed your lips together for one last desperate kiss when you noticed some movement when you pulled away from his lips.

Your tongues clashed in a mess of saliva and wet noises, but you didn’t care when you felt Bakugou’s arousal pressing into you. Your lips on his felt perfect, even better than you had imagined, and you never wanted to stop feeling them against yours. Your lungs begged for air, and you pulled away to stare into his glossy eyes, a string of saliva connecting your tongues that broke when you swallowed. Saliva dripped from his wide open mouth as he sat there in a daze. His hands on your ass gripped even tighter on you.

“As much as I’d like to continue this,” you gasped while you gripped the side of his face, thumb pressing inside the corner of his mouth and running across his bottom lip as you grinded your hips down onto the bulge in his jeans, relishing in the shuddering breath Bakugou let out, “I think the other passengers wouldn’t appreciate our public display,” you finished as you leaned in close to his face, lips centimeters from his. 

At that, Bakugou peered over your shoulder to see a group of teenage girls in the cart next to you guys, staring at the both of you and the position you were in with wide eyes and flushed faces. You gave them a smile, held a finger to your lips, and clambered off of his lap to sit across from him. They nodded their heads and turned their attention away from the two of you. Bakugou let out an exasperated sigh and covered his face with his arm as he slung his jacket over his lap.

“Fuck you,” he breathed out, and you chuckled as you crossed your legs and arms.

“I know you want to, but this isn’t the time or place, Tsukki. Have fun taking care of that by yourself!” you said, and he sighed once more before the ferris wheel stopped and let you hop off. You let out a sadistic giggle as he wrapped his jacket around his waist to hide his boner, hissing whenever he walked. When you passed a bathroom, you gave him a knowing look, and he flicked you in the forehead and went inside, saying all he was going to do was splash his face with some water until it calmed down. 

You waited outside the bathroom until he exited, wiping his hands with a wet wipe, and after he threw it away, you jumped in front of him with a wide smile. He gave you an incredulous look. You ignored the look and grabbed his hand before you dragged him forward as he stumbled behind you. “Buy me a churro,” you said as you faced him while walking backwards.

“No. Buy one yourself,” he told you, and you sighed.

“You really don’t have a single romantic bone in your body, do you?”

His eyes slitted as he glared at you, and you gave him a cheeky smile. ‘You…” He sighed and dragged his free hand down his face. As you pulled him to the nearest churro stand, he shook his head and pulled out his wallet while you excitedly stood beside him, waiting for your churro with wide eyes that sparkled like a giddy child’s. He paid for the churro and sat down at a bench, a smile reaching his face as he watched you chow down on the warm churro. He placed a hand on top of your head and ruffled your hair, eliciting a whine of annoyance from you. 

“You’re lucky you’re sexy or else I’d bite your hand off,” you told him, and he chuckled, sending warmth spreading through your chest at the sound. He bent down and licked a piece of frosting off the corner of your lip, licking his own and wiping with his thumb. You stared at him with wide eyes and a flushed face. He flashed you a smirk, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Amuse me.”

[of-tatooine]

mercy. | chapter 3 - reverie

waking up was never this different.

Sounds of water trailing down the pool waterfall echoed as drinks poured and barbecue was served.

Everything felt so good, so normal, almost mundane. It had been a cheerful, sunny day of summer, warmth seeping into your bones, making your skin shine as you lounged by the pool. Droplets of cool water splashed on your face, a crisp interlude to your reverie. Fingertips loosely wrapped around the ice cold drink, taking occasional sips from it. Kids laughed and cheered as they played, splashing you with water in the meantime. You did not mind. You had always been fond of them.

“Think she’ll walk again?”

“Hell, I’d be surprised if she lived.”

Children lured you to play with them in the pool. You could not be anywhere near bothered from your comfortable spot with the mango-flavored drink in your hand, cooling you. Their squeaky voices had been so excited that you gave it a second thought. Playing in the pool sounded like a lot of fun, certainly more fun you had in a while at your stressful job. You wanted to go back, at least for a little while, to the peaceful times when you were a little girl, how you would jump from floaties and giggle and spread happiness. Oh, how you loved summer, spent at the shore, without a single care in the world, enjoying everything the beautiful weather offered you.

"I'm jumping in!"

Drops of water from the cool rag placed on your forehead woke you up, in more ways than one. The dried blood and bruises on your face appreciated the feeling, sending a relaxing tingle over your skin. Your could feel, feel your fingertips, the humid air engulfing them against their dried texture. Consciously breathing, your lungs getting filled up with air once more. Your eyes took their sweet time in fluttering open, a blurred vision welcoming you into reality.

It would have been the epitome of a peaceful resurrection if it was not for the two strangers staring you dead in the eye from above.

It was ironic, really. A gruff, dark-haired guy and a much smaller, green-eyed, young little girl staring you down like you were the odd bunch in this scenario. You dealt with much worse, held captive by far more terrible, dark souls.

Were you at the mercy of this odd little survival gig now?

“Where -” your lips moved, with the pathetic excuse of a voice you have left. Your vocal cords didn’t want to co-operate either, apparently, as you spoke in a low, raspy tone. All of the limbs in your frail, undernourished body screamed at you not to move, as you laid on an old, dirtied mattress. “…where am I?” you managed to ask. Your lungs fought for air in a desperate inhale as you gasped uncontrollably, taking in the stuffiness mixed in with the linger of mold in the room. As your vision cleared out gradually, you find yourself trying to look around where you were holed up in.

Just how long had you been out?

Sweat was forming on your battered skin and the room felt stuffy, so your instincts told you it was late summer still. Another question to add to the growing list to ask these...hunters? Fireflies?

No, you would have recognized them if they were. There were not many left flying around.

Your conscience was beginning to come back into you, slowly but steadily with every single heartbeat and breath taken, like waves in a lazy ocean. You almost didn't want to be conscious - wanted to be left alone, just sleeping in a safe place, without a care in the world.

Yet, it looked like this cruel, relentless leftover of the universe had more in store for you.

It took a couple of moments of steadying your breathing - then it hit you. Pain, lots of it, invading your mid-thigh like a swarm of ants all over your skin. It was the kind of pain that almost-healed, sore wounds created, nevertheless, you hadn't been able to feel any sort of sense during the time you were asleep - God knows how long - and it was making itself known alright. You let out a hiss, your eyebrows furrowing as your gaze directed itself to your bandaged wound.

The lower half of your pants were missing, cut-off right below the bandages... how the hell? Last you remembered, you had a bullet in your thigh, almost dying of blood loss in a tenement high-rise on your way out of the state, and your pants covered your lower leg.

Why, on the damned scorched earth, would anyone help out someone like you?

"You're in safety," the gruff man spoke, a vague answer to your question, his voice sounding low and threatening beneath that peppered beard. "for now."

The two little words he added at the end with such a tone that you just knew  he would shoot you on the spot if you tried to do anything stupid by his books. You could not do anything but nod, and gulp. Even that hurt.

Your worried expression seemed to go unnoticed as an exasperated voice intruded your thoughts. "Yeah, Joel, this is a terrible idea," the girl who was looking down on you earlier with bright, green eyes scoffed, shaking her head, her hand flying out to gesture at you. "The hell were you thinkin'? She cannot even walk - what are we gonna do with her?"

Just what was this little girl talking about? You could not help but look in between the two survivors, the man supposedly named Joel shooting the girl a side glance, his flannel-covered arms folded in front of him as he kept his gaze on you. He looked strong, very strong - the type of hardened survivor that could snap your dainty little neck in half if he wanted to. There had been just something about him, something that you could not quite place a finger on. It took you another look in his green eyes combined with the familiar crimson patterns of the flannel that stretched on his chest to finally come to your senses. Was this...

"Wait," you called out, trying to lean yourself on your forearms with a hiss. "You're the guy who saved me from the hunters," you continued, as if trying to make yourself believe rather than ask the guy, couple strands of hair falling onto your damp face as you propped yourself up. The scoffs and the little murmurs of you gotta be kidding me coming from the teen, ringing in your ears.

"Thank you. Not a whole lot showin' mercy these days."

"Damn right, y'hear that Joel? We've heard that before," the kid started talking again, this time in a little mocking tone as she crossed her arms and walked over to your figure, her eyebrows furrowed and her fiery green gaze focused on the gruff man.

If anything, this had to be a rather unusual dynamic between a father and a daughter you had ever seen - made you think that he had taught her well, not to trust strangers and all. Oh, she surely had to be his daughter, judging by your first impressions of her - fiery, headstrong. But what the hell was your fault? The man had helped you himself, carried you to safety and she sure as hell wasn't there when those damned hunters ambushed you in that high-rise right when you was about to escape Pittsburgh.

What were they going to do with you? You were surprised when the man had left you some supplies back in the city, you supposed he had cleared out the damned infected scraping at your door but compared to the level of surprise that you had looking at the little girl and her father, arguing about what they were to do about you - the former had been nothing. Even in your weakened state, it did not make sense in the survival mindset that you all had grown so accustomed to over the past twenty years, to take in a damsel in distress simply because you wanted to play the hero for a while.

It was a hard-learned truth that there had been no heroes left in this empty shell of the world - it was the survival of the most cruel, most resourceful and the most violent.

Hell, if you had been in his position when he found you, you would be quick to put a bullet into your head - without glancing at the dead look in your eyes.

You had done it many times before. You were damn sure he had as well, else he would not be surviving this far into the outbreak. Why was this one time different?

The man in front of you, standing all tall and broad, had a contrasting troubled expression in that rogue face of his. Just one look at him could tell you he had seen the worst of the outbreak, killed and tortured. That strength he seemingly possessed and that recluse surrounding his aura did not come from simple blind luck. His eyes assessed you, every single movement you made - almost as if he was judging whether to spare you or kill you right there on that ugly mattress based on what your next moves entailed.

It was not like you could even raise your hand to throw a punch - the strange pair knew you could not harm them even if you so wanted to. You had been down the road of recovery before, getting shot many times in the course of a pandemic, a couple days of rest would get you back on your feet. Before, you had always been alone or with people you somewhat trusted. Not with complete strangers who acted out of their sheer leftover notion of mercy to save you.

You were vulnerable, in such a state that you depended on them, on someone if you wanted to continue the little survival gig you had been on for two decades. Over at the corner of the room, you could spot your familiar backpack with your supplies staying intact in it, your trusted guns resting on the floor beside. Unarmed and weak, you slowly rose yourself up to sit on the edge of the bed, dragging your injured thigh along as your feet touched the ground, your jaw clenched all the while to avoid screaming out of pain. It was not the time to show weakness, to emit even the slightest grunt of misery - even a small sound, a little indication of you not being able to tolerate pain would decide whether they left you abandoned there or not if you were deemed useless in their eyes.

"Look," your voice would echo across the wooden panels of the room, making the little girl in front of you move her hand to the pistol tucked into the waistband of her jeans. Your hand rose up in defense, indicating that you meant no harm, your tired orbs moving back and forth between the pair as the stuffy air in the room felt even more stale with the added tension of the unknown.

"I don't know who you both are but I know you saved me from that mess," you would speak slowly, your tone softening ever so slightly as your gaze rested on the man. "If it wasn't for you, hell, I'd be long dead from blood loss. I'd like to repay you in some way."

To your surprise, the little girl's expression grew even more grim as her eyebrows furrowed in doubt and distrust, however, her hand left the revolver she had been holding onto earlier only for them to be placed on her hips as her green orbs bore daggers into you. If only you could look in the mirror then, you would see the helpless expression your delicate features harbored, an unusual feat by itself.

With the girl's watchful eyes over him, the gruff man crouched in front of you, couple feet away to match your gaze due to his towering height. Your eyes immediately focused into his amber green ones, with glints of doubt and fear in them, as well as determination. One of his large hands would stroke his peppered beard slightly, lost in thought yet his gaze never faltering from your orbs, his elbows resting on his bent knees.

"Think you can handle a gun once you're walkin'?" he asked, though he already had an inkling of an idea that you had been a decent marksman based on the body he had found on the first floor of the high-rise with a bullet lodged in his skull.

To which, you could only nod with a strong look in your eyes, making it clear you were not playing around.

Much to the little girl's dismay, Joel would nod pensively before getting up and breaking your gaze.

"We leave in a couple of days, and you're comin' along. If you want to pay what you owe me, you're gonna have to protect us. "

next

[spookyold-saintjm]

Confession

[gif: @h0rr0rpancake] 

Mandalorian x female reader

Part of the Pilot series [Masterlist]

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol consumption/intoxication, canon-typical violence, it’s steamy but it’s not smut (yet) so chill.

Word Count: 3,808

Surprise! I was able to finish this one (number SIX?!) sooner than I thought, so here you go!

If you’re seeing my work for the first time: hi! You don't necessarily have to read the other parts of this series for this one to make sense; I write each new installment as something that can be enjoyed as a stand-alone or as part of the whole. Reading the others will give you bits and pieces of context that (hopefully) make each new part more impactful, but there’s no need to do so if you don’t want.

This is my longest work yet so...phew. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! A lil ol’ reblog would mean the world to me, if you want. x

—

You had never thought it was something you’d see again. At least, not if it were done by your own hands. 

Fragments of a one-man ship crumbled and burned and drifted down and out through infinite space. Your hands trembled like leaves against the Crest’s controls, and a cold sweat trickled down the side of your head as you stared numbly at the destruction you had just created. The life you had taken.

You heard the familiar footsteps of the Mandalorian approaching from behind you, and snapped back into survival mode. This wasn’t just about you.

You shakily turned toward the panel on your left, typing in codes to redirect your flight path to the nearest safe planet you could think of. The ship needed repairs; you needed to land as soon as possible. Mando was behind you just as you swerved the ship to a hard right and away from the sight of the debris. Away from choice you’d had to make to ensure your safety. And theirs. 

You vaguely remembered him going to get the child immediately after you’d fired the fatal shot; somehow, despite the rocking and frantic turning of the ship, that sound had been what had awoken and startled the tiny being that had been resting in his carrier in another part of the ship. He was now tucked into Mando’s arm, ears perked in curiosity.

The amount of time that had passed up to that point was unclear to you; you’d kept a clear mind, focused, each move intentional and calculated as you attempted to get the attacking ship off your tail. It was when you realized that they weren’t going to give up on their pursuit, that they were intent to take you down, that you knew what you had to do. And you’d done it, but not without the dull, numbing feeling of acknowledging death quickly beginning to set in, despite the countless hours of training you’d once been through to teach your mind otherwise.

You had told yourself you weren’t going to do it again. And yet, here you were.

“I’ve changed our course.” You spoke quietly, quickly, before Mando could ask if you were okay. It was a question you didn’t want to answer. “We need to land soon. Damage.”

Mando said nothing, only watched your still-trembling hands attempt to restore the ship to full operation so that you could more quickly reach your new destination.

“S-sorry,” you added, immediately wishing you could take back the words that were already spilling from your lips. “I—I wasn’t—it’s been a long time."

He listened, letting you speak the words that were making your stomach turn the longer you held them inside. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to tell you to calm down. Only listened. It was something that you found yourself to silently appreciate as you started to steady yourself, your breaths regulating, your hands still. 

He had seated himself in the co-pilot chair behind you, the child quiet in his lap. “Thank you.” he finally spoke. It was the only thing he could think to say, but it was enough. 

Without turning away from the viewport, you nodded slowly in grateful acknowledgment.

“They were after him, weren’t they?” you asked, your voice low. You already knew the answer, but to assure yourself that what you’d done was worth it…

“I think so. Yes.” Mando replied simply.

“Not Guild. Not now.” You added.

“No. Someone else.”

You had a feeling you both had the same suspicions, that word had spread about the Mandalorian taking down Moff Gideon and escaping with a bounty he’d very intensely sought after. A very valuable one.

Neither one of you said it aloud, but you knew. The running wasn’t over.

—

Hot. Why did this planet have to be so kriffing hot?

You reached to wipe sweat from your forehead as you meticulously worked away on the wiring you pulled from out of a panel near the bottom of the ship. The repairs weren’t necessarily difficult, but time-consuming. And costly. Maybe it was the heat on this planet getting to you, but you’d snapped at Mando at his slightest hesitation of the full repairs. 

“This ship is a ticking bomb. I don’t fix her, I don’t fly her. She’s all yours."

You could have sworn you’d heard his teeth grinding beneath this helmet when he’d handed over the credits for the necessary parts. 

You were still coming down from your mood when the Mandalorian returned to the hangar where you’d been permitted to leave the ship a couple hours later. The child was following, happily toddling along behind him, but nearly thudded straight into his boot when Mando abruptly halted in his tracks.

He saw as you stood from your crouched position by the ship, muttering light curses under your breath as you stepped over to search through the crate of tools provided in the hangar for the repairs you were currently addressing. A stray hair drifted down into your eyes from where you had tied it atop your head, desperate for any means to cool down, and you blew it away as you continued to dig through the crate. Your long-sleeved shirt was tied at your waist, leaving you in your sleeveless undershirt that, thanks to the heat causing everything to stick to your skin, wasn’t leaving much to anyone’s imagination...

Not that…not that he would imagine anything. No, the heat was just getting to him, too. 

Probably.

You finally noticed his presence and looked up, shielding your eyes with a hand to look at him through the light of the setting suns glinting off his armor. 

“Hey, shiny. Step out of the light. I’m going blind here.”

Once he remembered how to walk, Mando was standing by the open hatch of the Crest, telling the child to head inside out of the heat. He obeyed, but not before letting a long stare glide between the two of you. 

You were faced the opposite direction from him, but you didn’t hesitate to whip your head around your shoulder to send him a hard glare of warning before he quickened his pace inside with a small giggle.

“What does he say to you?” Mando asked as he approached you. You shook your head as you pulled the tool you’d been looking for from the crate with a low hum. He knew well enough by now how you communicated with the child, although maybe he didn’t quite understand the process of it. Some things were better to just silently accept. And this seemed to be one of them.

“You know…kid stuff,” you shrugged, though the fluttering in your stomach when Mando reached your side easily betrayed that. You walked over to the panel you’d been working on, and used the tool you’d retrieved to finish connecting and securing the last couple wires before locking and screwing the panel back into place. 

“Well, we’re getting there.” You announced as you came from underneath the ship again. You dusted off your hands onto your thighs, and looked to Mando with a sigh. “Stabilizer still needs some work, and I have to re-align the left thruster. Need to double check the fuel driver. Might as well knock out the cosmetic work too if we’re going to be here for a few days.” You leaned to rub at a deep scratch in the thick metal of the Crest as you spoke. “Any luck on your end?”

“We found lodging. Doesn’t seem like we’ll be bothered.” Mando replied, already giving up on trying to make sense of the information you’d just given him. You knew that the mechanical side of things wasn’t really his area, so you weren’t at all surprised at his lack of questioning. Laughable as it may have been to you.

“Good,” you replied. “I hate being bothered.”

Mando folded his arms over his chest as he watched you type some final information regarding the repairs into the datapad before looking to him with a faint grin.

“Alright, then. If everything’s settled…I need a drink.”

—

With one arm propped against the bar, you knocked back the next shot of glowing orange liquid passed your way.

You weren’t quite sure what it was, but Maker, did it burn in the best way.

You swiped a slightly larger glass of dark brown liquid you’d requested off of the counter and turned to look for your companion for maybe the twentieth time that night. 

You finally saw him, the rough silhouette of the Mandalorian making his way toward you. 

Taking deliberate steps, you wandered over to meet him, the music in the room so gods-damned fantastic that you nearly forgot what you were doing until you nearly bumped into him.

You grinned up at him and shoved the glass in his direction. “Got you something!”

“I’m alright.” He knew you were beyond the point of him trying to explain to you that even if he did want a drink, he couldn’t drink it. For obvious reasons.

“Fine. Suit yourself.” Mando stared blankly at you as you pressed the glass to your lips and tipped back your head, finishing the entire thing in one go. You let out a heavy sigh of contentment as you placed the glass, now empty, down onto the nearest table. 

He had agreed to stay back with the child as you’d gone to have a couple drinks at a nearby to unwind. When an hour and a half had passed and you hadn’t returned, he put the kid down to sleep and came to check in on you, a dull surge of worry rushing through him. It wasn’t entirely impossible that you’d all been followed onto this planet...

But instead he found you perfectly content, clearly more than a “couple” drinks in.

A tall, dark haired human female had wandered over, wrapping her arm low around your waist as they gazed eagerly at Mando.

“Oh! This your boyfriend or something?” The woman winked at him with a wide grin before she turned back to curiously tilt her head at you with her blue-painted, pursed lips. “Didn’t see you as the...boyfriend type, too.” 

She turned back to Mando and reached a hand upward, a thin finger lazily reaching to trace the visor of his helmet. “What’s he look like under—"

Before she got the chance, you had her pressed face-first onto a table, that same hand pinned behind her back.

“Don’t. Touch. The helmet.” You spat down at her, before sending her off back in the direction she’d come from when you’d decided to let her go.

The Mandalorian wasn’t sure he was breathing. 

“Handsy-ass bitch,” you muttered, turning back towards Mando with a shrug. “Sorry.”

He was still internally reeling from everything he’d just had to process in that matter of seconds, but shook himself out of it once he saw you faintly sway on your feet.

“We need to get back.” He said, his tone bordering that of an order. “I left the kid."

Your head snapped back upward toward him. “You left the—what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you gasped, and frantically tapped on the beskar covering his shoulders, urging him to turn around to the door. “We have to go.” 

You both made it roughly five steps when he had to catch you from nearly stumbling to the floor. You walked the remainder of the way with hands clasped onto Mando’s arm to keep you steady. 

You didn’t really need to, though. At least, that’s what you’d muttered under your breath on the walk back to where you were staying for the night. You were just being nice and accepting his help.

Mando let out a long sigh as you followed him inside.

Fortunately for the three of you, there were small rooms available for travelers to stay near the hangar, whether it be for time to make repairs to ships or to find temporary work until one could get off-world again. Mando, with the child tucked in his arm, had to quickly clarify that he would need two beds—in fact, two separate bedrooms—when he’d explained the requirements for a place to stay. Much to the owner’s amusement.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, guy. She’ll get over whatever you did to piss her off. They always do,” he had stated when he’d handed over the access card for the door.

Mando was silently thankful you hadn’t been there to hear the exchange, because even with you nowhere around he felt the distinct urge to throw himself into a sarlacc pit.

Your first instinct once you were inside, despite the haziness in your mind, was to check on the kid. He wore a peaceful contentment on his face as his slept in the carrier. Perhaps he, too, was relieved to be staying the night somewhere other than in an old bucket of a ship. Mando followed behind, a dull relief washing over him when he too saw that the child had been undisturbed during his short absence.

You spun around and glared up at him. “Do not leave him alone again.” You said, keeping your voice low. "For two hours or five minutes, I don’t care.” 

He could have easily argued that maybe you were the reason he’d left him alone to begin with…but he was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be the best idea.

You had closed the door to the room you’d designated as yours seemingly before he could blink, coming out a while later, freshly showered in a new set of clothes. You still had that vague floating feeling as the effects alcohol continue to pulse steadily through your body, but you were at least coherent enough to walk on your own now. 

The lighting in the room was dim, so as not to disturb the sleeping child, when you walked over to where Mando was tweaking the blaster he always carried with him at the small table in the room. 

You plopped down in the seat across from him, hands rested under your chin, dark circles already formed under your eyes.

“Can I tell you something?” You asked, after watching him in silence for a while.

If it hadn’t been for all the other ways you’d surprised him that evening, the question might have given him pause.  “Go ahead."

You tilted your head. “I want to kiss you, Din Djarin.”

And his entire world froze.

“I know, I can’t.” You waved a hand dismissively toward him, your words still slightly slurring. “It’s the Way, or whatever. I get it. But stars, if I don’t just want to kiss you sometimes.” 

“Stop.” His voice came out far quieter than he’d meant as he began to earnestly wipe away a spot on his blaster that didn’t exist. “You’re drunk.”

You shrugged. “It's when I’m the most honest.”

He practically dropped the blaster onto the table, much louder than he’d meant. Both of you immediately jerked your heads toward the sleeping child, who thankfully hadn’t stirred.

Mando lifted his head, finally looking back at you. It almost felt like some strange stand-off, this long, silent exchange between the two of you. What was he supposed to say to that? His thoughts weren’t lining up right in his head, not only because of your confession, but the fact that you’d used his name when he said it. You hadn’t dared to speak it again since the night you’d left Navarro. Not until now. And then, there was the matter of what exactly you had said...

You were torture. Absolute torture. 

“Um,” You slowly rose from your seat, muttering curses to yourself in your head when you realized he wasn’t going to give you a reply. You pressed your palms flat against the table until the shadows of the room and Mando’s silhouette stopped wavering around you. “I’m gonna go."

You had turned to walk back to your private space for the night when the single light in the room switched off.

You nearly tripped over your feet as you halted, slowly turning back to what you guessed was Mando’s general direction. 

“Hey, wait I can’t see anythi—"

You felt his presence in front of you just as your mind fully processed the thought.

You couldn’t see.

Your breathing suddenly felt heavy, dizziness threatening to overtake you again the longer you were stripped of your sight. The quiet in the room was nearly deafening.

Mando was moving, a familiar sound of shifting beskar finally breaking the silence. Your feet were heavy weights, holding you in place while you heard him set something onto the table behind him.

Another silence passed, and breathing became nearly impossible as the walls closed in around you. “Mando, I—“

“Okay.”

Every nerve in your body threatened to short-circuit at the sound of his voice. His voice.

He’d taken off his helmet. He was standing in front of you and he’d taken off his helmet.

“Is that really what you want?” he asked.

Oh, Maker, if he kept speaking you were going to pass out. 

Little did you know, he wasn’t feeling all that different. It took his every last ounce of pure willpower to keep himself from wavering, from putting back on the helmet and turning around and hoping he could convince you that you’d been dreaming if you asked in the morning.

But you wouldn’t, couldn't forget this if you tried.

He took a step forward, a step closer to you, awaiting an answer. “Well?"

“T—to kiss you?" you nodded once, slowly, despite knowing he couldn’t see you. “I…yes.” You swallowed thickly, an attempt to raise your voice above a whisper. “Do…do you? Want to, I mean.” Stop talking stop talking stop talking...

Another rustling, and you felt his touch, his fingers rested beneath your chin. “Yes.”

You stood unmoving, other than the heavy rise and fall of your chest. His forehead rested against your own, the first contact of his bare skin to yours enough to send you through the roof. You could hear his own uneven breathing now as he leaned in, his pace achingly slow. The tip of his nose brushed against yours, and your reflexively parted your lips in your wound-up anticipation…

And he kissed you.

His lips were feather-light and hesitant against yours, testing your acceptance to what was happening. You leaned into it, fully capturing his mouth with yours. 

He tasted every bit the warrior, like blood and dirt mixed with something sweet and uniquely him, something that you could get drunk on, if you hadn’t been already.

The kiss was long, heavy. What had started out as something so light and timid quickly deepened into something else entirely, the instinctual need for contact that you’d both been deprived of for far too long rapidly taking over. What was once slow and steady soon turned messy, desperate, his teeth grazing against your bottom lip as you opened for him. 

You’d snapped out of your shock and your hands were quick to press into his back to urge him closer to you before they wandered immediately up to his head.

Curls. The tiniest curls of hair sat atop his head and you wrapped one set of fingers in them while your other hand rubbed against the rough stubble on his face and slid along his neck and back up again. You wanted to remember every last inch of his face, how it felt. The sight of it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

At some point, you noticed your back was now pressed against a wall, the realization that he’d moved you there causing you to impulsively tug at his hair. 

Some faint, low noise erupted from him and his fingers curled deeper into your waist in direct response and it set a fire deep within you that threatened to erupt at any moment.

More. You wanted more.

But he…was he trying to pull away from you? 

You chased him, your lips reconnecting once he’d hardly leaned back. He indulged it a moment longer.

He, too, wanted more. Wanted it more than he knew he could possibly want anything.

But still he pulled back again, his hands moving to instead wrap around your arms to blindly pin you against the wall.

“Din—” you slurred, almost a plea. You reached up to move your hair away from your half-open eyes in a way that would have sent him to the floor if he’d been able to see it.

“I know,” he answered, his breath coming out in short bursts as he again rested his forehead against yours. “But not...like this. You’re still…"

He felt you nod against him before he could finish, despite the frustrated hum that crept from your lips. 

“Okay,” you breathed. Your rested your palms against his chest, fingers curling against the armor there in a silent wish.

Mando leaned to press a soft, final kiss to your swollen lips before releasing his hold on you, both of you attempting to catch your breath as the room grew silent.

He was across the room again before you fully had the chance to miss his touch.

“You should sleep.” he stated, his voice again altered by the modulators of his helmet. There was now enough light for you to see rough shapes in the room, and despite how badly you wanted to turn away, you were looking back at him, standing, watching you.

You couldn’t help but sigh. Just like that, it was over. As if it had never happened at all.

“Yeah,” you muttered, the only answer you could pull from your throat as you turned back toward the room you had claimed as your own.You wandered inside, shut the door behind you with the blind press of a button, and immediately collapsed onto the bed. A real bed, but in that moment it felt as hard and unforgiving as if you were lying on the ground outside. 

The knot in your chest and the fire set low in your stomach had yet to cease. Your eyes were wide open, but you were seeing nothing. You laid there, for several minutes or maybe hours, before eventually your exhausted body and the alcohol still drifting through your veins lulled you into a deep sleep.

And in the room beside you, Mando laid on his back, the beskar long stripped away. His hands rested at his sides, his eyes stuck to the low ceiling with no other thought than that of the choice he had just decided upon, the unspoken promise he made to himself, to you, as he, too, waited for sleep to overtake him.

—

tag list: @nadia-rosea​​ @capsironunderoos​​ @electricprincess888​​ @jamesdeerest​​ @smolashie​​ @iwatobiswimbros​​ @backontheolebullshit​​ @100kindsofblake​​ @pandacookieowo​​ @biolo-tea @baby-yodas-cool-aunt​​ @heyitsjaybird​​ @krtslxx​​ @edgy-hufflepuff-bro​​ @dirty-dancefl00r5​​ @fastidious-and-a-mess​​ @officiallydeceased​​ @sunkissed-winter​​ @crushingonmando​​ @ah-callie​​ @wrinkled-daydream​​ @holamor​​ @din-and-juice​​ @cosmo-bear​​ @c0recl0wn @tedpicklez @miartian @disn3yfreak (please inbox me if you’d like to be added!)

[codenamesazanka]

Geten (Part 2)

(Part 1)

Specifically, focusing Geten in Chapter 271/during this current ‘War’ arc:

Look at his face! Bloodshot eyes and a vein about to pop. Geten’s ferociously  livid and about to slaughter some Heroes. (also I wanna point out that they’re actually addressing him as ‘Geten-sama’ still.)

In the Paranormal Liberation Front, Geten serves as one of the nine Lieutenants, and with Dabi, they lead the the ‘Violet’ Vanguard Action Guerilla Warfare Regiment.

It’s a mouthful! Dictionary.com defines ‘guerilla warfare’ as: “the use of hit-and-run tactics by small, mobile groups of irregular forces operating in territory controlled by a hostile, regular force.” 

We’re aren’t told exactly what the Violet Regiment does, but I’m guessing they’re sort of first attacking force of the army - on the offensive; aiming at weak spots and key areas of Hero society; being quick, brutal, and unexpected to cause as much damage (to infrastructure, morale, personnel, etc) as possible to the Heroes. 

Which makes sense! Dabi’s fire can destroy a good part of a city, as can Geten’s ice. 

Making the two of them leaders, though. Well, it’s as one of the MLA member Sanctum said to Twice, they’re kinda figureheads handed their position (it’s true of the whole League save Shigaraki, really) - true for Dabi, definitely; and it seems true for Geten too, although he at least had some history of being a superior in the army. Still. 

Geten as a commander 

Despite being “central to the Liberation Army’s success” and being greatly respected, Geten never was given any leadership position that we knew of during My Villain Academia. 

It’s probably because he’s shit at caring about his fellow warriors. Mr. Compress notes this in Chapter 230. 

His massive ice attacks are indiscriminate, destroying whole streets and anyone unlucky enough to be there, friends and foe alike. It doesn’t seem to be calculated sacrifice for a larger goal - Geten is simply callous and reckless.

He’s still the same about three months later, despite having a regiment under his responsibility and in the middle of a battle where the army probably should keep as many of their numbers as possible. 

Here’s him essentially destroying what’s left of the mansion, tossing everyone - allies and heroes - into the air; and interrupting Dabi’s attack that would have at least taken out the Number 2 Hero. 

The irresponsibility extends off the battlefield - here’s Geten missing from a PLF meeting:

(Even Gigantomachia is there! idk, maybe he forced his way in and no one can make him leave, and I’m not quite sure the significance of this, but it says something that Machia is attending and Geten is just not.) 

So it’s safe to say he isn’t very leadership material; he doesn’t know or ignores what leadership entails, and if he keeps up his preferred method of destructive attacks, he’s not going to have anything to lead either. 

He does know how to “command” at least somewhat, however - or that’s what I think is implied in Chapter 271.

Breakout 

(Same image as above, except Viz translation + another panel)

Who could forget this awesome scene? Geten doing a signature ice explosion, wrecking everything - and there he is, on the battlefield, attention all on him, calling the Heroes “dogs of the state” and telling them they will not die peaceful deaths. Damn. He has correctly assessed the situation! He’s giving orders! Got a strategy! 

A sound strategy - and an actual one discussed in real military tactics: concentrate combat power on one location and rupture the enemy line. 

(info I found through googling here, here, and here.)

An encircled force attacks by using the rupture force to penetrate the enemy defensive positions in at least one location. The commander must produce overwhelming combat power at each breakout point... 

...The mission [is] to penetrate the enemy's encircling position, widen the gap, and hold the shoulders of the gap until all other encircled forces can move through.

It’s simplified here, and it’s kinda obvious, but it’s still exactly what one should do when they’re in a siege-like situation, i.e. surrounded, all routes, communication and reinforcement blocked and cut off. 

I’ve half-joked about him being dumb and maybe illiterate because he bragged about not going to school, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he wasn’t taught things and given an education. (Like Shigaraki!) He’s obviously learned some military tactics and commanding along with his quirk training.

So yeah, Geten is doing everything right. 

The prospect of such a grouping of forces, placed in a confusing and desperate situation, makes unity of command and unity of effort absolutely essential. The most senior combat arms officer must establish his authority immediately. 

Especially in rallying the troops. It could be coincidental, he’s just angry and shouting at his soldiers to do finally something right; yet he’s still done it. 

And Geten does it alongside another action: he removes his hood. 

In a meta sense, it’s likely to establish Geten as a character - he’s not a faceless mook, he’s not creepy ‘two glowing eyes in darkness’ enemy; he’s a character with a name and a (very pretty) face, that we can relate to and maybe even like. (That he mentions Re-Destro, the only person we know he cares about, and shows protectiveness/concern, adds to that.) He’s portrayed here in a way to make him badass, in a defining moment where the PLF gains some control of the situation, for us to cheer on. 

In-story though, the reason is more unclear? to me, anyways. During his battle with Dabi, he never removed his hood then. Here, is it to literally face the Heroes, to show that he doesn’t care if his face is known, to go head to head with them? Is it to show his men that he’s here, let the sight of his pretty face re-energize them, he’s at the frontlines fighting too? His quirk makes it obvious who he is, he needn’t show his face. 

Despite his disregard for other soldiers of the army, I’ve got a feeling that this is some sort of symbolic gesture to motivate them. Get their attention, establish his authority, finally be a bit of a leader. Cuz, man, the situation really calls for it. 

The Ice

When the attack began, we see Geten running towards the frontlines (chapter 263):

(tiny note: Dabi is heading the opposite direction from everyone - going to help out Twice - but Geten, his co-leader, doesn’t pay attention to him at all. No ‘where the fuck are you goin’, nothing. Feel like they would’ve noticed each other, but no interaction here.) 

From what we can see, Geten doesn’t show up until Chapter 271, a length of time enough to have Hawks confront Twice, Dabi intervene, Hawks kills Twice, Dabi fanboys Stain, Tokoyami to the rescue, and a little more. Let’s say... 15, 20 minutes? 

So he’s missing from the frontlines at the start of the battle - I say he was probably trying to generate an absurd amount of ice during that time. This villa probably has a kitchen with some ice, but not enough. I’m guessing Geten went to find a water source (multiple of water sources?), froze it all, in preparation for the ice explosion. In preparation for him to create a battlefield to his advantage.

So it looks the ice has engulfed the mansion, going up several stories, as well as spreading out to the mansion’s surroundings. A bunch of people are surrounded by ice - like Gang Orca there, right next to a wall of it. 

We know Geten has fine enough skill to shape ice to whatever he wants, and his range of control (and sense?) is massive. Whoever is standing on or is close to the ice - they’re in Geten’s territory, he controls the very ground they’re standing on. 

Go get ‘em, Geten. 

*

Part 3 is next! Will be focusing on Geten’s relationship with ReDestro, and other miscellaneous details. Feel free to suggest anything too.  

*

I could very much be over-estimating Geten’s intelligence! So don’t my word here too much. I’m sure there are a couple reaches here to. Constructive criticism is always appreciated! 

Note: a friend pointed out a reach in Part 1, which will be edited:

I think the fact that [Geten] targeted Dabi as his opponent, despite the obvious weakness his ice has to Dabi’s high-temperature flames, means he was looking for a challenge. Trying to show off, trying to prove that he can go up against his greatest enemy (as in, heat and fire) and come out on top.

It’s more likely that ReDestro had assigned Geten on the Dabi-hunt, given the panel from Chapter 238 where ReDestro is telling Geten to be wary of Dabi’s long-range flames. If there was any strategy to having Geten target Dabi, it could’ve been the general plan, rather than Geten’s own thing. 

thanks for reading! 

[summahsunlight]

Worth the Risk, Part 9

Rating: Mature(18+only)

Word Count: 1881

Pairing: Army Pilot!Poe Dameron x Nurse!Reader (1940s AU)

Summary: It’s the 1940s, Army pilot and Captain Poe Dameron is flying on missions for the United States Army in Europe.  After being shot down off the coast of France, Poe wakes up in an Army hospital in England, to find you, a nurse, taking care of him. Throughout the process of his recovery, Poe finds himself falling for you, and even though you, for the most part, maintain a professional relationship with him–you’re falling for him as well. Both of you know the risks of falling in love during a war, but then again, both of you have never cared much for being cautious.

Warnings:  Angst, swearing, blood (nothing too graphic though)

Taglist: @fanfic-addict-98​, @thescarletknight2014​, @blushingwueen​, @americasass-romanoff​, @ginger-swag-rapunzel​, @spider-starry​, @totelpoedameron, @captain-america5​, @liadamerondjarin​, @m1rkw00dpr1ncess​

If you want to be added to the taglist, please let me know☺️I did my best to remain as historically accurate as possible. The GIF comes from Band of Brothers (highly recommended if you have not seen it, it is very good). Prior to the forces arriving on the beach, the Allies did drop paratroopers over Normandy to begin taking key bridges and locations. I do recommend at leasing watching the D-Day drop scene from Band of Brothers, it will definitely set the tone for this opening scene.

June 6, 1944--just after midnight

They flew by the cover of night over the English Channel. The tension on the plane was so thick that Poe was certain he could cut it with a knife. The unit of paratroopers were doing everything they could to calm their nerves; Poe heard lighters, smelled cigarette smoke. Some were muttering prayers, he had noticed a few of them clutching to rosary beads.  He was praying that the clouds would give them enough cover until they had to drop lower so the paratroopers could safely jump. Once they broke through the clouds for the drop it would be open season on the fleet of planes.

Poe would catch a quick glimpse of your photograph every now and then when he could take his eyes of the panels. He hoped that wherever you were, that you were safe. As they inched closer to the drop zone, Poe noticed the clouds light up, followed by a loud explosion.

“What is that?” Arana asked, peeking up from his position. “Thunder?”

“Not thunder,” Snap said, swallowing. “Shells.” 

“They spotted us,” Poe stated. “Let those boys know we’re close.”

Snap flipped a switch on his panel, which turned a red light on in the back of the plane to signal that the paratroopers needed to prepare for their jump--they were getting close to the drop zone. He looked nervously at Poe. “Once we’re in range, Dameron, those shells have the potential rip this plane apart.”

Poe held the C-47 steady as they broke over the clouds and began to take heavy fire. “Then we just need to make this drop as quick as we possibly can and get the fuck back to England.  Arana, how much time until we reach the drop sight?”

Arana glanced at his maps and then his instruments. “Fuck, at least two minutes, Poe. We aren’t gonna survive this if we fly at this altitude for another two minutes!”

“We drop them here they’re way off target!” Poe shouted over the explosions.

“Dameron! If we don’t drop them here, we’re dead!” Arana yelled back as the hull of their plane was ripped up with bullets. “Jesus! Either we’re gonna blow up or be torn up by a machine gun!!”

“Can we pick up speed?”

“No! They won’t be able to make the jump if we do!”

Poe cursed as a bullet grazed his windshield, cracking it, and then the glass next to Snap shattered and his co-pilot screamed in pain. “Snap!” he cried, frantic. “Iolo! Snap’s been hit!”

Arana jumped forward. Behind him the glass next to their radio operator exploded. He managed to duck from the shrapnel, but their operator wasn’t as lucky as one lodged into his neck, killing him instantly. All three men sat there for a few seconds in sheer horror as the young man’s blood stained the cockpit floor--and then they remembered where they were as planes around them began to explode, plunging to the dairy fields below in fiery dives.

Reaching over, Poe flipped the switch and turned the jump light from red to green, signaling to the paratroopers to make the jump. He wasn’t sure if they were near the drop zone but at this point, if he wanted to get what remained of his crew home, he was going to have to have the airborne unit jump. 

He wasn't sure how long it took them to make the jump, but once Arana gave him the signal that all the boys had vacated the plane, Poe turned it sharply and pushed the throttle as fast as the C-47 would let him to get them out of range of those German shells.

More glass shattered. Poe heard more metal being ripped apart by bullets and the plane shook underneath them with every shell volley that they somehow narrowly missed. For a few tense minutes, Poe wasn’t sure they were going. to make it out of range--but then suddenly the English Channel was before them and the terror of the German bombardment was behind them. 

His heart was beating so rapidly that Poe believed it was actually beating out of his chest. “Holy shit,” he breathed now that the plane was steady. “How’s Snap?”

“Piece of glass is just above his heart, several gunshot wounds,” Arana replied. “Fuck he’s losing a lot of blood, Dameron.”

“Hang in there, Snap,” Poe encouraged. “We’ll get you back to the docs.”

“Yeah, they’ll patch you up, just like Poe.”

“Everything is going to be fine.”

Snap looked so pale. All he could muster was a slight nod of his head and a groan of pain while Arana applied pressure to as many of the gunshot wounds as he could to stop the blood loss.

Poe wished the plane could go faster. The doctors wouldn’t be able to help his friend once they got back to England if he bled to death before they even arrived. Come on, come on, come on! Each time he looked at Snap he could see that his friend was getting worse and worse. How was it that Poe had survived free falling from the sky into the ocean and Snap might not survive a bullet to his chest?

Once they were in radio range of the base, Poe was able to alert them that they needed medical assistance. When he landed the plane and it taxied to a stop, the medics were quickly on board, taking over for Arana. 

Both of them stood there, silently for the longest time as another medical team took care of the radio operator’s body. Poe felt sick to his stomach knowing he was going to have to write another letter home to a fallen solider’s family. 

Now that they were safe, he realized how close they’d all come to dying on this mission. The cockpit was covered in blood and shattered glass. Shakily, Poe and Arana got off their C-47, and finally saw the damage their plane had taken. It was laced with scorch marks and bullet holes. 

“Fuck,” Arana cursed under his breath. “Nice flying, Dameron.”

“Thanks,” Poe replied. “I think.”

“Do you see our plane?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s like fucking Swiss cheese. Your flying got us back to England.”

“Personally, I think it was luck.”

Arana laughed, nervously. “Luck, divine intervention--call it whatever you want--we made it back from this one.”

Poe rubbed a hand over his face. Yes, they’d made it back. He wouldn’t know how many planes did make it until later. In the distance he could hear the engines of more returning and he sighed. “You should go get some sleep; not sure when we’ll be needed again.”

“What about you, Poe?” Arana questioned.

“Me? I’m going to the hospital to be with Snap,” Poe answered.

“If you go, I’m going too.”

“Iolo...”

“We’re a team, Poe.”

Yes, they were a team, and Poe knew that he wouldn’t be able to talk Arana out of coming to the hospital with him--so the pair of them went together to wait out the night for news on their friend.

-----

Shortly after the first planes took off for Normandy, your unit arrived at the base to be ready to take in wounded for when the fleet of C-47′s returned. It was predicted that they were going to be met with heavy fire from the Germans and while the planes might not sustain enough damage to go down--that didn’t mean their crews would come back unscathed.

Already your fatigues were stained with blood once the first wave of wounded arrived. Pilots and their crews lined the rows of cots in the medical tents; it took all of your will power to push thoughts of Poe from your mind while you worked on treating the men.

You knew that just because you didn’t see him amongst the wounded, it didn’t mean he had survived the flight to Normandy. There was still the chance that his plane had ended up in. the fields or at the bottom of the English Channel.

At 6:30 that morning word came that the Allies had landed on the beach. There was a somber mood in the hospital then. Everyone knew that the losses were going to be heavy. 

“Lieutenant, you’ve been working all night. Head back. Get some sleep.”

You glanced up at the doctor your unit was now working for. He was a lot nicer than Hux and you were glad that Hux had been shipped off to somewhere else with the British Army. “Are you sure, Doctor Skywalker?”

He smiled, kindly at you. “Yes. I admire your worth ethic, Y/N, but you are not going to do these boys any good if you are exhausted. Report back this afternoon, alright?”

Nodding, you removed your white--or what used to be white--surgical scrubs, tossing them into a basket of other discarded scrubs. The sun was bright when you stepped out of the medical tent and the air smelled like rain. If it weren't it weren’t for the fact that the Allies were fighting for the very freedom of the the world right now, you might have loved the warm sunshine and lingering scent of rain.

Before you went back to your barrack to get some sleep, you decided to grab a shower--albeit very cold shower--but at least you’d be clean. But you didn’t make it to the shower...

...you saw him instead, sleeping against some crates just outside the hospital.

“Poe...”

He didn’t hear you; your voice was barely a whisper, but when you dropped to your knees next to him and grabbed his face between your hands he felt you and opened his eyes. Immediately, Poe sat up, drawing you into his arms and holding onto you tightly.

You sobbed into his shoulder and clung to him. He was alive. He was alright. For now, Poe was here and he was holding you; you were going to thank God for this moment. 

Poe’s lips brushed against your hair before he pulled back to wipe the tears from your cheeks. He crashed his lips against yours and kissed you, heavily. Last night he wasn’t sure he was ever going to get to do that again--hell, he wasn’t even sure he was going to see England again last night.

“Why are you sleeping out here?” you asked when he pulled away from you.

“They wouldn’t let me in the hospital,” Poe answered.

Searching his eyes, you could tell that his flight last night had been hell. “Poe? What happened?”

Poe squeezed his eyes shut. “We got the paratroopers to Normandy. My plane is a wreck--lost my radio guy--Snap took shrapnel and a few bullets... the doctors took him to surgery but they wouldn’t let me in. So, I camped out here.” 

Your fingers wandered to his hair, brushing it back from his forehead and still marveling that he was here with you. “Alone?”

“Nope,” another male voice said. “He had me.”

Startled, you watched as another man sat up just behind Poe and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He smiled at you when he saw you. “Oh, so you’re the girl taped to the panels. Hi! Lieutenant Arana--I’m Captain Dameron’s navigator.”

Returning the smile, you remembered that name from Poe’s letter. He had been the one that was teasing Poe, the one that Poe had threatened to tell lies about to you in order to keep you from setting him up with one of your friends. “Hi, I’m Lieutenant Y/L/N.” 

Poe brushed your hair, looking at you seriously. “Sweetheart, you look exhausted. Tell me you where on your way to sleep when you saw me?”

“I was.”

“Come on, I’ll walk you back to your barrack.”

“What about Snap?”

“Arana will come find me if he gets news.”

You glanced at the other man and he shrugged his shoulders, muttering, “It’s not like I’m going anywhere right now.”

Poe got up and held his hand out to you to help you to your feet. Once you were standing, the two of you began to walk back towards the barracks. “I’m gonna have to fly back there,” he told you. “Bombing missions; it could take us days to secure those beaches..”

Looking at your feet while you walked, you nodded. “I know. Until they're secure, we’re staying here.”

His lips brushed against your temple. “Good. It’s safer here.”

Taking a deep breath, you stated, “You don’t want me going there.”

“Fuck, no,” Poe cursed. “Our forces will be at risk for attack.”

“We’re at risk here.”

“Not as great, darling.”

It was hard to argue with that; you couldn’t argue with that. As you approached the nurses barracks you heard footsteps running behind you and Arana screaming for Poe.

Poe turned to see his friend and immediately he felt his heart sink. “What is it?”

Arana swallowed. “It’s Snap.”

[tsarisfanfiction]

Wax and Feathers

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rated: Gen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Scott, Gordon, Virgil, John, Tracy family

Sometimes limits need to be broken. But a limit is there for a reason, and breaking them has consequences. Episode tag for 3.20 "Icarus"

It was fact that everything had a limit. No matter who, or what, there came a point when they just couldn't push any further. This was even true for International Rescue.

Scott liked to pretend it wasn't. Acknowledging limits felt like giving up, but when Thunderbird Two went underwater, or into space, and barely survived the experiences, or Five's immensely strong structure cracked under too much gravity, those limits almost took the lives of his brothers. So, as much as he hated them, he couldn't quite ignore the fact that limits existed.

Thunderbird One was the fastest aircraft in existence. The idea that speed could ever be an issue for her was ludicrous. Her full capability was rarely exercised, unnecessary in all but the direst conditions and, as John was fond of saying, everything Brains designed had a huge safety margin. Even her limit wasn't really her limit; Scott had never tried to push her more out of respect for his father's impressive record than anything else. He didn't want to know if he could beat it. Not without his Dad watching, anyway.

Something was wrong. Experienced pilot, more or less one with his Thunderbird from so many flight hours together, Scott knew the moment he engaged the VTOL to leave the air show and head for home that Thunderbird One wasn't going to make it back without considerable skill and a healthy dose of luck. The noise of her engines was just off kilter to usual, a change that he could feel more than hear it was so subtle.

Subtle, but there. The controls weren't one with him. For the first time in a long time, Scott actually had to dedicate conscious thought to them, counting carefully the beats before the next shift to account for the airspeed. Ever his Thunderbird, One worked as closely with him as she could, responding to his touches, but it was impossible to fall into her usual rhythm.

"Scott?"

He ignored the hologram of his brother appearing in his line of vision, focusing on the readouts flickering up instead and not even daring to spare the time to swipe the floating image away.

"Scott!"

Mach 1.3 seemed to be the sweet spot, Thunderbird One purring along almost as though nothing was wrong, but it was tough to keep her at exactly that speed without autopilot – and with something seriously wrong somewhere in her engines, Scott refused to trust autopilot.

"Thunderbird One, respond!"

John barked in that tone that meant answer me or I'll take control of your Thunderbird. Anyone else taking control of One right now would be disaster. Scott responded.

"What?"

Short, curt. Uncharacteristically so, even for him at his most stressed.

"Thunderbird One's flight pattern is erratic. Are you okay?" His brother sounded worried. Scott didn't have the concentration to spare on reassuring him.

"Fine."

"You don't sound fine."

Scott ignored him as Thunderbird One shuddered. Whatever was wrong in her engine wasn't fixing itself, and instead seemed to be worsening steadily. He was still several hundred miles from base.

Gritting his teeth, he slowed to sub-sonic flight. At least now if she crashed, he had a chance of walking away from it.

"Scott what's going on?" Virgil's hologram appeared beside John's. Gordon quickly flickered into life to complete the trio of concerned looks. "Why have you dropped speed? Did something happen?"

"We're ahead of you, slow poke," Gordon chimed in. "Feel like doing the dishes for once?"

"Gordon!" Virgil snapped. "Scott, speed up or I'm turning around."

He opened his mouth to protest, instinct rebelling at the notion of his brothers coming back to help him, before common sense prevailed. Thunderbird One was deteriorating too quickly. Either he landed her now, while he was over land, or he would get an unwelcome swim somewhere in the Pacific Ocean.

Thunderbird One had hit her limit. She wouldn't make it back.

"John," he said. "Somewhere remote I can land. Now."

"Scott?" Virgil asked, but John's F.A.B cut across him. Scott gritted his teeth as Thunderbird One juddered again, more fiercely this time. Alarms began to wail, belatedly telling him something was wrong with his 'bird.

"Scott, what's going on?" Virgil demanded.

John was still silent, hopefully calculating somewhere he could land with minimal damage and audience.

"I don't know," he lied. "Some sort of engine trouble."

He knew exactly what had happened. Thunderbird One's operating limit was Mach 19. Her top speed was Mach 20. In pursuing Icarus, he'd pushed her past Mach 21.

His brothers thought he'd stuck to Mach 19, closed in using Kayo's flight path, and not sped up past that until he'd hooked Icarus, at which point he was being effectively towed so the only strain was on the tow cable.

At their comparative speeds, the sudden strain from a craft going Mach 19 latching onto a craft reaching Mach 22 would have torn both ships apart. A difference of Mach 3 was no small feat. In order to keep both intact – and consequently both pilots alive – Thunderbird One had had to attempt to match speed. It hadn't gone perfectly, still enough of a difference that the ships had threatened to tear apart, but he'd caught her and slowed Icarus down at least for a while.

"Sending co-ordinates now," John told him, and Scott glanced up at the new destination as they flashed up, making the adjustments to his course. Dimly, he could hear the lower roar of Two's engines over the sound of One's struggling and despite himself relaxed slightly. The sound of a Thunderbird really was the sweetest thing to hear when in trouble.

It was not his best landing, not by a long shot. He tried to set her down gently, feather-light as usual, but the various small shifts in the engine power required to land a supersonic jet proved to be the final straw for his poor, damaged 'bird. With a concerning snap from somewhere behind him, the engines cut out entirely just before the landing struts engaged and she ploughed, nose-first, into the dirt.

"Scott!" a chorus of brothers' voices sounded, and he groaned, straightening up and bringing a hand to his head. No whiplash, hopefully no concussion either he self-diagnosed as he pushed the restraints up and rolled his shoulders. There was sure to be some bruising from that, but nothing worse.

"Thunderbird One, respond!" John snapped as One shuddered in the familiar way that meant her sister was landing right next to her.

"Scott!" Gordon's voice sounded through the comms in stereo with a faint noise from outside One.

"I'm okay," he told them both, fumbling for the emergency override and opening the cockpit. Gordon leapt in before he could get out, pushing him back into his seat.

"We're gonna be the judges of that," his younger brother told him. "Seriously, what the hell happened?" Scott suffered through the brief medical exam, lengthened by the arrival of Virgil who promptly took over from Gordon and did it all again. It spoke volumes of how worried they were that Gordon didn't protest that he'd done it already.

"She couldn't quite hold long enough," Scott admitted. "Something in her engine's broken." He tried to stand, itching to go and see the damage for himself, but his brothers stopped him.

"I'll check the damage," Virgil said, stepping back. "You and that concussion of yours are staying right there until I get back."

"What concussion?" Scott demanded, then flinched as Gordon's gloved hand brushed against the back of his head.

"That one," his blond brother told him. "Why didn't you put your helmet on?"

"Wasn't time," he defended himself. Gordon raised an eyebrow.

"If I could get mine on with a volcano landing on top of me, you could have got yours on when you knew there was a problem." Scott flinched, mind flickering back to the nightmarish sight of the crumpled Thunderbird Four and her limp aquanaut as Penelope pulled him out of the wreckage.

There went any chance of sleep tonight.

He was saved from having to reply by Virgil's reappearance. The dark-haired Tracy looked grim.

"She's not flying anywhere," he declared bluntly. "Her main engine core's completely burnt out. Two'll have to carry her back." Scott had feared as such.

"But Two's already got a full load," Gordon pointed out. "She can't carry One and Four at the same time."

"I'll just have to drop Four off then come back," Virgil sighed. "Gordon, wait here with Scott. Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. I won't be long."

"F.A.B."

Scott bristled at the implication he might try and get her airborne again. He wanted her home in one piece, and he knew the only way that would happen was by the grace of Virgil and Two now.

The behemoth in question lifted away from the ground slowly, only to engage her thrusters to full as soon as she was fully in the air and disappear off in the blink of an eye. It was easy to forget that although she was sluggish compared to One, Two was still an incredibly fast craft. And Virgil wasn't hanging around.

He went to stand up again, and growled at Gordon as his younger brother put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"You've got a concussion, Scott," the aquanaut reminded him.

"So you've said," he retorted. "But concussion or not, I'm getting out of this chair and seeing the damage for myself so get out of the way."

Gordon did not get out of the way. But he did, after a moment, remove the hand from his shoulder and offer it instead. Scott tried to deny that he appreciated the help as the interior of his beloved ship swam slightly before his eyes.

"You'll be riding back in Two anyway," the blond menace shrugged. Scott ignored him as he stumbled his way down through the fuselage to the main engine. The internal access panel was still open from Virgil's investigation, and immediately he could see why Virgil hadn't been gone long.

Burnt out was a rather understated way to describe the charred lump of metal that had once housed the engine core, and his engineer brother hadn't even bothered to mention the relay. It was sheered clean in half – clearly the snap he'd heard as his 'bird had fallen the last few metres from the sky. No doubt her other engines were in a similar condition.

Virgil was right. There was no way Thunderbird One would be able to get back in the air under her own power.

"Brains is going to kill me," he groaned, pressing a hand to his face.

"Join the club, bro," Gordon chimed in, before giving off a low whistle. "Woah, how the hell did that even happen?" Scott shrugged, unwilling to admit that Thunderbird One had gone too fast.

"Scott," John buzzed in from his comms channel. "I just reviewed Thunderbird One's flight telemetry. What were you doing at Mach 21.7?"

"Catching a plane," he said, overriding Gordon's yelp of "Mach what?

"No wonder her engines are fried!" the aquanaut continued. "Thunderbird One's top speed is Mach 19. Nine. Teen."

"Technically that's her operating limit," Scott corrected. "Her top speed is Mach 20."

"Mach twenty one, Scott. Twenty one is higher than twenty. My point still stands."

"Point seven," John corrected Gordon. "He reached Mach twenty one point seven."

"That's even worse!" Gordon cried dramatically, hands in his hair. "What even possessed you to do that?"

"We had to catch the Icarus," Scott reminded him, even though his gut churned as he remembered that despite pushing Thunderbird One into this state, he'd still failed. The success story had been the combination of Two and Three. Wrecking his Thunderbird with nothing to even show for it gnawed at his mind unpleasantly.

He heard Gordon sigh and a hand returned to his shoulder.

"Come on, let's go outside."

He didn't move, staring into the depths of his 'bird and the carnage of her engines. She was going to be grounded for weeks with that much damage while Brains repaired her.

But Brains was working on the T-Drive engine.

He sank down to the floor, one hand blindly reaching out to trace the cool metal of her hull as he did so.

Brains would have to stop working on the T-Drive to repair her. They didn't have time for petty delays yet he'd gone and wrecked his Thunderbird without even a success story to excuse the damage and subsequently put a huge dent in their too tight time frame.

Unless he told Brains to leave her, keep Thunderbird One crippled until the Zero-X was complete and Dad was home. But International Rescue needed her.

The Zero-X or Thunderbird One.

Unbidden, bile built up in his throat, catching him off guard as he retched.

"Geez, Scott." Gordon's voice was softer now, and his hands were gentle even as they hauled him to his feet. "That concussion's not happy with you, is it? Let's get you outside." Drained, too burdened by the realisation that he would have to choose between two equally important craft to have any fight left, Scott let himself be led out of his 'bird's cargo bay door.

Gordon guided him to her nose cone, splattered with dirt and streaks of silver cutting through the red where the impact had damaged it, and coaxed him into sitting on the ground with his back leaning against his downed Thunderbird.

"Stay there," he said before disappearing back inside One. Scott watched him go, looking down the long silver fuselage of the plane to the blue stripe around her engines. From the outside, there was no sign of the wreckage. A slightly scratched nose cone and the lack of her landing gear out were the only signs that she hadn't simply landed there.

"Here." Gordon reappeared seconds after vanishing, holding something that glinted in the sun in his hands. "You're trembling," his younger brother explained as the foil blanket wrapped around him. "Nothing to be done about the concussion, though." He sat down next to him, slinging an arm around Scott's shoulders lightly. "She'll be okay. Brains'll fix her up, better than new."

"Brains is working on the T-Drive engine," Scott reminded him. "He doesn't have time to fix her."

"Then we'll fix her," Gordon said matter-of-factly. "You, me, Virgil, Alan. Well, mainly Virgil. Just like we fixed Two up after her little swimming adventures."

Thunderbird Two's damage had been nowhere near as severe as this.

"It'll be okay, Scott," his brother continued. The arm around his shoulders tightened slightly. "We'll save him."

That was his line, to be recited to younger brothers whenever they needed it. Not for them to recite back to him.

It was comforting to hear.

"Yeah," he said as the roar of Two's engines came into earshot, the green behemoth appearing as quickly as she'd vanished. "We will."

"Budge over," Virgil ordered, their comms crackling back to life in unison and with no ceremony. "I'm going to land on top of her and I don't feel like explaining to Grandma why two of my brothers are fried worse than her cooking."

"I'd pay to see you tell her her cooking is bad to her face," Gordon retorted, but he was already on his feet and pulling Scott up with him. Together they backed up, Scott knowing exactly how far was safe and reluctant to get any further from Thunderbird One than required. Gordon pulled him back a little more.

"You couldn't afford it," Virgil scoffed as he positioned his 'bird over her sister. Without a module, she looked flimsier than usual, even though Scott knew she could lift greater weight without one. "Why is Scott in a foil blanket?"

"You said to make sure he didn't do anything stupid," Gordon chirped, a huge grin on his face. "So I make sure he couldn't."

"Resourceful," Virgil commented approvingly. Scott scowled, even though he knew Gordon was lying – or at least, partially lying. He wouldn't put it past his prankster brother to have had multiple reasons for bringing out the blanket. Two's landing struts deployed to their full extent and Scott watched with rigid shoulders as they came down either side of his 'bird, the rear pair barely missing her extended wings.

Thunderbird Two wasn't strictly designed to land on her fully-extended struts, but Virgil made it look easy as she settled daintily over her sister. The grapples fired down and Gordon ran over to secure them. Contained in foil, Scott could do nothing but watch as his younger brothers secured the two craft together. It looked terrifyingly flimsy, four relatively thin cables trailing down from the walls of Thunderbird Two's module bay the only links, but Scott knew that it would hold. Brains put safety first, and in a gift of forethought and paranoia had installed specific places on Thunderbird One's hull for just such an eventuality. She was far better secured to her sister than any other craft could ever be.

Once all three brothers were satisfied, Scott unable to resist joining Gordon if only to instruct ("I know, Scott!"), Thunderbird Two's platform lowered. Mild concussion or not, Scott refused to be treated as a rescuee and won the argument over whether or not he could grapple up to the platform by himself. That didn't stop Virgil from manhandling him into the nearest seat – usually Alan's, directly behind the pilot – while Gordon slid triumphantly into the co-pilot's seat, which was technically Scott's right as commander, but his brothers were clearly having none of it.

"You sit back and call Tracy Island," Virgil told him when he tried to resist. "Kayo's having kittens about what could have brought One down under her watch and Alan's not much better. Now shut up and let me get your 'bird home in one piece."

Scott scowled, fighting his way out of the foil blanket before tapping his comm unit. Beneath him, Two's powerful VTOLs roared into life, straining for a moment before they began to gain altitude.

"Scott!" Alan's voice burst out of his communicator, the small hologram appearing above his wrist. "Are you okay? What happened? Did you crash? Virgil didn't say much."

"I'm fine, Alan," he cut in, silencing his youngest brother's babble. "One's engines gave out, that's all."

"What happened, Scott Tracy." Kayo flickered into view, pushing Alan aside as she scowled at him, eyes sparking dangerously. "Thunderbird One performed just fine during the air show, and no-one unauthorised got near her at any point."

Scott gritted his teeth for a moment before letting out a sigh. His head throbbed and his shoulders ached – reminders that no matter how lucky he'd been, it had still been a crash landing.

"It's nothing to worry about," he told her, conscious that Virgil was listening in from the seat in front of him. Gordon was tapping his own flight controls, already aware of the cause thanks to John earlier and hopefully on standby to prevent any erratic flying from Virgil. Kayo opened her mouth, clearly about to protest that it was clearly something to worry about if it could take a Thunderbird out of the sky straight after a public event. "Catching the Icarus just put too much strain on the engines."

"Mach 19 should not have strained Thunderbird One's engines like that," Kayo disagreed. Scott winced, and her hologram's eyes narrowed. "Scott?"

"Mach 21.7," Gordon interrupted, and Scott shot him a glare as Thunderbird Two dipped slightly. His brother had firm hold of Two's flight controls, which was fortunate as Virgil whipped around to stare at Scott incredulously.

"Excuse me?" Kayo asked, taken aback. "Thunderbird One's operational limit is Mach 19. Even taking into consideration Brains' safety limits, she can't exceed Mach 20."

Control of the conversation was slipping away – if he'd ever had it – and Scott wanted it back.

"Well she did," he snapped.

"And murdered her own engines in the process," Virgil retorted, regaining flight control from Gordon. "Good job."

"But you're okay, right?" Alan piped up again, shoving Kayo back out of view. Blue eyes, washed out slightly in hologram form, looked up at him in concern, and Scott softened.

"I'm okay, little brother."

Alan's worried look gave way to one of relief, and Scott was content to sit back and let him talk, revisiting his part of the rescue – the successful bit, his brain muttered mutinously – and all the fun he had at the show when they weren't saving Professor Kwark. Virgil kept sending him disapproving looks over his shoulder, which he studiously ignored.

"Tracy Island, this is Thunderbird Two." Virgil cut through Alan's retelling of how he swept up Professor Kwark from the remains of the Icarus for the fifth time. "On final approach now. Alan, Kayo, get ready."

"F.A.B."

Scott's communicator blinked out.

He looked out of the window to see their home looming in the distance, growing by the moment. Two's palm trees were folded back already, a blob of green sitting on the runway. Gordon made a strangled noise of protest.

"Did you just dump Four?" he demanded of Virgil, who raised an eyebrow at him.

"Two can't enter or leave her hanger without a module," he reminded him. "That's where her wheels are."

"Point," Gordon conceded with a shrug.

"Now go get ready to unhook One," Virgil ordered, and with a cheeky salute Gordon headed to the rear of the cockpit. "Scott, you are not leaving that seat until Two is back in her hanger."

"She's my 'bird," Scott retorted, standing up. Gordon pushed him back down and before he knew it the foil blanket had been wrapped back around him and the safety belt fastened over the top of it. "Gordon!"

"Concussions don't go away that fast, bro. Don't worry, I'll take care of your 'bird." Scott groaned and let his head fall back, wincing as the headrest made contact with the source of his headache.

"Good thinking with that blanket," Virgil told Gordon. "We should use it more often."

"You should not," Scott snapped, but went ignored as Virgil turned his attention back to their approach and Gordon got ready to rappel out of the hatch.

Two pods trailed out of Two's hangar, set up as landing gear cradles. Scott watched them vanish underneath Two's bulk and a moment later Virgil opened the hatch for Gordon to disappear out of.

The operation began. Scott listened as his three brothers and Kayo co-ordinated the two pods and Thunderbird Two to get One nestled safely on the landing gear and had to bite his lip to prevent himself cutting in. Unable to even see the holographic display Virgil was referencing clearly, he was stuck waiting, and dwelling.

Scott did not do waiting or dwelling well. Never had done, and now so much was weighing down on him at once, it was even worse. Gordon's words had helped, but they couldn't clear all of the worries away. He'd been useless – worse than useless, now an actual detriment to International Rescue – in trying to save Professor Kwark, and now he was useless in even getting his crippled Thunderbird home.

What was he even doing?

Two's engines increased their thrust, pushing the behemoth back into the sky. Below, the two pods carefully manoeuvred back into the hanger, carrying Thunderbird One.

"Still with us, Scott?" Virgil asked as he brought his 'bird down over module four, finally bringing Gordon's beloved sub into the hangar.

"Yeah," Scott grunted, watching as Thunderbird Two finally came to a halt. "I'm fine."

"No you're not," Virgil corrected him, flicking through post-flight checks rapidly. "Your Thunderbird fell out of the sky and you have a concussion. You're not fine, Scott, and none of us expect you to be."

"I'm fine," he snapped.

Virgil sighed heavily and stood up, smoothly stepping around his chair to stand in front of him.

"Come on, big brother," he huffed, releasing the safety belt. "Let's get you in the house."

They were all waiting for him when the platform lowered, Virgil's arm firmly around his shoulders and keeping the foil blanket in place despite his efforts to dislodge it. Alan barely waited for him to step off of it before tackling him into a hug, while Gordon sauntered over at a more leisurely pace to slip his arm around his shoulders from the opposite side to Virgil. Kayo's arms remained firmly crossed but her eyes were soft, and even John was there, standing next to Brains and looking as though he'd come Earthside in a hurry. Grandma wrapped her arms around as many of them as she could reach.

"What-" he started, wondering what had prompted the sudden family gathering in Two's hangar.

"Don't you scare us like that, young man," Grandma overrode him briskly, squeezing tighter before letting them go. "Now, let's get you upstairs."

"I-I'll get started o-on the repairs," Brains excused himself, and Scott's mouth fell open.

"What?" he demanded. "But the T-Drive-"

"Dad wouldn't want us to prioritise him over International Rescue," John overrode him quietly. "Thunderbird One takes priority. You know this, Scott."

He grit his teeth, wishing he could refute what his brother was saying, but John had the annoying habit of always being right.

"EOS and I will continue calculations for the T-Drive," John continued. "This isn't a setback, Scott."

"It shouldn't have happened at all," Scott spat. "It didn't even help."

"Stop talking nonsense," Grandma scolded, hands on her hips as steely eyes glared up at him. "You might not have saved her by yourself, but that isn't Thunderbird One's role. Thunderbird One brings hope, and you, young man, brought the Professor hope that she would be saved. Don't you forget it."

She reached out and rested a hand on his cheek, breaking into a smile.

"Besides, your father would be delighted that you broke his record."

[cecilspeaks]

162 - “Alpha”

Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Fear makes the heart grow louder. And death makes the heart grow flowers. Welcome to Night Vale.

Amelia Anna Alfaro was always the best at everything. On the day she was born, she was named the healthiest baby at Night Vale General Hospital. The doctors had never seen a healthier baby. “What a healthy baby,” they said from behind a bullet proof two-way mirror, as they operated the robotic arms that carefully held the infant aloft. The doctors high-fived each other, missing slightly. The trick, by the way, is to keep your eye on the other person’s elbow. That or glue high-powered magnets to each person’s hand. And all of the nurses cheered from dozens of feet down the hallway, where they were playing with a standard Tarot deck, common in most neonatal units. This cheering was unrelated to Amelia’s birth. The nurses had drawn the ten of swords, which is everyone’s favorite card. It features a relaxed man receiving acupuncture by a river.

Amelia learned to walk at 4 months, and to talk at 6 months. She read Plato’s “Republic” for the first time at age 4. She taught herself German and began to write sonnets in that language at age 7. At age 10, she won her first engineering competition after designing a concrete canoe that could float even on the most turbulent water. There is no body of water in Night Vale, so she had to prove her work using a software she wrote that generated three-dimensional models to corroborate her advanced mechanical physics formulas. She even won the state spelling bee five years in a row, from ages 9 to 13. Her streak was only broken when the spelling bee was canceled, after the sponsors lost their dictionary.

Amelia was always the best, and her mother knew it. Her mother was proud of her daughter, or rather, her mother was proud of herself for producing such a daughter. Or rather, she was proud of both, in a way that was difficult for them to untangle. Amelia’s mother was named Yvette. Yvette could not afford much for her daughter. She worked long hours to earn the respect of her bosses, which (-) [0:04:32] her promotions and larger paychecks, but Yvette had hit the glass ceiling. She did not want this limitation for her daughter. Her daughter would need to be smarter, more talented, and more driven than she. Yvette wanted Amelia’s value to the world to be so great that no one could deny her success.

Yvette recognized Amelia’s specialness and pushed hard to make her even more special, signing Amelia up for athletics and adult learning classes and piano lessons. Amelia sometimes pushed against this. “Mother, I don’t want to” was met with, “But you will, Amelia.” “Why?” was met with, “Because I said so.” “I hate you for this” was met with, “You will love me for it later.”

Begrudgingly, Amelia fulfilled her mother’s wishes. It wasn’t because she understood her mother’s motivation to secure her child a better life, nor was it because Amelia did not have the stomach to fight back. No, Amelia did it because it all came so easy. She was a black belt, a sharp shooter, an academic decathlon champion. She wrote her first novel at age 12, it was called “A Golden Age for Parachuting”, in which an all-Jewish female parachute team wins Olympic gold in 1936 Berlin in front of Adolf Hitler. In the publisher’s rejection letter, the editor said the novel was “immaculately written, however parachuting stories are out of vogue. Do you have anything about magical baseball players?” Amelia did. It was a novel called “One Last Swing for the Tuesday Boys”, but she had written it in German and did not have time to translate the “Dienstag Jungen” manuscript, because she was currently taking a course on bird husbandry.

Yvette enrolled the teenage Amelia in night classes at the community college, where she took English 113, “Sonnets are for lovers”; structural engineering 212, “Buttress is a funny word”; and meteorology 301, “Clouds y’all, amirite?” She earned all As and scores for college credit before she even graduated high school. None of these challenges were difficult for Amelia. She was the best at everything.

But her life was not perfect. Because of the voices. It was the voices that made life hard for Amelia. From birth, she heard the constant chatter of dozens of people. None of the voices spoke directly to  Amelia, they just talked and talked about their lives, and Amelia was afraid of the voices and what the voices might imply about herself. She found solace in puzzles, crosswords, nonograms, acrostics, cryptics, Sudoku, which I think is the one where you have to catch a bunch of marbles with a lever operated hippopotamus. Her mother hated Amelia’s puzzle vice. If she caught Amelia doing puzzles, Yvette would make Amelia go practice archery or write poetry or at least listen to classical music. Amelia’s favorite was Van Cliburn’s masterful 1961 record of Rachmaninoff’s “Piano Concerto nr 13: Knuckles on the Black Keys”. When she was thinking through the solution of a puzzle, the voices did not speak to her. All was silent. It was her only time of peace. It was the only time her body could rest and curl up comfortably into her own thoughts. Anything that took her away from her logic problems including music, no matter how soothing, invited the voices back into Amelia’s thoughts.

Amelia was accepted to several top colleges across the country, including MIT, Stanford, Rice and The University of What It Is, but she wanted to stay near her home town and her family, so she went to State. Hey, that’s where my brother-in-law went! Go State! [chuckles] Ahem. She was elected the youngest president of the student body ever at age 17, and graduated valedictorian two years later. Her friends, her professors, her mother all knew the world was Amelia’s. She could become poet laureate or a senator or a supreme court justice or a quantum physicist. But she became none of those. This is not to say Amelia was not successful or that she amounted to nothing. It is to say, the semantics of success were her own and no one else’s. Amelia became an air traffic controller. The voices never told Amelia to become an air traffic controller, they were never that specific. The voices did not tell her to do anything, they simply talked about first dates, about  apartment hunting, about their grandmothers’ improved health, about a bad movie they sort of loved. None of the voices talked directly to her, it was simply as though she overheard conversations from lives lived somewhere else. Other people and their quotidian hopes and worries and interests. She tried seeing therapists and psychiatrists. She tried medication to stop the voices, but nothing worked. Eventually she decided they were not harmful voices and that she was not dealing with schizophrenia. She simply heard people talking at all hours about all things, having nothing to do with her. And they never told her to become an air traffic controller. Amelia chose her own career, her own path. Others though the reason was that it was the fist job opportunity to present itself for her. Maybe it was her admiration of aircraft, maybe a moral sense of serving humanity through public safety and comfort. In fact, it was none of these reasons. But it should not be surprising to know that Amelia was very good at air traffic control. She was calm, clear, and efficient. The Night Vale international airport, although when Amelia started it was just a commuter hub, has never had a high volume of plane traffic and almost all of those are departures. There are very few arrivals. My husband Carlos, he’s a scientist and he is also very good at his job, tells me that it’s impossible to have far more departures than arrivals, but I told him, not everything has to make sense all the time.

So, in some ways, air traffic control in Night Vale was easier for Amelia than just about any other class or job or task she’d ever attempted. It appeared from the outside to be far below her capabilities. She held that job for 20 years, even taking over as president of the Night Vale chapter of air traffic controllers’ union. In 2004, she was featured in the cover of “Afformative”, a monthly trade magazine for air traffic controllers. The headline of the article was “You’re cleared for success”. In 2006, she was asked to deliver the keynote speech at the annual Roger Con, a conventional for air traffic controllers and fans of air traffic control. It’s a huge deal, held every year in Orlando. People dress like their favorite airline pilots and wait in long lines for autographs from top flight attendants. There are even panel discussions about everything from the best textiles for seat cushions to secret first class meal offerings. Amelia was the best at what she did. She probably would have been the best poet laureate or senator, but this was the path she chose. She chose this path because of the voices, not from what they said, but what they didn’t say. When Amelia was in the control tower, when she was communicating with captains and co-pilots and navigators, her head was clear. All was silent. It was like those many nights, sneaking a copy of the crossword from the newspaper on the kitchenette and solving it by flashlight under her covers. She became an air traffic controller to be by herself, to become her own person. Her mother was disappointed, but loved her in spite of it. Her professors were let down, but still had many fabulous of their greatest student. Her friends were just happy she was happy.

Things changed on June 15, 2012, when Delta flight 18713 made radio contact. In her tall tower, at her tiny airport, in the middle of a vast desert, in the middle of the American Southwest, an airplane appeared on Amelia’s radar. It was carrying 143 passengers and 6 crew members and was flying from Detroit to Albany over the great lakes of the American Northeast. It appeared briefly, the green dot blinking in and out of existence like the sun glinting off a water ripple. It was almost unnoticeable. But everyone noticed it. Later, Amelia was the only one who admitted to noticing it. The radio transmission was equally brief, a surge of static and only one word, difficult to discern but she heard it. “Alpha” was the single word. The letter A in the Nato alphabet. It was garbled, so maybe it wasn’t that word, maybe it was some more adult variation of “Oh fudge”. Alpha. Oh fudge. It was unclear. Amelia requested identification of the aircraft. She requested further communication, but nothing came. As soon as it had squawked, it had gone silent. But while the radio communication was silent, the voices were not. On June 15, 2012, upon hearing a word that sounded like “alpha”, these myriad conversations returned. No one else in the tower could hear them, but Amelia Anna Alfaro could. And for the first time in her life, she began to speak back to them. Everyone else in the tower could hear that. The voices did not cease. The voices continued for days and days and Amelia tried to talk back with them. As one voice said: “I have an interview on Monday,” Amelia would ask “for what job” or if a voice said, “We went to Palm Springs on vacation,” Amelia would say, “Did you also travel out to the Salton Sea?” But over and over, no response. The voices did not affect the quality of Amelia’s work, but it did affect the perceived quality of her work, and her colleagues became uncomfortable with and distrusting of Amelia.

A month later, Amelia heard that word again from one of the voices. “Alpha”. The same voice that radioed in June. But upon hearing it again, she realizes that they didn’t say “alpha” at all. What they said, coming up.

But first The weather.

[“Skinchanger” by Skeptic skepticdeath.bandcamp.com]

The voices said “Alfaro”. The word had been truncated just as the airplane’s appearance in Night Vale had been truncated. The voice saying the word was the captain of the aircraft, and he had been trying to tell Amelia something. The pilot was trying to tell Amelia that he knew her, had always known her since her birth. He didn’t know how he knew her, just that he did, and he wanted to tell her he had found her. And she should find him. “Where are you,” Amelia asked the captain. “No Where,” the voice said. “Did you land?” Amelia asked. “Yes,” the voice said. “Were there injuries?” Amelia asked. “Minor,” the voice said. “Do you hear the other voices too?” Amelia asked. “Yes,” the captain said. “I’m with them right now. Find us, Amelia.” “Where are you?” Amelia asked again, louder, more scared than before. “No Where,” the voice said, not like the vague concept of in no place but No Where, two words capitalized like the name of a specific place. Amelia felt a tap on her shoulder. It was another air traffic controller. “Uh, boss wants to see you, Amelia,” they said. But Amelia did not go to see the boss. She knew. She knew her time in the tower was done. She grabbed her belongings and walked to the elevator, out across the tarmac to a shuttle to a parking lot and into her car, and no one saw her again. Her friends said she always talked about going back to school to get an advanced degree. Maybe she went to Stanford. Or Rice, or The University of What It Is. Other friends said she had lost all touch with reality, talking to people who were not there, and maybe her mother checked Amelia into the Night Vale asylum.

Yvette says Amelia knew too much, that agents from a vague yet menacing government agency had been to their house and that Amelia must have been taken to a secret location. Representatives from the National Safety and Transportation Bureau in Washington, DC, came to Night Vale two months ago to investigate the disappearance of flight 18713. They are on an undercover mission inside the Night Vale asylum right now, on a tip from Sheriff Sam, to discover more clues into this mystery. Perhaps Amelia is in there too. But I don’t think so. I think she went to find the plane. I think the voices were the passengers on Delta 18713. I think she set out looking for them. Perhaps wandering the desert, the great No Where, to find the people who had been a part of her life since birth.

Amelia. Anna. Alfaro. was always the best at everything. And if anyone will find the plane, she will.

Stay tuned next for our new investment advice show “Billionaire Roulette”.

And as always, Good night, Night Vale, Good night.

Today’s proverb: Love means never having to say “you’re a werewolf”.

[caltropspress]

Notes on Pink Siifu’s NEGRO

You and anybody else who wants to get their random vicarious kicks off White Power can stay the fuck away from me. 

—Lester Bangs

Tell a nazi he can suck my dick. —Pink Siifu, from “SMD”

My first contact with white america was marked by her violence, for when a white doctor pulled me from between my mother’s legs and slapped my wet ass, I, as every other negro in america, reacted to this man-inflicted pain with a cry. A cry that america has never allowed to cease; a cry that gets louder and more intense with age….A cry? Or was it a scream? —H. Rap Brown (Jamil Abdullah Al-Amin), from Die Nigger Die!

it is the hour of conflict, antagonism, struggle the world turning autumn in warpaint everything silently prepares to scream —Amiri Baraka, from “Disorder”

1.  

White institutional power operates to negate or suppress. To that end, white institutional power bestows awards on singular figures when it’s convenient. Let’s call one such example Kendrick Lamar. Pulitzer Prizing DAMN. is white institutional power taking cover. This, in no way, defangs DAMN. But it does provide crowd control. Pink Siifu, meanwhile, won’t be awarded a Pulitzer for NEGRO. If he did, I’m confident he’d pull an Adrienne Rich, telling President Clinton to choke on his National Medal for the Arts, seeing as how the U.S. gov’t drives “the demonization of our young Black men.” Siifu would be PE boycotting the Grammys on the grounds of Black invisibility. Or John Lennon relinquishing his membership in the Most Excellent Order of the British Empire because, well, empire (see: Biafra).

2.

NEGRO is what happens when Three 6 Mafia goes full bandolier, full decolonization, full Thomas Sankara. When the emphasis is on the 666 sirening[1] across white cop foreheads, reflecting off Makrolon face shields. Siifu cites and channels Sun Ra, June Tyson, Death, and Bad Brains, but you also hear the mass hysteria of Abbey Lincoln’s vocal cords trembling, of Max Roach’s We Insist! in a street brawl showdown with the LRAD. Basically, it’s Ornette blowing sax in a riot, harmolodics like incendiary devices.

3.

“FK” is the primal scream reaction of hearing the news another one of your people has been killed, snuffed out. Suffer through our screams, it says to the listener. And “out of body, out of mind” distorts what we see with what we witness. It’s the re-played, re-tweeted, re-shared visuals of Black death.

4.

At moments, NEGRO sounds like Aaron Dilloway organizing a chapter of the White Panther Party.

5.

Siifu’s lyrics are a Stokely speech draft. His artistry is prismatic, shattered pane glass: crust punk, jazz cat, marching band drummer, hood ballerina, noisemaker, bareknuckle emcee. His lyrics should be run off on the mimeo and saddle-stitched into a chapbook for Totem Press to publish.

6.

“SMD” samples from Ivan Dixon's 1973 film The Spook Who Sat by the Door (“Do you hear me, man?...I am BLACK!”). Just like dead prez sampled the dialogue before Siifu on “We Want Freedom.” Siifu and dead prez are bedfellows, for sure, but Siifu's head rests on a pillow of static. It’s the friction that electrifies.

7.

NEGRO is the art of de-arresting in audio form. As the comrades at Mask Magazine have stated, de-arrests “are beautiful,” reminding us “the law and the state are not supernatural forces.”[2]

8.

I’ve always felt uncomfortable using the word freedom. It’s a word that’s been co-opted and gutted to the point of parody. I subscribe only to a different form of freedom, one articulated in noise. Suicidal Tendencies’ “Freedumb” cuts it: “Peace through politics is a fallacy—that doesn’t exist.” Liberation more seriously expresses the extinction agenda. Poor Righteous Teachers taught the curriculum out of Trenton, on “Freedom of Death”: “Consciousness—it’s a must / Just avoid the wicked, wicked ways of this pale Caucasoid.”

Regardless, we see freedom, liberation, knife through even with Siifu’s orthography. Revolutionary thought requires revolutionary language. Ask the Combahee River Collective. Come correct. Fuck autocorrect. Remember womyn. Siifu spellings like: nxggas, eye, tyme, iono, and the evergreen ameriKKKa. The abbreviated words—eliding letters wherever possible—don’t reflect self-censorship so much as the mindmaze of a harried man. Deliberate typos demonstrate no faith in the system. It’s like if Bon Iver (see: “22 (OVER S∞∞N)”) decided to forgo BLM symbolic gestures (Mahalia Jackson) and straight-up encouraged looting. Siifu is CAPS LOCK happy, too. We’re witnessing the joy of militancy.

9.

To begin with, it must be said that former African slaves and their ancestors have been the avant-garde of everything in this country. There’s no culture in America, in this American wasteland, without us. There’s no classical music; there’s jazz, and that was invented by us. And besides that, America has nothing to offer the world and it never has. —Idris Robinson, from “How It Might Should Be Done”

Siifu in the audience of the Congress of Afrikan Peoples, and Baraka imploring him like, “Get up, Pink Siifu.” It’s nation time. But on “Nation Tyme.,” Siifu groans, I’m tired…can’t fall…asleep. Black rage, of course—but what of Black insomnia? The French revolutionaries abolished the calendar. CPT, so, is rightly weaponized. “I feel fettered by Western time,” Gregory Pardlo writes in “Colored People’s Time.” Punch clocks need punching, smashing. I saw Baraka roll up to a conference panel late as fuck once, cane-walking right down the center aisle, shameless, commandingly.

In a somnolent slur, Siifu says, “They treat me like I’m wasting away / I know I’m worth more than they pay.” What of these capitalist definitions of work? What of productivity? What does it mean to monetize every waking moment? He’s been quoted as saying, “I ain’t have to work for no white man.”[3] “Nation Tyme.” picks up there.

10.  Feel like deadmeat. They say I’m deadmeat.

“DEADMEAT” is a pig siren stuffed into an industrial-grade slaughterhouse grinder. It sounds the way Alan Vega's sculptures look—hazardous masses of electronic junk, like wires raveled inside a homemade bomb, like buzzing viscera. 

I want to see Siifu perform it at the Meat Locker, a cellar club in the underguts of Montclair, New Jersey (s/o the dramacydal Outlawz). The place is dingy and bedecked with feces—a venue befitting a GG Allin opener. GG Allin, a racist, who also hated cops. Who, on “Shove That Warrant Up Your Ass,” a track that appeared on the posthumous Brutality & Bloodshed For All album, sang, “You say I broke the laws in your state… / Your courts and cops should all be hung.” Allin hoists a headless, legless, armless torso on his hip in the cover photograph—a slab of meat. Like the Beatles with baby doll parts and prime cuts in their laps, bloodless butcher coats on the original Yesterday and Today (1966) artwork. Like the papal kill floor in Francis Bacon’s “Figure with Meat” (1954) with its tapestry of offal. But what you don’t get from Bacon, or the Beatles, or GG Allin is what Siifu needs us to hear. What Siifu tells us is the reality of corporeality is that cops continue to make carcasses of Black people.

11.

That cellar club can be scream therapy, can be cell therapy. Siifu brings us there—to the darkest, dampest corner of the Dungeon Family’s dungeon. Big Gipp, speaking self-defensively: “Try to separate me from the blood / Is disrespect like you coming in my home and not wiping your feet on the rug.” It’s echoed in Siifu addressing the question of his audience: “This [album] is for black people, but I know white people are going to fuck with it. I’m mad cool with that. I just want everyone to know, before they come through the door, that this is a black house and you have to respect my people.”[4] The theme of respect as it relates to a sense of home, to cultural tourism, is paramount in both. Everyone’s got to know their place. No listener should approach ignorant of the auction block. Siifu’s noise refuses the separation of kinsfolk and his stubbornness makes the dungeon shake—he is rightfully “tough, dark, vulnerable, moody,” and, on NEGRO, he has a “definite tendency to sound truculent.”[5]

12.  

“ON FIRE, PRAY!” eventually grinds the brakes to a cavernous slowjam pace. “Blood on my body / Blood on my face.”

13.

The racist dog policemen must withdraw immediately from our communities, cease their wanton murder and brutality and torture of black people, or face the wrath of the armed people. —caption on Huey Newton photograph

NEGRO’s album cover, painted by Junkyard, is a call-and-response. Pink Siifu is a portrait of exhaustion, slouched, shirtless like Huey was when he was released from the Alameda County courthouse in 1970. It’s a tableau like Huey in that rattan peacock chair was. Eldridge Cleaver orchestrated it, right down to the zebra rug.

If you squint, the glimmer of Siifu’s gold fronts looks like his jaw is wired shut. Of course, violent threats are routinely directed at Black people—that's how the system operates. Media is often behind the scope. Relentless orders to “shut up,” to silence yourself, police yourself. We know this from David Wojnarowicz, photographed with his lips sewn shut, blood dripping like shadows, in “(Silence = Death)” from 1989. The violent threats on queer life are kin to those on Black life. But Siifu, like Wojnarowicz, refuses the censorship. After all, those aren't wires—they're the glint of his grill. Siifu is dribbling blood, too, and those black splatters across the flag are like pen bursts—ink poisoning for all. If you squint, the mind’s eye might see the Pan-African flag.

The flag above his head recalls Jasper Johns’ flags: elliptical, non-patriotic, made slop-bucket sloppy from newspaper shreddings and other detritus, i.e. amerikkka is a trash heap. At least the stars are black in the “Flag (Moratorium)” rendition. Bullet hole dead center, too.

If all goes well, the riots going on—bless them—will go on interminably. Sly Stone’s customized flag with black in place of blue[6] and sharp solar-flared suns in place of Betsy Ross geometric stars is yet another parallel to Siifu’s flag. Like Sly, Siifu isn’t opposed to police ambushes. They both know you’ve got to grin at the gun of the devil. (“Don’t you mind people grinnin’ in your face,” Son House sings eternally.) Citizen takes on cop on “Thank You For Talkin’ To Me, Africa”: Bullets start chasin’, / I begin to stop. / We begin to tussle. / I was on the top. Just the same as Siifu on “SMD”: “Iono why eye ain’t shot ya.” Or on “run pig run.”: “Kill a cop / Left a pig dead.”

14.

We can't disparage any aggressive protest on the reductive grounds it's aggro or violent. I think of Pam Echols in Milwaukee in 1968. Siifu’s assertion of you are my enemy on “steal from the ENEMY” corresponds with Paris’s sophomore and shadowy album, Sleeping with the Enemy. Like on the corrode-ode “Coffee, Donuts, and Death”:

You get poached when you fuck with black folk. Said it ’til my voice was hoarse. I ain’t down with excessive force, But of course I wasn’t heard so I’m silent now. Black folk can’t be non-violent now. […] The only motherfucking pig that I eat is police.

Which is to say, try no pork, ameriKKKa.

15.  RE: punk

Think of Bad Brains playing CBGB’s in 1982. Lester Bangs writes of a woman in the scene who referred to Black people as “all these boons.” He tells us a Black friend of his believes the clubgoers “[strive] to be offensive however they can.” Anti-Blackness plagued CBGB’s and nascent punk like vermin, a pestilence. A white woman in the music business claims she “liked [Black people] so much better when they were just Negroes.” These anecdotes are culled from Bangs’ 1979 Village Voice piece entitled “The White Noise Supremacists.” He notes Ron Asheton’s predilection for “swastikas, Iron Crosses, and jackboots.” He cites Ivan Julian, guitarist for Richard Hell and the Voidoids—one of the few Black individuals to grace those inchoate punk stages—as saying “whenever he hears the word ‘n-----’…he wants to kill.” He calls Nico a “dumb kraut cunt” for her brazen, Third Reich-ish brand of racism, which was no industry secret. Bangs even implicates himself, quoting an earlier article: “…it’s the n-----s who control and direct everything just as it always has been and properly should be.” He meant this, somehow, as a compliment.

16.

On “we need mo color. Abundance,” there’s no innocence left in asking “tell me your favorite color.” Siifu answers rhetorically, parenthetically, melanin. Don't settle for forty acres of color—demand abundance. Take, loot in abundance. And don't be contained by the gendered parameters of “pink or blue.” “You can have any color you like” suggests the limitless possibilities if you move your mind beyond the imposed parameters.

The “favorite color” invoked on “we need mo color. Abundance” becomes abundantly clear on the following track, “BLACK!”

17.

“ameriKKKa, try no pork” starts in a slurry of radio static, news reports of Black death. Black, Black, Black, Black. Sped up. Slowed down. Drag the progress bar. “Progress,” ha.

18.

“run pig run.” See the pig / Run away / Run, pig, run. Like a Dick and Jane basal reader. Like picking your favorite color. Like a Three Little Pigs fable. Like huffing and puffing. These are childhood exploits for childhoods that aren’t allowed to be. As long as the Kenneth and Mamie Clark doll experiments keep providing the proof, there can be no childhood innocence. So it's a carnival game in the meantime: See a pig / Shoot a pig. Huffing and puffing: Run, pig, run.

19.

"myheartHURT" is the safehouse after the shooting. It's the cooldown, the chillout. The hypnagogic nightmare. It's vaporwave minus whiteness. We all know Biz had the vapors before Daniel Lopatin. As if DJ Screw was just an apparition, a codeine cloud. The fact remains, Screw's phantasmagoria hovers above all our heads.

20.

The wail of distorted police sirens introduces “Chris Dorner.,” a track gleefully indebted to Ice-T and Body Count’s “Cop Killer.” Repetition was a popular device and it still is: die, pig, die. Chris Dorner has achieved folk-hero status in anarchist circles and beyond since he waged asymmetrical warfare on the LAPD. His manifesto has been published as a zine.[7] “No one grows up and wants to be a cop killer,” he wrote. Begs the question.

21.

“faceless wings,BLACK!” nods to Frank Castle[8], a figure who may or may not be recoverable from militias and thin blue liners, despite Gerry Conway’s best efforts.

22.

White institutional power operates to negate or suppress. Pink Siifu, through NEGRO, refuses suppression and negation. Siifu delivers a hole in the head, and it’s sublime.

Footnotes:

1  “The Law comes sirening across the town.” Gwendolyn Brooks, “THE THIRD SERMON OF THE WARPLAND” from RIOT

2  “De-Arrests are Beautiful.” Mask Magazine.

3  “The Necessity of Pink Siifu’s Rage.” Marcus J. Moore. The Fader.

4  “Pink Siifu’s ‘NEGRO’ is a Riotous Mix of Jazz, Rap and Punk.” Max Bell. Bandcamp Daily.

5  Baldwin, the god.

6  “What did I do to be so black and blue?” (see: Armstrong); light a reefer and listen to the phonograph (see: Ellison)

7  Research and Destroy New York City. https://researchdestroy.com/

8  https://archive.org/details/PunisherPigs

Images:

Emory Douglas work (detail), courtesy of Sean Stewart archives | Makrolon face shield, Google Image Search result | Amiri Baraka performing at the Congress of Afrikan Peoples (screenshot) | Alan Vega light sculpture (photograph) | GG Allin Brutality & Bloodshed for All album cover | The Beatles Yesterday & Today album cover | Francis Bacon, “Figure with Meat” (detail) | Goodie Mob “Cell Therapy” (screenshot) | Splitting up a family at auction, Public Domain | Huey Newton Black Panthers Minister of Defense, photographed by Blair Stapp, 1968 | Andreas Sterzing, David Wojnarowicz (Silence = Death), 1989 | Sly and the Family Stone There’s A Riot Goin’ On album cover | Jasper Johns, “Flag (Moratorium)” | Pam Echols punching cop, 1968 (photographer unknown) | Sid Vicious, nazi (photographer unknown) | Emory Douglas work (detail), courtesy of Sean Stewart archives | Biz Markie Goin’ Off album cover | Oneohtrix Point Never Memory Vague album cover 

[entering-mymind]

Chapter 7 - The Reckoning

This is the seventh episode of the series where I have inserted my OC character (Mando’s daughter) into the Disneyplus television show. With her addition I believe this helps the viewers understand the choices Mando makes in the series. Would love to hear feedback! I do not own these characters and the story and dialogue goes to the respected credit of the screenwriters and creators of the show.

The Razor Crest flew through vacant space with no destination in mind. Mando piloted the ship maintaining at the wheel while pressing specific levers and controls in order to keep the ship at its finest. Mando was accompanied in the cockpit by his daughter, who sat in her usual co-pilot seat behind him, as the child’s pod was positioned in the seat opposite of her. The two Mandalorians were busy obtaining to the ship while the child slept soundly.

“Papi, a transmission was just received,” young Mando stated.

“Send it through,” Mando declared when she tapped a few buttons and a hologram of Greef Karga appeared.

“My friend, if you are receiving this transmission that means you both are alive. You might be surprised to hear this, but I am alive too. I guess we can call it even.”

“Did I miss something, did you shoot Karga?” young Mando asked but the transmission continued.

“A lot has happened since we last saw each other. The man who hired you is still here and his ranks of ex-Imperial guards have grown. They have imposed despotic rule over my city which has impeded the livelihood of the Guild. We consider him an enemy, but we cannot get close enough to take him out. If you would consider one last commission, I will very much make it worth your while.”

“You have been successful so far in staving off their hunters, but they will not stop until they have their prize. So, here is my proposition. Return to Nevarro. Bring the child as bait. I will arrange an exchange and provide loyal Guild members as protection. Once we get near the client, you kill him, and we both get what we want. If you succeed, you keep the child and I will have both you and your daughter’s name cleared with the Guild, for a man of honor should not be forced to live in exile. I await your arrival with optimism,” Karga ended his message as the two sat silent.

“You know it’s a trap,” young Mando blurted out.

“Yup,” was all Mando replied while entering specific navigational coordinates into the Crest.

“And we’re just going to walk right into it?”

“Yup.”

“Really?” this didn’t seem like her father and could tell he was formulating a plan, “Okay, bring it on,” young Mando began pumping herself up when she saw the location they were headed.

“But first we need a team of our own,” Mando clarified making the Crest adjust its position when it jumped to lightspeed.

                                                      *   *    *

The local tavern on Sorgan was wildly loud, a large group of spectators circled Cara Dune and her opponent – a Dathomirian – who were vigorously battling each other in a brawl. Both of them were connected to each another by an electric cord at the waist, making sure neither could escape the other until one was defeated.

Both opponents held up to each other’s kick and punches but once Cara received the upper hand she seized it. Cara pulled the Dathomirian to the ground and then put him in a headlock, once he was losing conscious she flipped on top of him and pulled him to his knees wrapping the electric wire – that conjoined them – around his neck.

Seeing no way out, the Dathomirian tapped out declaring Cara the winner, “Pay up, mudscuffers,” Cara pointed to specific spectators as they approached with her winnings, “Come on. That’s mine, thank you.”

Once everyone paid and cleared out Cara recognized the two individuals who lingered behind; Mando and his daughter.

“Looking for some work?” Mando asked while young Mando gave Cara a sly thumbs up, impressed with her street fighting skills. All Cara could do was chuckle more at young Mando and ignored her father’s question.

Cara sat at a table when the waitress poured her a cup of spotchka while Mando, his daughter, and the child accompanied her.

“It seems like a straightforward operation,” Mando began.

“Trap, is what he means,” young Mando slipped in but her statement went ignored.

“They’re providing the plan and firepower. I’m the snare.”

“You mean we’re the snare,” young Mando corrected, “Papi gets confused sometimes.”

“With the child,” Cara declared.

“That’s why I’m coming to you,” Mando said.

“I don’t know. I’ve been advised to lay low,” Cara reminded, “If anybody runs my chain code I’ll rot in a cell for the rest of my life.”

“I thought you were a veteran?” young Mando asked.

“I’ve been a lot of things since kiddo. Most of them carry a life sentence. If I so much as book passage on a ship registered to the New Republic, I’m…” Cara was cut off.

“I have a ship. I can bring you there and back with a handsome reward. You can live free of worry,” Mando hoped to persuade her.

“I’m already free of worry and I’m not in the mood to play soldier anymore. Especially fighting some local warlord.”

“Did I need to remind you that we will be walking into a trap,” young Mando whispered hoping to gain sympathy.

“He’s not a local warlord. He’s Imperial,” Mando clarified.

Suddenly as if the winds changed Cara’s face went from uninterested to disgust, “I’m in,” Cara raised her drink in salute to the mess she just entangled herself in.

                                                   *   *    *

“Does your contact need to vet me?” Cara questioned while Mando flew the Crest.

“Doesn’t know you’re coming,” he informed.

“Really? That could be a problem.”

“It wont, but if it is, that’s his problem,” Mando said rising from his seat and directing Cara to the lower deck.

“He alright up there alone,” she referred to the child who was left in the cockpit, “Where’s your daughter?” Cara searched.

“She needs some time for herself,” Mando said knowing it was prudent for his daughter to receive a breather from continuously watching the child.

Cara just nodded understanding a girl needed time away from the men in her life. On his gauntlet Mando pressed a button and opened a compartment revealing a plethora of weapons.

“Pick one,” he gave her free reign.

Gladly Cara went through the selection while still getting information about the mission, “You trust the contact?” she asked.

“Not particularly. He and I had a run-in last time I was there on some Guild business.”

“So then why are we going?”

“I don’t have a choice. You saw what happened on Sorgan. They’ll keep sending hunters. The kid will never be safe until the Imp is dead,” Mando stated while noticing a slight hiccup in the Crest’s trajectory.

“And you’re okay with bringing him back there?”

“Not really. That’s why I’m bringing you.”

Suddenly Mando and Cara were flung off their feet because the Crest began to go erratic. Instinctively Mando flew up to the cockpit while Cara followed behind, there they witnessed the child at the controls attempting to steer the ship. Quickly Mando removed the child and handed it to Cara to hold, he sat at the wheel, switching levers and pressing buttons to stabilize the Crest but nothing was working.

“What’s happening?” Cara questioned noticing the interior of the ship was beginning to crack from under pressure.

“No!” Mando realized the actual issue and flew back to the lower deck without explanation.

He made his way to his daughter’s workspace when he rounded the corner and found her on the floor huddled in a fetal position, shivering uncontrollably and moaning in pain. Mando dropped to his knees trying to assess how far she was in her episode. He slowly tried to unravel her but instead she swung herself over unintentionally and shoved Mando vigorously across the room with the assistance of an invisible force. He was slammed against a wall and became pinned as if someone was holding him there.

“Mi Pequeno, let me go,” he grunted through a tight chest, “Hear me, focus on my voice,” Mando tried but she couldn’t be reached, she had submerged within herself.

He could see she was doing everything in her power not to release what was inside her because if she did they would all parish, but her undivided attention turned to anything and everything.

“Mi Pequeno, please release me,” finally her hand dropped when the invisible force let him go allowing Mando to slowly gain full mobility. Powerless, he watched items in the ship take life by either crushing into itself or being thrown across the room.

The Crest continued flying erratic as Cara carried the child looking for Mando or his daughter. She turned a corner witnessing almost exactly what she experienced at the battle of Sorgan. The ground quaked beneath them and items floated in the air by their own free will. Cara couldn’t fathom, for a second time, what was happening.

Grabbing hold of the walls while she walked, Cara noticed Mando sprawled on the opposite side of the room when young Mando arched her body in agony, trying to keep in the pulse that radiated around her structure.

“Mando, what’s…” but Cara was cut off.

“Watch out!” Mando warned, he sprung to his feet and tackled Cara and the child out of harms way.

The three fell to the floor luckily dodging a steel panel that could have crushed them.

“What… how…” Cara stuttered cradling the child who shivered in fear.

“Listen to me, she’s too far along, I’m going to have to sedate her,” Mando informed, he opened a hidden compartment on his gauntlet reveling two viles containing a clear liquid. Mando then pulled out a syringe from his belt inserting the vile and prepping it for injection.

“Then do it already,” Cara shouted.

“Please, I have to revel her arm,” Mando stated.

Cara understood what he was implying, Mandalorians couldn’t expose a single part of themselves to the outside world due to the threat of expulsion weighting heavily on them.

“I won’t look just do it,” Cara demanded and turned her head from view.

“DAD!” young Mando screamed through a banshee cry doing everything she could from releasing the blast that commanded to escape.

He knew his time was up, Mando had to act now, he crawled to his daughter and immediately removed her gauntlet and rolled up her sleeve. She withered in torment and groaned in horror, but he would put her at ease. The serum would take effect instantaneously once injected into her bloodstream, shutting down her abilities.

Mando wasted no effort and clutched onto the syringe with his whole hand, he struck downwards ready for the needle to pierce her skin, but something prevented the action. The invincible force was at work again, in mid-air Mando struggled, the needle was centimeters from entering her body. His hand withered and strained, he used all of his might but became powerless to do anything.

The Crest started to crack and enfold into itself, warning bells sounded throughout the interior, informing its passengers to abandon ship. Mando took his other hand and put it on top hoping for added strength, but he still wasn’t budging.

“Come on, Mi Pequeno, don’t do this, hear me,” but she couldn’t hear her father, the force had consumed her.

Young Mando let out a blood curling scream when her body arched violently upwards signaling the blast would follow. Mando mustered everything he had when he received some much needed assistance as Cara slammed her hands on top of Mando’s, overcoming the invisible barrier together.

The needle successfully entered young Mando’s skin and without thought, Mando immediately injected the serum into her body when everything seized. The Crest returned to a normal flight, all free floating objects fell to the ground, and young Mando went limp.

Cara and Mando both breathed heavily, acting like they had just fought off their greatest opponent. Mando ejected the empty vile and placed the syringe back in his belt for future use. He then, in anger, threw the vile upset by not being there for his daughter sooner.

Taken aback Cara didn’t know what to say or do, she watched him roll down her sleeve and strap her gauntlet back on her wrist. He then picked his daughter up and carried her out of the room. Cara looked to the child wondering if it had answers but it just glared in concern.

                                                     *   *    *

Knowing to tread lightly, Cara followed Mando seeing him place his unconscious daughter in her bed. He sat at her side practically slumped over appearing defeated, he placed a hand on where her cheek should be and caressed the spot with his thumb. He seemed to be in a deep thought when he heard Cara approach, not wanting to go into detail he shot up and headed towards the cockpit.

“Hey, wait a minute,” Cara followed, “I think I deserve an explanation.”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Mando sat down and began attending to the Crest, steading it and setting the ship back on course, but Cara was deciphering clues on her own.

“That was no phantom detonator back on Sorgan, that was your daughter,” Cara declared but Mando stayed silent, practically confirming her suspicion, “How can she do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know, or you won’t tell?”

“Both,” Mando turned and stood in Cara’s face, “Because the less someone knows about her the safer she remains.”

“How are you protecting her, she’s a danger to herself and to others, she almost killed us plus I saw in your gauntlet, you only have one vile left. What happens when you run out?”

Mando stayed silent.

“Who ever made them, can’t they make you more?”

“No, he’s dead because of us,” Mando said truthfully while returning to his seat and piloting the Crest, “Can you get the child, I can’t have him trying to awake her,” he informed.

“What happens when she does awake?” Cara said in a bit of a panic.

“Please don’t fear her, she doesn’t need that. Can you please get the child?”

Cara stayed silent, angry that Mando didn’t fully trust her even though he was already asking a lot of her with this mission.

“Fine, but we’re going to need someone to watch him and her,” Mando didn’t say anything but Cara continued, “You got anyone you can trust?”

“To watch the kid, yeah I’ve got someone in mind,” as Mando steered the Crest towards the planet of Arvala-7.

                                                       *   *   *

The Crest landed near the home of the Ugnaught who had helped Mando and his daughter find the child. Mando began powering the ship down when Cara made her way below in order to lower the platform, when suddenly she noticed Mando’s daughter shyly hiding around the corner.

“Geez,” Cara stepped back, hand to her chest.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you,” young Mando meant more than one way.

“It’s okay, just wasn’t sure how long you would be knocked out,” Cara stepped forward but young Mando kept her distance and head lowered in shame, “Listen, I’m not scared of you, I’m just curious. How are you able to do that?”

“I don’t know.”

“You sound like your father.”

“But we don’t, honestly,” young Mando stepped out of the shadows happy she was able to finally discuss her episodes with someone other than just her father, “When I was a child we looked for help, my dad tried, but anyone who found out about me wound up dead. So we went into hiding until the Creed discovered our whereabouts, I didn’t want to go but according to my dad it was safer being under the Mandalorians protection. We were still hidden but yet in plain sight, able to search for answers, but none were ever found.”

“And they know of your abilities?”

“Yes, but even the Creed couldn’t help me. I don’t know what’s inside of me, it appears to always be there, but it stays dormant and then suddenly awakens overtaking me. I try so hard to control it but I can’t seem to find a way. I’m running out of ideas and that terrifies me because it’s only getting stronger.”

Even though Cara couldn’t see young Mando’s face, Cara could hear the panic inflicted in her voice. She wanted to help the kiddo out, talk to her more but Mando came down with the child’s pod floating behind.

Quickly before Mando realized Cara was drilling his daughter for answers, Cara grabbed some gear and lowered the platform. Mando glanced to his side seeing his daughter keep her distance, he outstretched his hand for her to take but she refused.

“Hey, we have a trap to fall into, remember,” Mando said hoping to raise her spirits.

Luckily his choice of words did the trick because she couldn’t hold back a small giggle and took her father’s hand.

                                                      *   *    *

The sun was slowly setting on the desert planet, still giving the Ugnaught plenty of time to tidy up his homestead and rally up the Blurrgs when he noticed the Mandalorian’s ship land nearby. The Ugnaught stood at the entrance to his home while he watched the four individuals approach, he invited them in as everyone took a seat.

“It hasn’t grown much,” the Ugnaught said analyzing the child.

“I think it might be a Strand-Cast,” Mando suggested.

“I don’t think it was engineered. I’ve worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly. This one, on the other hand, looks like she was farmed in the Cytocaves of Nora,” the Ugnaught pointed at Cara.

“This is Cara Dune. She was a shock trooper,” Mando informed.

“You were a dropper?” the Ugnaught looked at Cara’s tattoos.

“Did you serve?” she asked.

“On the other side, I’m afraid, but I’m proud to say that I paid out my clan’s debt and now I serve no one but myself. You are awfully quiet,” the Ugnaught addressed young Mando who kept her head down.

“She is a bit under the weather,” Mando tried to steer the Ugnaught’s attention away from his daughter, but that was achieved by IG-11 walking through the front door holding a tray of beverages.

Immediately all three stood, blasters drawn ready to destroy the machine when the IG-unit spoke, “I heard someone was sick, would they care for some tea?”

“Please lower your blasters. He will not harm you,” the Ugnaught put his hand up to signal that there was no danger.

“That thing is programmed to kill the baby,” Mando reminded.

“Not anymore,” the Ugnaught stated when he began telling the story of how he acquired the droid.

“It was left behind in the wake of your destruction. I found it laying where it fell. Devoid of all life. I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the charter of the New Republic. Little remained of its neural harness. Reconstruction was quite difficult but not impossible. It had to learn everything from scratch. This is something that cannot be taught with the twist of a spanner. It requires patience and repetition. I spent day after day reinforcing its development with patience and affirmation. It developed a personality as its experiences grew.”

“Is it still a hunter?” Mando questioned.

“No. But it will protect,” the Ugnaught declared as everyone still remained skeptic.

                                                      *   *    *

The Ugnaught went to attain to his Blurrgs when Mando approached, “I’ve run into some problems.”

“I figured as much. Why else would you return?”

“I wanna hire your services.”

“I’m retired from service.”

“I can pay you handsomely, Ugnaught.”

“I have a name. It is Kuiil.”

“I need someone to protect the little one, Kuiil,” Mando said.

“I’m not suited for such work, besides why doesn’t your kin look after it?”

“I need her for the mission.”

“Well, I can reprogram IG-11 for nursing and protocol.”

“No, I don’t want that droid anywhere near him.”

“Why’re you so distrustful of droids?” Kuiil asked.

“It tried to kill him,” Mando clarified.

“It was programmed to do so. Droids are not good or bad. They are neutral reflections of those who imprint them. Do you trust me?”

“From what I can tell, yes.”

“Then you will trust my work. IG-11 will join me and we do it not for payment but to protect the child from Imperial slavery. None will be free until the old ways are gone forever,” Kuiil remembered those horrific memories of serving the Empire while Mando pondered over a similar memory, but had the ability to save that someone from the same fate.

“Okay,” Mando agreed with Kuiil.

“And the Blurrgs will join me as well.”

“The Blurrgs?”

“I have spoken.”

                                                    *   *    *

The Crest took flight making its way to Nevarro, Mando set the ship on autopilot where everyone took occupancy in the lower deck. Kuiil attended to his Blurrgs (which were penned up in the corner) while young Mando sat on the opposite side keeping to herself and sketched out a new piece, where Cara and Mando became involved in an arm wrestling match as the child watched from its pod.

“I got you, Mando,” Cara said through gritted teeth.

“Care to double the bet?” Mando grunted.

The two continued their match when the child looked on in sadness, wanting to do something, it raised its tiny three-fingered hand and squinted its eyes, concentrating. Suddenly Cara let go of Mando’s hand and began clutching at her throat, choking as if someone’s hands were around her neck.

Everyone in the room stared at Cara, who’s face was starting to turn red from lose of air, baffled by her actions. Mando quickly turned to his daughter who appeared to be in shock like everyone else, and realized she wasn’t having an episode because she was aware and coherent.

“It’s not me,” young Mando said when she pointed her father’s attention to the child.

“No, no, no, stop,” Mando picked up the child hoping this would free Cara, “We’re friends, we’re friends. Cara is my friend,” Mando clarified which did the trick, Cara was released but she spoke in a raid.

“First your daughter, now him, this is not okay,” Cara exasperated through a short breath.

“Hmmm…curious,” Kuiil said pondering over everything that had been said and performed.

“Curious? That’s the second time I was almost killed. Geez Mando what kind of kids are you raising?” Cara said out of anger when young Mando quickly rose from her seat and went into the adjacent room.

“Hey, none of this is their fault. I understand you’re upset Cara but please don’t voice your opinion on a matter you don’t understand,” Mando said heated.

“Like you understand it any better, you’re just as clueless about her abilities as his,” Cara stated truthfully.

“Her abilities?” Kuiil peered around for Mando’s daughter but she wasn’t in sight, “Everything seems a bit clearer now. The story you told me of the Mudhorn now makes more sense.”

“Do you know what the child is?” Mando asked possibly about to receive some answers.

“What it is? I don’t know, but what it does, this I’ve heard rumors of.”

“What? What do you know?” Mando couldn’t believe finally someone knew what this might be.

“Rumors, like when you worked for the Empire,” Cara spat.

“When I was sold to the Empire, in indentured servitude,” Kuiil spat back.

“Yet somehow, you walk free.”

“I bought my freedom through the skill of my hands and the labor of three of your human lifetimes. Do not cast doubt upon that of what I am nor whom I shall serve,” Kuiil’s voice rose when IG-11 walked into the room ready to protect its master.

Mando wanted all this animosity to end, even though he would be losing the chance to possibly learn what was causing his daughter’s episodes and the child’s abilities when Mando directed Kuiil’s attention to him.

“Tell you what. I could really use your craftwork right now,” Mando put the child in its pod, “Can you pad this container so the child can sleep better?”

“I shall fabricate a better one. Then perhaps this Dropper can see how one can win their freedom with the skill of one’s hands,” Kuiil stated when he left to craft a unique pod all on its own.

                                                           *   *   *

Mando let Kuiil be while Cara paced staying far away from the child. He felt the tension was low enough and went in search for his daughter. In her workspace she sat on the floor in the dark lazily making pencil marks on her canvas.

“Hey, I could really use some help in the cockpit,” Mando tried but she wasn’t buying it.

“Please Papi, I just want to be alone right now.”

Mando sighed in defeat and placed a caring hand on top of her helmet. He understood she was having a rough time with this last episode and hoped she would recover mentally soon. All he could do was support her and let her go through the emotions.

“You know none of this is your fault, you had no control,” Mando reassured.

“You’re right, I had no control, but that still doesn’t give me an excuse,” young Mando replied in a sad monotone.

                                                      *   *    *

Mando returned to the cockpit as Cara followed, she stayed silent unknowing if Mando or his daughter were upset with her previous comments.

“Hey, I just wanted to apologize about what I said earlier,” Cara said hesitantly.

“You don’t have to apologize to me, apologize to my daughter,” Mando said without looking at Cara.

“Noted,” Cara stated thinking on the best time to speak to her when Cara saw where Mando was taking the ship, “So, we’re going to Nevarro?”

“Have you ever been?”

“No. We lost a lot of our forces there. The city’s dug in pretty deep. No cover when you drop in. It stayed in Empire control until the end of the war.”

“The warlord we’re taking out was an Imperial officer,” Mando informed.

“What station?”

“Hard to tell. No insignia anymore. I took out his safe house when I snatched the kid. More Imps have reinforced since.”

“There’s something more going on, more than the trap your daughter predicts.”

“Maybe. We’ll find out more when we land.”

Their conversation was interrupted as the cockpits door opened revealing IG-11, “I have prepared second meal. Would you care to be served here or below?”

“I’m not hungry,” Mando said with distain while Cara didn’t respond when IG-11 left, “Under no circumstances does that thing leave the ship.”

“You got a real thing for droids, don’t you?” Cara said through a chuckle.

“I got a real thing for that droid.”

“The Ugnaught said he rewired it.”

“That droid was designed to kill things. I don’t care how much wiring he replaced. It goes against its nature,” Mando reminded.

“Well, it shouldn’t be a long job anyway. We take out the head Imp, the rest will run like rats,” Cara said in confidence.

                                                      *   *    *

Greef Karga waited on the outskirts of Nevarro’s wasteland with three other hunters standing at his side. Karga watched the Crest touch down and saw four Blurrgs step out with their riders. Mando, his daughter, Cara, and Kuiil lined up in front of him and his men while the child’s newly constructed pod floated near Mando.

“Sorry for the remote rendezvous, Mando, but things have gotten complicated since you and the kiddo were last here,” Karga and his hunters drew closer while Mando and his team stayed on alert, “It appears that introductions are in order. It seems we’ve both provided a security detail,” Karga stayed silent analyzing them, “But I suggest the kiddo stays back and guards the ship,” he pointed towards young Mando, “These lava fields are lousy with Jawas.”

“She’s safer with me due to the bounty you also placed on her head,” Mando spat.

“It was not by choice, trust me at least on that, but the town is now run by ex-Empire. I don’t think you want the kid mixed in with that kind of heat.”

“I can handle myself Karga,” young Mando jumped in.

“All right,” Karga put his hands up in defense but then placed his eyes on Cara, “And what of the Shock Trooper? If a Rebel Dropper is with us, they’ll all get their hackles up.”

“Everybody is coming,” Mando enforced.

“Fine, at least cover your tattoo. No need to flaunt it. Now, where is the little one?” Karga said with open arms.

Everyone turned to Mando when he pressed a few buttons on his gauntlet and the pod zoomed forward. It hovered in front of Karga and then opened revealing the child inside.

“So, this little bogwing is what all the fuss was about,” Karga picked up the child as everyone was put on edge, hands on weapons, “What a precious little creature. I can see why neither of you didn’t want to harm a hair on its wrinkled little head.”

Karga put the child back in its pod, settling everyone down, “Well, I’m glad this matter will be put to rest once and for all. The sun drops fast on Nevarro. We can walk for a spell, camp out at the riverbank then make our way into town at first light,” Karga ended when Mando closed the child’s pod reversing it so it was back hovering at his side.

                                                      *   *    *

Everyone got a move on, trekking over the black terrain and avoiding the small lava rivers that serpentine through the land. Night approached fast when they made camp with each party taking a side while keeping an eye on the other across the fire.

Majority ate the goat that was roasting over the fire when Cara took a seat next to young Mando with two plates in her hand. Cara slide one over to young Mando when she noticed small portions of meat were cut up.

“Thought those sizes would be easier for you to fit under your helmet without removal,” Cara stated.

“Thanks,” young Mando said in a dry gratitude, taking the tiny pieces and easily fitting them under the rim to pop in her mouth.

Young Mando seemed still a bit stand offish so Cara addressed what went unacknowledged, “You know I never got to answer your questions from when we first met,” Cara hoped this would make young Mando warm back up to her, “I really didn’t get to participate in the well known battles, I served just like everyone else and went where I was needed.”

Young Mando turned and gave Cara her full attention, “Technically the war was everywhere, and you couldn’t really escape it. In some form or another it would affect you from losing a comrade, a friend, or family member.”

Young Mando could see the hurt emitting from Cara’s eyes and the distant memories playing before them.

“And for your second question, no I did not see the Death Star blow up, neither actually, but I did see a lot of its scattered debris when I was on Endor. I guess I’m not as thrilling as I make myself out to be,” Cara stated.

“Oh no, you are still very compelling. When my dad and I spar I know his every move and I still can’t take him out, but when you fought him there was no competition. Don’t tell him I said that,” young Mando whispered her last part while putting up her hand to cover her invisible mouth.

This made Cara smile, adoring young Mando even more, “Hey, I’m sorry for what I said on the Crest. You’re a really good kid,” Cara stressed.

“No worries, really,” young Mando stated showcasing all was water under the bridge.

                                                   *   *    *

Kuiil sat next to the child feeding it the meat off his plate, it ate the tiny pieces with delight while Karga sat next to Mando pointing out the obvious.

“I guess the little bugger is a carnivore. Never seen anything like it. They were ready to pay a king’s ransom for that thing. Must be for some kind of highfalutin menagerie,” Karga informed.

“Let’s go over the plan again,” Mando interjected.

“We enter the common house. We show the client the bait. We join him at the table. And you kill him,” Karga vaguely laid out.

“Tell me about his reinforcements.”

“They’re all ex-Empire. As soon as they lose their paycheck, poof, they’ll all scatter.”

“And what if they don’t,” Mando pointed out.

“They will.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“If, for arguments sake, a few of them don’t realize that I’m their best path to alternative employment, and they elect to react impulsively, then these three fine Guild Hunters, along with that battle-hardened shock trooper will cut down anyone who bucks,” Karga informed.

“How many will there be?” Mando questioned.

“No more than four. He travels with, at most, a fire team. Trust me. Nothing can go wrong,” Karga rose from the ground and approached the fire.

He plucked a piece of meat from their roasting meal when out of the shadows a massive creature of flight scooped down to acquire the goat, scaring Karga backwards. Immediate panic erupted throughout the camp, everyone grabbed their weapons and started shooting upwards because more creatures rained down from the sky. Sensing the danger, Mando closed the child’s pod when young Mando went to her father’s side as the two went back to back firing from both angles.

The flying creatures attacked from all sides when one grabbed hold of a Blurrg and another took one of Karga’s men. Everyone continued their reign of fire, focusing all their firepower on one of the creatures that had a hold of their second Blurrg, but another creature made a surprise attack on Mando.

Its massive wings pushed young Mando out of the way and grabbed Mando in its claws. The creature drilled him into the ground when Cara turned her blaster on the thing, but Mando ignited it in flames sending it off into the night still on fire.

Young Mando ran towards her father making sure he wasn’t injured as everybody regrouped with their eyes and weapons still pointed to the sky. The danger appeared to be over with but groans from Karga could be heard. Mando quickly looked over his daughter and then checked on the child. No one else appeared to be injured when Kuiil went to Karga’s aid.

“He’s hurt badly,” Kuiil informed.

Three long gashes were visible on Karga’s arm and seemed to get worse by the second. He grunted through gritted teeth declaring he was fine when everyone encircled him in order to help.

“Hold still,” young Mando opened a pouch on her belt and injected Karga with an anti-bacterial serum, “It got you good.”

“How bad?” Mando asked.

“Bad, the poison’s spreading fast,” she informed.

“So this…this is how it happens,” Karga stated while young Mando received bandages from Cara who instructed for a medpac from the group but no one had one.

Young Mando sat in silence unable to register Karga’s outcome, sure he put a bounty on her head but his heart was always in the right place. Just like her father Karga would look out for her, make sure she wouldn’t be put in danger with the missions, but mostly he would encourage her with her art. Young Mando couldn’t accept his fate when the child approached and put its hand on young Mando.

“We need to get him to a medical team,” Cara said grabbing a device and scanning Karga’s arm seeing the venom spread further, “Get this thing outta here,” Cara said to young Mando but she wasn’t listening because it appeared as if she was in a trance.

The child and young Mando glared at one another like they were communicating mentally, their hands were stacked on top of one another when, without words, they placed their conjoined hands on Karga’s wound.

“Save me kiddo, it’s going to eat me,” Karga blurted out but a different scenario occurred.

Together the child and young Mando focused on Karga’s injury, they could see the venom spreading throughout his body but immediately put a stopper to it. Together they evaporated the poison from his bloodstream and infused their vitality into Karga in order to heal the three gashes. Both shook with concentration, using each other’s energy to achieve this feat, when Karga’s wounds healed before their eyes and were no more.

Once the task was a success the child and young Mando immediately collapsed from exhaustion. Karga glared up at Mando in utter shock but Mando rushed to his daughter and the child. He quickly checked on the obvious as the both of them were breathing normally, he then searched for any injuries but they appeared unharmed, just unconscious.

“Kuiil, please put the child in its pod,” Mando said picking it up in one hand while placing his daughter’s head in his lap, but everyone was still glaring in shock, “Kuiil!” Mando shouted extending the child for Kuiil to take.

“Yes, of course,” Kuiil responded carefully taking the sleeping kid and placing it in the pod.

Once the child was safe inside, Mando immediately closed the lid and sensed the impeding judgment from the group. Without hesitation Mando placed his body between the others and the pod while wrapping his arms around his daughter, blaster at the ready, because everyone stared at his children with either curiosity or a malicious intent.

                                                      *   *    *

Morning came and everyone regrouped silently where both parties kept close to their own. The child and young Mando appeared to be fine, the child cooed happily thinking nothing of the incident but young Mando could sense something else, a possible plot brewing among the hunters.

Kuiil mounted on the only Blurrg that had survived from the attack last night when Mando approached his daughter.

“I want you to ride with Kuiil,” Mando insisted.

“I’m fine,” young Mando replied.

“You don’t seem fine, you were stirring in your sleep, mumbling, you haven’t done that since…” but Mando was cut off.

“Since I was little, I know. Its just, the nightmare came back.”

“The one you sketch out?”

Young Mando nodded her head with confirmation, “The child triggered something when it touched me, its like we’re connected somehow. I could hear what it was thinking, he was directing me, channeling our abilities together in order to save Karga. I can’t explain it,” her voice went up an octave like she was afraid.

“You don’t have to.”

“What does this all mean?”

“We will figure it out, I promise you,” Mando assured her by placing his hand on the side of her helmet and then lifting her on the Blurrg situating her behind Kuiil.

Both parties moved out, Karga and his hunters lead while Mando, Cara, and the child’s pod followed as Kuiil and young Mando came up the rear. Karga and his men were quietly discussing certain matters among themselves, leaving Mando and Cara to do the same.

“You think they’re having second thoughts?” Cara questioned the obvious.

“Most likely. I need your eyes,” Mando said.

“I’m watching,” Cara confirmed making sure nothing malicious would manifest.

                                                      *   *   *

Karga took point, his hunters fell back behind Mando and Cara when Karga stopped and gazed out at the distance, “I guess this is it,” Karga stated knowing his two hunters drew their blasters and were ready to end Mando and Cara’s lives, but he made the first move blasting his own men.

Immediately Cara and Mando pulled their weapons and pointed them at Karga who held both of his guns towards the sky signaling his surrender.

“There’s something you should know,” Karga started when he kicked over his men making sure they were indeed dead.

Karga put his blasters away but Mando and Cara kept there’s on him when he continued, “A new plan was formulated from what they saw, it was to kill you and take the kids for profit. But after what happened last night, I couldn’t go through with it.”

Kuiil approached with young Mando but she stayed on the Blurrg when he dismounted. Mando and Cara didn’t move from their position ready to fire at any moment.

“Go on. You can gun me down here and now and it wouldn’t violate the Code,” Karga confirmed,” Sure the kiddo’s secret dies with me, but if you do, this child will never be safe,” pointing out that bounty hunters would never stop searching for it.

“We’ll take our chances,” Cara stated.

“The Imperial client is obsessed with obtaining this asset. You tried to run, but where did it get you?” Karga said.

“This is ridiculous,” Cara said.

“Perhaps you should let him speak,” Kuiil chimed in.

“Listen, we both need the client to be eliminated. Let me take the child to him and then you two,” but Karga was cut off.

“No,” Mando said.

“Let’s just kill him and get out of here,” Cara suggested.

“Papi,” was all young Mando had to say in order to get him to think things through.

“He’s right,” Mando declared putting away his blaster.

“What are you doing?” Cara questioned.

“As long as the Imp lives, he’ll send hunters after the child,” Mando stated.

“It’s a trap,” Cara confirmed.

“Bring me,” Mando said.

“Bring you?” Karga asked.

“Tell him you captured me. Get me close to him and I’ll kill him,” Mando stated.

“That’s a good idea and all but the bounty was placed for two Mandalorians,” Karga reveled in fear.

“She didn’t accompany me at the Imps safe house. He should have no idea of her existence,” Mando declared in anger, “I thought you just put a bounty on her head from within the Guild?”

“The kiddo was marked during our scuffle, that’s why my hands were tied and I had to place a bounty on both of you, so the Imp expects two Mandalorians,” Karga said as Mando drew near with his fist raised ready to make contact with Karga’s face.

“Stop it!” young Mando interjected putting herself between Karga and her father, “Of all people my father should have known the risks he was putting me in by enlisting me in the Guild.”

“You’re blaming me for this?” Mando questioned in horror.

“No, its just I’m ready to do my duty as a bounty hunter and Mandalorian. The Imp expects two prizes then he will get them. I’m coming with whether you like it or not Papi.”

Everyone could see there was no loophole for young Mando to not come but their concerns were about something else other than her presence.

“And yes I know what you are all thinking. Give me the vile and syringe,” young Mando’s hand extended towards her father, “If I sense anything I’ll take myself out, agreed?”

“What is she referring too?” Karga questioned in skeptic, “She can do more?”

“You have no idea,” Cara said in vague when Mando broke and gave her the vile and syringe.

“Okay now we got that out of the way, both of you give me your blasters,” Karga said.

“This is insane,” Cara pointed out.

“It’s the only way,” Mando realized.

“Well, I’m coming with,” Cara told rather than suggested.

“No, no, no. That would make them suspicious,” Karga said.

“I don’t care. I’m coming,” Cara snarled.

“Tell them she caught us,” Mando informed.

“Fine. Then she can bring the child,” Karga said.

“No. The kid goes back in the ship,” Mando declared.

“But without the child, none of this works!” Karga pointed out.

“I have a plan. Kuiil, ride back to the Razor Crest with the child and seal yourself in. When you’re inside, engage ground security protocols. Nothing on this planet will breach those doors,” Mando instructed.

“The code is 030830 in order to activate it,” young Mando informed as the numerical sequence had been permanently burned into her subconscious.

“Here’s a comlink,” Kuiil handed to Mando, “I will keep the child safe. Don’t forget to cover your stripes,” he reminded Cara, “And keep a clear mind young one,” Kuiil ended with young Mando.

“Let’s go,” Mando said handing two sets of binders to Karga as he placed the first set on Mando and then the second on his daughter. Karga checked every weapon on him, Cara wrapped fabric around her arm tattoo, when Kuiil took the child in his arms and headed to his Blurrg. The pod was sealed and followed the four individuals who made their way towards town.

                                                       *   *   *

The four approached the entrance to the city as two bored Scout troopers monitored the personnel of entering and exiting of the city. In the distance, Cara and Mando could make out several more Stormtroopers occupying the streets, way more than Karga implied.

Getting to his feet the Scout trooper looked over the individuals and then spoke to Karga, “Chain code?”

“I have a gift for the boss,” Karga said but the trooper wasn’t having it and repeated for the chain code.

Karga sighed in frustration when he handed the trooper the chit card, the trooper scanned it and then gave Karga a price, “I’ll give you forty credits for both the helmets.”

“Ha-ha! Not a chance. Those are going on my wall,” Karga emphasized but Mando glared at him in scorn.

“On your wall?” Mando whispered in a sneer.

“Go with it,” Karga said through pressed lips.

“Go ahead,” the trooper waved them through when they headed towards the Guild cantina.

As they made their way through the street Cara pointed out the obvious, the numerous amounts of Stormtroopers occupying the city, “You said four. There are more than four troopers.”

“Four guarding the client. Many more here in town. Things got really heated once Mando crashed the safe house,” Karga said.

“Slip them their blasters,” Cara commanded of Karga to arm both Mando and young Mando.

“Not yet,” Karga said, “Here we are,” Karga opened the door and as they walked in he addressed their concerns, “You see? Four.”

Karga escorted both Mando and his daughter towards the client who rose from his seat and approached them.

“Look what I brought you. As promised,” Karga showcased both Mandalorians.

“It appears there are more Mandalorians then expected, where I was informed this is your daughter. How extraordinary,” the client glared over young Mando amazed by her existence, “It appears the Beskar not went to waste,” the client went to touch young Mando’s armor when Mando jerked forward but Karga restrained him, “What exquisite craftsmanship,” the client briefly brushed the back of his hand on young Mando’s armor, “It is amazing how beautiful Beskar can be when forged by its ancestral artisans, and even more beautiful when you can share that with your offspring,” the client could read Mando was on high alert and moved the conversation to Karga, “Can I offer you a libation to celebrate the closing of our shared narrative?”

“I would be obliged,” Karga acknowledged.

“Please sit,” the client instructed, he pointed to the droid bartender for two drinks when Karga lowered Mando into the booth first as Karga slide next to him. The client sat on the opposite side while Cara stood behind young Mando acting as if she was obtaining her.

“It is a shame that your people suffered so,” the client continued when several more Stormtroopers began entering the room, “Just as in this situation, it was all avoidable. Why did Mandalore resist our expansion? The Empire improves every system it touches. Judge by any metric. Safety, prosperity, trade, opportunity, peace. Compare Imperial rule to what is happening now. Look outside, is the world more peaceful since the revolution? I see nothing but death and chaos. Is that what we want to leave for our future generations,” the client motioned towards young Mando but Mando stayed quiet, “I would like to see the baby,” the client instructed reaching for the pod.

“Uh, it is asleep,” Karga put his hand between the client and the concealed pod.

“We all will be quiet. Open the pram,” but a Stormtrooper came and whispered something in the client’s ear,” Don’t think me to be rude. I must take this call,” both Karga and the client rose when he left the table.

Young Mando unclasped her binders when Karga turned and snuck her blaster into her hands. Karga sat down and did the same with Mando as his binders were already off.

“You got one shot,” Karga said to Mando.

“This is bad. You said four,” Cara whispered though the side of her mouth.

“Well there are more. What can I tell you?” Karga said almost in defeat.

The client approached the bar when a trooper set up a transmission, once activated a man appeared in high ranking officer attire as the client addressed him as Moff Gideon.

“Have they brought the child?” Gideon questioned the client.

“Yes, they have. Currently, it is sleeping.”

“You may want to check again,” suddenly a rapid stream of blaster fire shot through the window killing the client instantly and all the troopers inside.

Karga, Cara, Mando, and his daughter took immediate cover, flipping over tables to hide from being hit. Finally the blaster fire seized when the four of them got into position in order to hold their ground.

Outside a line of Death Troopers stood fierce with their rifles held high, while a military transport landed with dozens of Stormtroopers filing out and getting into position.

“Four Stormtroopers?” Cara pointed out again but no one responded, “This is bad.”

“Kuiil? Are you back to the ship yet?” Mando radioed, “Are you there? Do you copy?” but Mando wasn’t the only one picking up on the conversation.

“Yes,” Kuiil responded.

“Are you back to the ship yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Get back to the ship and bail. Get the kid out of here. We’re pinned down!” Mando instructed.

Hearing his panic, Kuiil kicked his Blurrg to go faster but two Scout troopers were already in pursuit heading to Kuiil’s position.

                                                    *   *   *  

The troopers outside the cantina waited patiently, weapons drawn, and ready to attack at a moment’s notice. All four waited in skeptic wondering what the trooper’s plan of attack would be when a TIE-fighter landed in the quarter.

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” young Mando absentminded stated when Moff Gideon stepped out of the TIE-fighter and walked to the front of his troopers.

“You have something I want,” Gideon demanded.

“Who’s this guy?” Cara asked but Mando stayed silent.

“You may think you have some idea of what you are in possession of, but you do not,” Gideon informed.

“Kuiil, are you back to the ship yet?” They’re onto us!” Mando clarified.

“In a few moments, all will be mine,” Gideon declared.

“Kuiil do you copy?” Mando radioed in a panic.

“It means more to me than you will ever know.”

“Kuiil! Are you there? Kuiil, come in, Kuiil!” Mando shouted but with no response from the other end.

“No!” young Mando whispered to herself because she watched the event unfold in front of her eyes; the two Scout troopers had no mercy and blasted Kuiil off his Blurrg, leaving him for dead while they scooped up the child who was now in their possession.

[racefortheironthrone]

Thoughts on House of X #6

The penultimate issue!

While You Slept, the World Changed:

Before I get into the content, let me say that I think Hickman et al. really brought it with their two final issues, which are some of the best of the miniseries. 

Showing Hickman’s love of circular storytelling, we flash back to the speech from the very first page of House of X #1, where Xavier announced the formation of Krakoa. The always-frustrating timeline is cleared up a little: Xavier’s speech happened a month ago, although we know from that same issue that work had been going on on Krakoa for “months” before the announcement - more evidence that the schedule was important.

Despite this all of this preparation, Xavier takes a moment before the speech to ask Moira and Magneto to join him for this “leap of faith,” which requires “total commitment.” (Which is interesting, given Namor’s questioning of same.) Moira agrees quickly, but then hangs back and watches, as is her wont (as we’ll see in Powers of X #6). 

By contrast, Magneto makes a significant shift from his earlier pledge of unrelenting accountability to burying the hatchet completely (I love how “all the anger at the other’s relentless ideology and unyielding persistence” so perfectly describes both men) and promises his complete support (and possibly more, depending on how you interpret the hand-on-hand-on-shoulder panel) going forward. That’s a big moment for the two of them.

And then we get Xavier’s speech in full, which I’m going to do my best to annotate. 

“Humans of the planet Earth...I am the mutant Charles Xavier and I bring you a message of hope. ”

The first thing I’ll note is that we’re already seeing a rather significant change in Xavier’s behavior: for decades, Charles Xavier refused to come out of the closet as a mutant even when asked directly, and only did so in New X-Men when possessed by Cassandra Nova. Here, he’s straightforwardly describing himself as “the mutant Charles Xavier,” putting his group identity before even his name.

Secondly, there’s an interesting tinge of classic sci-fi in the way that Xavier addresses “humans of the planet Earth” - it’s very reminiscent of The Day The Earth Stood Still - and I wonder whether part of this has to do with the so far largely unspoken Krakoan ambition of beating humanity to the Moon, to Mars, and the stars themselves.

“In the coming days, you will learn of several far-reaching pharmaceutical breakthroughs that have been discovered by mutant scientists. These drugs extend human life, heal disease of the mind, and will prevent - or cure - most common maladies. Influenza, Alzheimer’s, ALS, many cancers...gone. Overnight. These drugs will make life on this planet...better. Remarkably so.”

First, this is very much of a part of Hickman’s technocratic futurism from his F.F run, which I have to imagine often leads to a bit of frustration with the editorial mandate not to use super-science to make the world unrecognizable.

At the same time, I’m all the more convinced that the point of this proffer (in addition to buying U.N votes and diplomatic recognition) isn’t to mess with human biology - I think the drugs actually do what’s advertized, rather than mind-controlling people or activating the X-gene - but rather (according to what we learn in Powers of X #6) to dull the drive to achieve post-humanity, solving humanity’s problems but leaving the source out of their hands. This is a theme that featured quite heavily in the finale to Hickman’s Transhuman.

“All this...we have made for you. In the past they would have been a gift. Something freely given by me -- to you -- because I believed it would create harmony between our two peoples. That was my dream -- harmony -- but you have taught me a harsh lesson: that dream was a lie. You see, all I ever wanted was peace between humans and mutants. All I ever wanted was to love you and for you to love us.”

Here’s a great example of how comics can use text and imagery in different ways. Visually, what this page shows us is different levels of humanity: ordinary people in a hospital room, who see Xavier’s speech as a message of hope, the promise of deliverance from disease; a board room full of businessmen who probably see either opportunity or competition, depending on their market position; and a situation room of national security types who represent human power structures that have always viewed mutants as a threat.

At the same time, I think the text is an answer, if not a rebuke, to those fans who’ve been decrying Charles Xavier as acting “out of character” or spinning conspiracy theories about how it’s actually the Maker or the like. This is clearly the same Charles Xavier, who has come to change his mind about his vision of society, because he’s seen how humans have responded over again. (I think it also gets at one of the problems of grounding the X-Men in a “dream” of harmonious co-existence when genre conventions prevent that dream from ever coming to fruition. Especially given how the serial nature of comics leads to repetitions of “anti-mutant hysteria,” it’s not surprising how much of the fandom have shifted to a “Magneto Was Right” perspective.)

“We wanted to save you -- and we did, many times -- but in return, all you did was stand by while evil men killed our children. Over 16 million of them. So there will be no gift...for you have not earned it. We will -- however -- let you pay for it. In return for two things, we will provide you with the means to have a better life. One without pain or suffering and full of hope -- and it will cost you so little.”

Here, instead of constrasts, the text and images are working in concert, with the art giving pointed examples of whom Xavier is referring to - pointing to the Avengers as “stand[ing] by while evil men killed our children” (given that the Avengers tend to specialize in threats to the planet, but have had a decidely mixed record when it comes to threats to mutants specifically, to say nothing of the fallout from the Scarlet Witch’s actions), or the Fantastic Four as having “not earned” his “gifts,” given that the FF haven’t exactly been at the forefront of applying scientific advancement to specifically mutant concerns. Similarly, Doctor Strange was willing to brave the dangers of hell to bring the city of Las Vegas back from the dead, but didn’t do the same for the victims of Genosha.

At the same time, it becomes clear that what Xavier is getting at isn’t just direct complicity in anti-mutant violence, but the broader systemic problems of human apathy towards anti-mutant violence. (Although, to be fair, he’s bringing this up as, essentially, emotional blackmail to justify his economic policies and his political demands.)

On a different topic, it’s interesting that Xavier is offering something of a utopia for humanity - “a better life...without pain or suffering and full of hope” - but may instead be planning to put humanity inside a walled garden where they will be cared for but kept out of mutant-kind’s way.

“First, you must accept the island of Krakoa as the nation-state of all mutants on this planet. We will happily go through the same process as any newly formed nation with the U.N, but there is an expectation that our sovereignty will be recognized. Second, all mutants -- by birth -- can claim Krakoan citizenship. And with that citizenship, we expect a period of amnesty. So that those who have been singled out as criminals -- or punished and imprisoned by humans -- can overcome man’s bias against mutants.”

So here we get Xavier’s main political ask: international recognition of Krakoan sovereignty, mutant citizenship, and amnesty for mutants in prison.

It’s clear from his tone, however, that Krakoa is going through the “same process as any newly formed nation” mostly as a formality, with “an expectation that our sovereignty will be recognized” - both because humanity needs what Xavier is offering and the unspoken fact of mutant power.

One thing that caught my eye is that the citizenship/amnesty isn’t just a one-for-one copy of Israel’s law of return; given the heavy focus on human judicial system’s “bias against mutants,” it also borrows heavily from the 1966 platform of the Black Panther Party, which called for “freedom for all Black men held in federal, state, county and city prisons and jails,” because they had been denied a trial by jury of their peers.

“From this day forward, mutants will be judged by mutant law, not man’s. These are our simple demands, and they are not negotiable. In return for making our lives better, we will do the same for you. And if you find yourselves asking, who are these mutants to think they can dictate terms to us? We are the future. An evolutionary inevitability. The Earth’s true inheritors. You closed your eyes last night believing this world would be yours forever. That was your dream. And like mine...it was a lie. Here is a new truth: while you slept, the world changed.”

Here’s where we get a firm statement of mutant-kind’s manifest destiny, although how accurate a description of “evolutionary inevitability” it might be is up for debate, given what we learn about Moira’s Sixth Life in the next issue. No wonder that Magneto is eating it up, but Moira seems more ambivalent.

One important thing to note: as the art demonstrates, ORCHIS is very much in operation when Xavier makes his announcement. Rather than being a response to a more militant and separatist Krakoa, their motivations are much more driven by eugenic fears of demographic replacement, which is way less defensible. 

Quiet Council of Krakoa Infographic:

In the wake of Powers of X #6, we now have to ask ourselves whether the (un-elected, possibly temporary) Quiet Council is, if not a Potemkin government (this would be a bit much, given what they get up to in this issue), but perhaps not the only locus of authority on Krakoa.

In addition to continuing the naturalistic themes of Krakoa, I wonder whether the Autumn/Winter/Spring/Summer designations suggest a kind of rotating chair system for a council in which all are supposedly equal...but who is primus inter pares? Xavier is acting as speaker, setting out the agenda and moving the action along, but he’s not the only voice in the room - a sign that he is sharing power to a significant extent.

So let’s talk about the membership of the Quiet Council:

Autumn: here we have the three ideological leaders whose ideas have led to the formation of Krakoa (although Apocalypse’s contributions are less public), and potentially Moira’s exes (although we never learn whether Moira was romantically involved with Magneto in her Eighth Life). 

Winter: is “where we parked all of the problem mutants” other than Magneto. Mostly, this seems to be on the basis of both necessity and “better inside the tent pissing out than outside the tent pissing in.” One question I have is whether Exodus, as someone who used to basically worship Magneto, is a vote that Magneto can count on, since clearly he and Sinister aren’t on the same page, and Mystique is very much on her own.

Spring: here is Emma’s quid-pro-quo, and a recognition that the economic and foreign policy might of the Hellfire Corporation has to be represented within the governing structure of Krakoa. Given the structure (down to the very seating), I have to think that Xavier and Magneto had always planned for the third vote that Emma demanded. It’s also quite notable in later deliberations how limited Sebastian Shaw’s influence is on the Council. 

Summer: as we might expect, given who’s extending the invitations, Xavier gives three seats to “my children,” which gives Xavier at least four votes that he can count on - although Ororo, Jean, and Kurt clearly have their own minds and priorities. As the Krakoan national project continues, counting votes will only become more important.

Speaking of which, we can’t forget about Krakoa and Cypher. While not formally one of the twelve, they are nonetheless a powerful influence who have a voice if not a vote on the Council. And ultimately Krakoa’s voice is quite loud, because the whole enterprise cannot happen without its consent.

The Great Captains:

So here we see the division of civilian and military government, with the “great captains..assum[ing] the responsibility of defending the state” during “times of conflict or war.” 

The more curious question to me is what counts as a “state-related excursion” - it would seem to cover X-Men missions like the one at Sol’s Forge and at the ORCHIS facility in X-Men #1, but does it mean that Kate Pryde wouldn’t be in charge of her own vessel if Bishop steps on board? Does it cover X-Force clandestine operations, or would plausible deniability be important? Who does X-Force report to?

Cyclops as first among equals makes sense, although it does raise a question of what happens when you have two other captains in the field.

So Bishop makes sense as a head of whatever the name of the agency in charge of resurrection-related investigations is (possibly X-Factor), but I was surprised to see him show up in Marauders #1.

I wonder what Magik’s role as a Captain is supposed to be, especially since it seems she’ll be heading off to space in New Mutants. Down the line, I’m going to guess she’ll be involved in Krakoa’s version of Inferno, but what’s her intended role supposed to be?

Finally, what’s Gorgon’s role as Captain supposed to be.

The First Laws of Our Nation

Before I get into the content of this section, I want to talk about the beautiful panelling here that starts wide, shrinks down to the nine panel grid as the political debate intensifies, and then opens up again once the decision is made. 

Similarly, I like the use of the two key symbols: the X of the chairs and the sigil on the ground (secular authority), Krakoa’s face looming over them all like a heart tree (spiritual authority)

Given what we learn in Powers of X #6 about why various council members was chosen, describing three of the four seasons as “family, friends, and allies” is highly ironic.

Sabertooth is removed from watery confinement - which, if Krkaoa can just hold people in water bubbles for an extended period, why isn’t that the punishment used late? - and Kurt sets an appropriately Biblical tone by noting that “our first bit of business is the oldest kind on this planet...judgement.” (Appropriately for Kurt’s themes, the judgement in question also centers on how to punish the first murder in this new land, and ends with exile.) Also, for those of you keeping track of how much Krakoan justice accords with human conceptions of justice, I will point out that Sabertooth comes out of the bubble threatening his judges/jury, which is never a good look for a defendant.

So let’s talk about the trial:

One of the things that jump out to me immediately is that it’s interesting seeing Magneto in the role of an idealist - “this is the establishment of a nation...and I would have it be one of laws.” - whereas Xavier’s acting as the pragmatist, acknowledging that “I cannot say everyone here best represents the ideals of what any society should be based on,” but that they have to do the best with what they’ve got. Ultimately, I think this is a tension at the heart of all national projects.

Meanwhile, we get precisely three speakers in before conflict erupts: Sinister is a camp shit-stirrer who (publicly, anyway) really only partakes in the meeting to poke at Xavier and Exodus. Meanwhile, showing how little bloc voting there will be in the “problem mutant” camp, Exodus goes right for direct threats, prompting Sinister to propose criminalizing “mutant-on-mutant violence” (again, the political resonances here are obvious), not because he believes murder is wrong but because he’s enjoying trolling Exodus.

Showing how much Krakoan technology and the...unique worldviews of the Council members are going to produce new forms of political philosophy, Aopcalypse opposes Sinister’s motion, because he doesn’t think it should be “a crime to kill someone who cannot be killed,” since killing mutants is now a non-lethal way of testing them for social Darwinian worthiness. 

This clearly does not track with Storm’s morality, and in a rare moment in HOXPOX where we get to see Jean Grey operating as a forceful political presence, she uses Storm’s interjection to pivot to an appeal to “the highest of ideals” (perhaps aiming her words at Magneto as well as her fellow X-Men) that it should be the “highest crime...killing someone who cannot come back.” (This is more in line with her more recent appearances in X-Men: Red.) Thus, the Second Law of Krakoa is established...without actually taking a vote. It seems that the Council operates on the basis that any proposal not actively objected to becomes law, which I imagine the political scientists out there have some thoughts on.

Before the law passes, Mystique raises the question of self-defense against human aggression (which fits her first X-appearance nicely). Showing how much his earlier views have shifted now that he’s operating in the context of a mutant nation-state, Magneto distinguishes between “murder” and killing “done in defense of a nation,” and while that question is formally tabled, it does suggest an exception for formal armed conflict at least in the founder’s intent.

Supporting my theory that he’s going to be the de-facto Chairman or Speaker, Xavier not only drives the agenda (although he’s not alone in this, Magneto is definitely acting in this capacity), but also makes sure to “call the question,” deciding when proposals become law as long as no one objects.

Another point wrt to the justness of this process: well before he’s found guilty, let alone sentence is passed, Sabertooth threatens murder and cannibalism against his judges...which isn’t a persuasive defense against murder charges (even if he’s just threatening the murder of mutants...which isn’t legal AFAWK, just not as illegal as the murder of humans.)

A nice bit of character work, and another rare rmoment where we see Jean’s power in action, Emma and Jean collaborate to silence Sabertooth’s ranting. 

With the Second Law established, and Sabertooth’s trial technically in abeyance, the Council moves on to “any new business.”

As we might expect from a neoliberal robber baron, Sebastian Shaw calls for “property rights, wealth, currency,” to be legislated for next.

In an interesting turn of events, Doug Ramsey interjects that “Krakoa is alive. Not a place, or a biome -- a person.” Krakoan (real) property rights will have to have a decidedly non-capitalist orientation, because as we see further in Marauders #1, in addition to not having rights in the land, you have to ask for Krakoa’s consent in order to build grow a house.

In a development I didn’t see coming, Storm takes the position that  that mutants can still own property, but “it has to be...out there...in the world. No one has said we have to run from it.” This is somewhat more capitalist than I might expect from Storm, but it does make sense that someone with her particular entanglements in the wider world would take a less isolationist position. This raises an interesting question: if mutants own property in a sovereign nation, and they decide to plant Habitat flowers on their property, does that make that property now part of Krakoa?

Doug’s position gets supported by Exodus (in a characteristically religious tone), and Xavier once again calls the question, creating the Third Law of Krakoa. For those of us keeping track of the colonial theme, it is interesting that this largely European-led nation state has taken a legal position on land ownership that’s much more associated with indigenous peoples. 

Befitting her role as the true power in the Hellfire Trading Company, Emma Frost tables the discussion of economic legislation, due in no small part to it impinging on Krakoan diplomacy and international economic policy.

With a decidely mocking air aimed at her son, Mystique shifts the agenda from the secular to the sacred. After a moment’s thought, Kurt who fires back with the original “manifest destiny” out of Genesis (the first creation), and we get the First Law: “make more mutants.” In addition to continuing the very horny feel of the issue, this law raises a set of interesting questions about Krakoan attitudes with regard to the right to choose, access to family planning services, and sexuality - although as Hickman has pointed out, the implications of an egg-based system for (re)growing people point in completely different directions. Why assume Krakoa will follow human social mores in any area?

With the fundamental laws established, the Quiet Council can now decide how to apply them to Sabertooth:

In an example of how subtly powerful agenda-setting can be, Xavier makes the question of voting guilty or not guilty a question of “making an example...that no one is above mutant law” or “giving you one last chance.” Fitting his somewhat collectivist bent in Powers of X #1, he frames this question not in terms of the civil rights of “Mr. Creed,” but in terms of how the decision “benefits our new society.”

While it doesn’t quite settle the post facto question, Magneto argues that Sabertooth’s killing of the Damage Control guards violatted the “strict instructions” he was given when Magneto dispatched him on the mission, making it not merely a question of the First Law but also of obedience to the chain of command. Apocalypse, who knows something about managing an aggressive workforce, agrees.

Sinister and Exodus, for once, are on the same page, and while Mystique ultimately goes along with the emerging majority, her body posture and dialogue suggests a degree of internal conflict - after all, she was the one leading the mission, so some responsibility falls on her shoulders.

Turning to the X-Men side of the room: as befits his spiritual role, Kurt feels shame for not turning the other cheek, Jean takes a moment but is more assured, and of course Storm has no problem with a bit of divine judgement.

Continuing the trend of divisions among the Hellfire Club, Emma is all about getting rid of Sabertooth, while Sebastian goes along with the emerging consensus because he doesn’t care. 

And once again proving that a defendant representing themselves is always a bad idea, before all the votes are in (and we don’t know whether Krakoan juries require a unanimous verdict) or the sentence is given out, Sabertooth threatens familicide of the Quiet Council. Not exactly a strong argument for leniency, since Sabertooth hasn’t exactly been pleading innocence at any point. 

Finally, Doug asks Krakoa to bring the hammer down, and Sabertooth is dragged down to hell put into an oubliette. As Xavier explains, “we cannot send you back into the world” (because Sabertooth is a serial killer who can’t restrain himself, and Krakoa just promised the world it would hold mutants accountable for their actions), they won’t jail him because “we tolerate no prisons here” (this seems a technicality), they won’t kill him, because seemingly the “resurection protocols” are non-optional (which is interesting, given what we learn about Destiny in the next issue), and so they “exile him.”  

One interesting question: given the resources available to them, why is it necessary to leave him “aware but unable to act on it” rather than have him be unconscious during stasis? My guess is that Xavier wants to motivate Sabertooth to “redeem” himself down the line. 

And then finally, we get Xavier’s concluding statement, where I think Hickman’s views on nation-states (“it’s distasteful, I know, this business of running a nation”), the proper attitudes one should have about holding and exercising political power (”I pray we never get used to it...never grow cold from it...never learn to love it”), and even parenthood come through.

Just Look At What We’ve Made:

But in the meantime, the council emerges to what almost everyone has analogized to the Return of the Jedi celebration: not only do we see bonfires and fireworks and a riot of color everywhere, but we see mutants flying around, using their powers, for the first time really feeling that they can live as mutants without fear for their lives.

As the Quiet Council walk down the steps, we see some of the reasons why and the consequences: the Five party as one, but near them we see the formerly dead raising a glass with the living. And echoing Magneto’s earlier statements about how Krakoa will change the way mutants see their own powers, we see Siryn and Dazzler combining their powers for the purposes of culture rather than warfare or high tech.

Xavier’s final message is that the Quiet Council will work like hell to ensure that the next generation of mutants “sleep in soft fields of lush green, staring at the stars and dreaming of a future where they hold those stars in their hands.” Once again, a sign that Krakoa’s manifest destiny lies in space, a common theme of Hickman’s from his FF run. As this happens, we see three of the O5 goofing around (I’m surprised how many people didn’t notice that Bobby had frozen Warren’s drink while he wasn’t looking), and Exodus leading storytime with the children as Sinister watches in the background.

But that’s not what people are really here for - as nice as it is to see Broo and Synch and Skin and Pixie, what people really care about is the Jean/Logan/Scott panel. As the now infamous architectural diagram in X-Men #1 makes very clear, this is not a case of a mere open marriage: the most famous romantic triangle in X-Men history is now a throuple, founded on the principle of beer and tummy rubs. 

Almost as exciting for much of the fandom is the next page, where Jean goes to make peace with Emma while Scott hangs out with Alex. One of the big questions going on is what Emma’s role is in the polycule, since she doesn’t seem to be living at the Summer House. My guess is that Emma is “part of it” (to quote David S. Pumpkins), but may only be with Scott, and definitely would refuse point-blank to share communal living quarters with Logan. We will have to wait for more evidence to be sure.

And so we end with Xavier and Magneto looking out over the celebration, taking a moment to feel (rightly?) proud of “what we have made.” And yet, all is not well, because Apocalypse, the third ideological force who (through Moira) helped to create Krakoa, broods on what he lost when Krakoa was born.

Krakoa Infographic:

With Krakoa now extant as a nation-state, we get one more infographic...that shows us that there is a Krakoa Atlantic to go along with Krakoa Pacific. This points to an important truth about this new polity - it would be a mistake to see Krakoa as an island nation like Genosha or Utopia, because the nation of Krakoa exists wherever the physical entity of Krakoa exists. It’s in the Pacific and the Atlantic, it’s on the moon, it’s on Mars, it’s everywhere a Krakoan flower has been planted. Which makes it a post-geographic power.

So what’s on Krakoa Atlantic?

The Pointe is one of Xavier’s Cerebro back-up locations, so that an attack on Krakoa Pacific won’t destroy the database. 

Danger Island is the X-Men’s new and expanded training facility.

Transit allows for instant transportation between Pacific and Atlantic to allow the X-Men to respond to a threat to either island or cradle, and possibly a final keep to fall back to if everything else is lost.

And finally we get one last map of Krakoa (All), and there’s a lot we don’t know about these locations:

The House of X and the House of M are Xavier and Magneto’s residences, and the location of one of the Cerebro “cradles.”

The Arbor Magna is the big tree where the Resurrection system is located in/on.

The Arena we don’t know anything about, but from the name it suggests that it’s a combat-oriented location, either for training or for entertainment purposes. 

The Akademos Habitat is almost certainly Krakoa’s educational facility that Jean mentions back in House of X #1, but the fact that it’s a Habitat is interesting, because a Krakoan Habitat is a ”self-sutained environment” of its own that is “part of the interconnected consciousness of Krakoa,” and I had thought that having a Habitat on Krakoa itself, as opposed to one out on the moon or Mars would be redundant. My guess is that this is meant to provide an additional layer of safety to the next generation of mutants.

We saw Transit back in House of X #1, this Transit location is the Grand Central Station for Greater Krakoa, linking all gateway locations together. Yet another sign that, for Krakoa, their nation has a different conception of distance. 

The Oracle is, I would guess, probably one of the Krakoan Systems, most likely either Sage’s or Beast’s part of the system.

I don’t know what the Grove is supposed to be, but given its proximity to the Akademos Habitat, I think it’s supposed to be a living space, possibly just for the young and possibly not. 

The Cradle, it turns out, is just a cradle.

The Resevoir could be that lagoon we saw back in House of X #1, which would make sense if the Wild Hunt is a nature preserve, because animals love to congregate at watering holes.

The Carousel’s name suggests it’s an entertainment facility. 

We know what Bar Sinister is from its last appearance; it turns out that Sinister recreated his little island Edwardian eugenics nightclub on Krakoa. Interesting that it’s locsated so close to Transit; maybe Sinister wants to be able to make a quick getaway.

Speaking of the fruits of faustian bargains, it turns out that the quid-pro-quo for becoming the economic engine of a nation is that the Hellfire Trading Company gets a whole Hellfire Bay to itself as its headquarters. 

Red Keep is almost certainly Kate Pryde’s new pad, which is conveniently ocean-ajacent for our newest mutant pirate privateer queen.

Blackstone is Sebastian Shaw’s Gilded Age “gentleman’s” club.

The White Palace is naturally Emma’s boudoir, complete with buzzsaws and spikes. 

The unnamed location 18 is clearly Moira’s No-Space.

[of-tatooine]

honor him. | chapter 6 - loose ends

new information comes to light and the contract is bent. 

“One move and I start cutting.”

Breath held back in a sharp gasp, the quick palpitations of the heart beating out of the chest. A little hiss at the coldness of the blade against warmer skin. The salty droplets of cold sweat starting to form on their foreheads. Too afraid to take tentative steps to escape, threatened by the perfectly-measured, mastered amount of sheer pressure against their throats just enough to not break the barrier of flesh.  

If all the targets that fell dead under your blade had something in common, it would be their reactions when you prepared to deliver the final cut.

Pendleton had been no different. The moment your cold steel met his skin, the nobleman knew better not to move his hands towards the blade he kept on the dresser. If an assassin had been that skilled to sneak in, not make a single living whiff of a sound and press a blade against him like that - he would not dare take a single breath. Though he had been surprised, you could tell by the way his head tilted ever so slightly to the right, to hear a woman’s voice wielding the killer weapon. You hoped he did not have a weak heart, since you were about to surprise him much, much more with what was to come.

The contract sent by Lord Shaw to the one and only Knife of Dunwall stated that Lord Treavor Pendleton was to be eliminated, with a handsome reward of shiny five thousand coin. Most nobles you had been ordered to kill, that you have interacted with at some level, had been slimy and shady, thinking their money and their power would solve every single problem they encountered - even the slightest inconveniences. Most of the times, they did. That night was not going to be one of those times.

“Take a seat over at that chair,” your strong voice would demand while your empty, gloved hand would reach out to grab onto the back of his fancy overcoat tightly, the agonizing touch of the blade loosening ever so slightly against his throat to give him room to walk. “Start walking.”

It was as if you could sense the cowardice of his soul seeping through his expensive garments, the man’s breathing became ragged with droplets of cold sweat racing down his jaw as you followed him around the bed towards the wooden chair, nudging him. Only when he sat down without resisting you could you take a good look at his face - terror, his slicked back black hair emanating a couple of loose strands out of sweat, his eyes big and full of fear. Some glints of surprise in the orbs, as he took a good look upwards at his captor, who happened to be a sight for sore eyes.

Standing in front of your captive with nothing but determination in your eyes, your extended hand would hold the steel dangerously close to his bulging, sweaty throat part covered by that high-collar neckline he wore. An occasional night breeze would toy with your hair as the fading remnants of sunlight hit your features.

“W-what do you want? I swear, I can give you money, so much money and power-” the man would start rambling, in a trembling voice as one of his legs started shaking ever-so-slightly.

“Someone wants you dead and gone, Pendleton,” your voice dipped in control echoed in the vast bedroom, as you would lean in lightly. “I have to admit - I did too. I would love to stick a blade in your little throat and watch you squirm. After all, you’re just another noble out of the bunch, aren’t you?”

Pendleton gulped, the pleading look in his eyes back again. “Please...”

Tilting your head slightly, you would lean in even further, the blade staying horizontally against his flesh, restricting all movement. “But on my way here, I came across a very interesting sight. It isn’t exactly the wisest decision to conspire near the Regent’s Parliament, huh?”

If someone’s eyes could widen to cover half their face, Treavor’s eyes at that moment would. Oh, this was bad. Not only would this woman gut him alive and leave him to the plague rats to feast on, she had heard their plans too. The entire Pendleton family name, if someone had found out about his intent to restore the rightful heir, would perish to no avail. The mere thought made him quiver under her hands.

“I know a great deal,” you started, your voice thickening as your orbs bore fire into his, your face inches away from his terrified one.

“Emily Kaldwin. I want to know where she is, Treavor. And before you start saying you don’t know anything,” the blade pressed against his throat firmer, causing him to writhe under you. “I know those choffers you call siblings have her, so I suggest you co-operate with me here.”

It was almost as if the eminent fear of dying had awakened something inside of the coward, when his eyes lit up for a second, looking into your eyes with a newfound tone in them.

“That information comes at a price.”

To that, you could not help but let out a chuckle, shaking your head at his utter and hopeless naivety. You were being paid top coin to kill this man - was he not aware of the fact that you could skin him alive right that second?

“You bastard. I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands now, are you?” you would ask, the edge of the blade leaving a small cut underneath his jaw, couple drops of blood coating your shiny metal. A loud hiss would emanate from the man underneath you, yet he managed to look into your eyes with all the courage he could muster.

“I can do better than that. You help us get the Royal Protector out of Coldridge, I will get out of sight and out of mind, disappear into the Void itself.”

It was your turn to show surprise as he made you the most unexpected offer. It was as if all those made-up rescue scenarios you made in your head, playing different turns of events for four long months were coming to life. Could you trust this man? Was he loyal to the Empire as he claimed to be?

“I can just torture you to death right here and you would be begging to spill information to me,” you spoke, your tone evident.

It seemed like the man did not have a choice but to trust you. He knew damn well what you had been capable of, the itching and burning fresh cut on his jawline would always be a reminder of that. Bribing guards had been too risky - no one could pinpoint what those dimwits could do. If you hadn’t had good intentions for the heiress either, you would have started torturing him on the spot, but instead you leaned towards the more merciful path.

“Lady, you could have killed me the moment you stepped in my chambers. You need me alive. The Empire needs nobles who are still loyal to the Kaldwin reign, and you know it.”

Never before had you been this intimidated by a target. You had been sent to stick a blade through this man, what in the Void did you think you were doing, trying to cut some crazy deal with him for a suicide mission, all the while sparing him? It felt like losing control - you did not like losing control. Jaw clenched and fire burning in your eyes, it was time you took it back.

“I’ll do it,” the words spilled out of your mouth without little hesitation. “Tell me where Lady Emily is.”

Pendleton could only let out a little grin, blinking, not expecting to recruit that easily into the conspiracy. “My brothers frequent the finest bathhouse in the Isles.”

Getting the hint, your eyes would glimmer with determination and you would nod sharply to the man, before you extracted your blade back into the holster and made your fist meet his jaw. Sending him reeling back to tumble on the hardwood with a groan.

Out of the corner of your eye, a small glint of metal caught your attention, positioned neatly on the chestnut dresser against the wooden-paneled wall. You had done this man the favor of his lifetime by not letting him go victim to your blade - maybe it would not hurt him too much if you scavenged a little something.

A Kaldwin cameo, you would recognize as you walked towards it, the mere sight of it making you clench your jaw. Without giving it a second thought, you grabbed the shiny object, slipping it into your pouch. “If I hear your name around anytime soon, I will come and slice your head off,” your threatening voice echoed as you perched up on the window, looking at a disheveled Pendleton leaning against the wall.

His fingers tracing the burning cut, he could only look as you jumped out of the window towards the rooftops.

                                                           ---

The return back to your base, the wretched place you had learned to call a home alongside him, had not been as easy as it had always been after your previous targets, who were no doubt swarming the Void already.

The choices you make, he would tell you, always matter to someone, somewhere.

Letting Pendleton disappear alive and unharmed, to realize the plans he had been discussing with the Admiral was a decision that would impact you and those around you tremendously. It would mark the start of your involvement with the conspiracy, founded to bandage the wounds your master had impaled under orders. As you approached the riverside neighboring the non-functioning but ever-so-tall Greaves Refinery in the skiff of a smuggler you had paid to get across Wrenhaven, the dawn of the approaching crossroads sulked on your mind. The mission ahead of you irking you to an extent you never felt before, knowing there was so much more at stake than just life and death. In many ways, the future of an Empire depended on whether you succeeded. The burden it had already put on your shoulders was beginning to drag you down, cloud your mind with reason and equally with judgment.

Was aiding Corvo in any way treason to your master? The same master who stuck a blade into the woman he was hired to protect? The former Royal Protector was an unknown, a mystery - even if he did manage to get out in one piece, which was very unlikely given the nature of the busted hole he was in, there was no telling what he would do. Would the man be so full of revenge that he would start killing every person he set his sights onto? Cause havoc in the cursed city that has taken everything away from him?

No. The Corvo you knew all those years ago would not. You prayed to the dark-eyed god that all that pain and misery had not changed him too much.

Slowly making your way through your territory, the route to Central Rudshore gave you the opportunity to reflect, your reflection gazing at you through the chest-high waters. The more you thought, the more your heart and your mind slipped into unison. You had seen Daud, once a bloodthirsty killer without emotion, crumble and suffer with the regret that his last assassination brought onto his aching soul. You knew he would take it back, take everything back to the start, give back all the coin and put a blade into that small man Burrows if he had the chance to.

He ached to do something right, something for the good of the Empire, and so did you. In your heart and mind, aiding Corvo Attano get his honor back was the right thing to do. Even when you served the man who led to his misery in the first place - you would do your part in a hopeful quest to restore the rightful heir, for as long as you could, all the while keeping your Master from harm’s way.

It was that deep hollow in your stomach letting you know that you only could for so long.

Mask on, couple of your fellow Whalers would greet you inside the Commerce Building as you approached his double doors. For the moment, all you could do, all you could hope for was for the noble to listen to your carefully-spoken word and leave the area for however long it needed to take so that rich bastard Lord Shaw would not notice you deliberately failing the contract. You only could hope the payment reached Daud safely and soundly - the last thing you wanted to do was to give him even the slightest hint of suspicion.

Taking your mask off the moment you stepped inside his quarters, you would find the Master Assassin lighting up a cigar, holding it in between his leather-clad fingers as his head would rise in your walking figure, your blade holstered and mask in hand. His steel blues glinting in relief for a split second to see one of his best Whalers coming back in one piece, his head would tilt ever so slightly to the left, eager to listen.

“Pendleton’s eliminated,” your voice would not falter, in all due technicality, it had not been a lie. Daud would catch your dishonesty even if you were far away in the damned Void itself. There was no use trying the Old Knife.

The assassin would nod, taking a long drag off of his cigar as his other hand scribbled something illegible onto his ledger, guessing it had been the bounty off of the contract. Taking steps closer to his office space, you would notice the fresh cards he readied near his audiograph - you had an inkling of an idea of what they would be about. Lately, his thoughts were about one thing and one thing only.

“I need you to lay low for a while,” the master assassin would start with his usually gruff voice, this time a little hint of care etched onto his words. “Pendleton was a man with connections, and I don’t want anyone tracing back to us. People in the Parliament will notice his sudden absence. Get a little rest, you earned it.”

Your features neutral with a hint of a smile on your lips, you would nod graciously. The Whalers had been laying low for a while, ever since it all came down. His request from you did not intrigue you too much.

“As you wish, Master,” would spill out of your mouth as your fingers gave him a salute, which he would return with a nod your way before you vanished into the shadows.

Daud knew they could not keep hiding and running like this - trouble was headed their way whether they liked it or not. Whatever demise that was coming his way, he knew he deserved it.

Not yet, he would mumble to himself as he exhaled the thick smoke.

[thesynthesist]

Put 2000 words into a reasonable second part last night. I wanted to get it finished but there are more words... Take part one in the mean time. If you don’t want to click through, read below the cut

Earth was not a place for impatience. It had been three days since Silas had made landfall after replying to the message he had received from what he assumed to be the only living relative of Dr. Hull, father of androids. Violet still had not contacted him again. What’s more, she wasn’t on the planetary network so there was nothing Silas could do but wait. He didn’t mind that. Earth was the cradle of human and AI civilization, and even so many years after humanity left for the stars, it was still considered a hub of culture for the solar system, if not the wider universe. Colourful buildings of stained glass solar panels and rugged biodegradable plastics sprouted from the ground wherever he looked. Wrapped in plant life that had evolved to tolerate co-habitation, it was beautiful. Here and there if you knew the right places to look, you could find houses from the old prefab subdivisions, with their brick walls and plastic sidings. Buildings older than that were rare and practically on the other side of the planet from where Silas had landed. It was a small thing to bridge that distance these days but he didn’t want to be far from his ship. Instead he was content to explore the immediate area and he was deciding whether or not he should sample some of the regions cuisine despite the fact it would force him to clean out his calorimeter, when a message popped up in the lower right of his vision.   Heard you were planet side, little bro. Let’s meet up. I’d rather not. Silas shot back the message with barely a thought, adding after a moment of consideration. I’m strictly here on business. And as if to back up his claim, he turned and went back to his ship. Suddenly, he had no desire to ingest anything at all. Sid showed up the next day while Silas was watching his mechanical fish. “Woah, you make these?” Silas sighed, “You know it’s rude to come onto someone’s ship without asking.” Sid slung an arm over Silas’s shoulder and Silas got a glimpse of his face int the reflection from the fish tank. The family relationship was strong by human standards. They had the same broad jaw, the same fine black hair -- though Sid’s was wild, and causally styled with gel while Silas kept his cropped to something a little more practical. As model mates they were based off the same base specs. There were plenty of members from their fabrication group, but Sid and Silas had been finished at around the same time near the end, and Sid had decided, not even an hour after he was operational, that Silas was his little brother and that nothing could break the bonds of family. Silas found it all very tiresome. “Well you weren’t coming to see me,” said Sid as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “So I had to come see you.” “I told you, I’m strictly here on business,” replied Silas. “It’s always business with you,” said Sid. “It wouldn’t kill you to loosen up. We’re series one, we’re practically human. Live a little! Even Series 4 get out more than you and they don’t have a social drive.” Silas set his mouth in a firm line and met Sid’s gaze in the glass, but he said nothing. Between his anxiety to make progress on his investigation to justify the time off, and Sid’s sudden appearance, his patience was wearing thin. They stared at each other like that, fish swimming behind their faces, until Sid raised his hands and took a step back. “Alright, I get it, I get it. It’s important stuff you’re working on. Big time shit. But I don’t want to hear about you burning out your circuits and having to be hauled off to a repair satellite ahead of schedule because you refuse to take some time off.” He closed his eyes, the pupils darting back rapidly beneath the surface. Silas found the display amateurish, with a little practice it was possible to run functional societal programming and searches at the same time. When Sid opened his eyes again he said, “Let’s try this. There’s a culture festival tomorrow in the next city over. I know you like that sort of thing so we should go. I’ll meet you outside at 10 in the morning, in case you decide to go. If you’re not out by 11, don’t worry I’ll see myself out.” Sid waved with forced cheer, and left. Silas watched his fashionably distressed clothing disappear in the reflection. He stared at the fish for a while before burying himself in auxiliary work for the rest of the day. Fielding small requests, connecting missed messages, digging up archival information. Most of it a faxi could have done without the help of a proper AI but it felt good to be busy. At midnight local time, his faxi politely reminded him that it would be beneficial to spend at least an hour at the recharging station. It wasn’t that he needed to sleep as such, but it was common practice for Series One to spend at least a few hours inactive to reduce wear on their joints and back up their memories. Begrudgingly, Silas agreed and plugging himself in, lowering his awareness to the most basic levels. He opted not to spend his time on the net or the local chat serves, and instead spent the time drifting. As usual, since his encounter, Silas found himself thinking about Ayoura. It had been shocking to learn that she had children, had a family. It had sent a thrill through Silas’s central processes. What Sid wanted was just make believe wasn’t it? Playing house like children, what Ayoura had was real, truly, painfully real. Sid hadn’t been far off when he said that they were practically human. All humans wanted a group to belong to, it only followed that the first series did too. Many of the same urges, the same feelings flowed through them, and so they had adopted the human model without a second thought, or when that was impossible just resigned themselves to having nothing. After all, everything else about Series One mimicked humans. Perhaps Sid was onto something. Despite all Silas’s companionship work, despite all the time he had spent with humans, he had never once considered how human concepts might related to himself. He had always held himself apart from them, but considered himself to be under the same psychological directives. He was Series One. Not quite human, but not quite robotic either. Series 4 were a complete mystery, and the other series only slightly less so. There was no place where he fit and understood so he had just adopted the best model that came along. The rage and bitterness that coloured many of Ayoura’s memories were beginning to make sense. He searched his personal database for the memories of Ayoura’s family. Not the one’s of her father, but the ones of her husband, and her children, loved with a fierceness that put a red super giant star to shame, even as they were stripped from her. Silas dwelled on that memory trying to understand. She hadn’t known her children, not really. They had been born as humans were, small and read and squalling.  That was the only way she had known them, hardly alive, hardly aware. In some sense what Sid had endeavored to create between the two of them was more real than that. There was no reason, Silas realized, he had to oust himself from things he could not emulate perfectly. Sometimes things had to be changed to make sense. At 10 AM local time, Silas stepped outside of his ship. Sid was already there waiting, dressed in what Silas assumed were his best clothes; if ripped red jeans and a sleeveless black turtleneck could be considered best. “You look like you’re dressed for a funeral,” he said. Silas looked down at his white suit. “Not appropriate?” “Dude. No.” Side Ushered Silas back into the ship and made a beeline for his room. “Don’t you have something a little more casual?” Silas watched helplessly as Sid ransacked his wall closet, flipping through the clothes with practiced ease. He pulled out a pair of grey cargo pants and an olive drab tank top from the back triumphantly and held them up. “That’s just for ship wear,” Silas protested. “Hush, it’s very casual military chic, I like it,” said Sid, completely ignoring the look Silas was giving him. “Not quite as bright as most people will be wearing but it’ll do.” He draped the clothes over Silas’s shoulder and clapped him on the back. “Well, get dressed.” “You are incredibly meddlesome,” said Silas, loosening his tie. “And you’re a stick in the mud in public,” Sid replied fondly as he left the room. Silas changed quickly, slipping on the clothing with practiced ease. The fabric was soft from use, but thankfully unstained and therefore met the very minimum requirements of presentation. He tried to ease the tension in his shoulders as he made final adjustments. It seemed despite his revelation in the early hours of the morning, the adjustment wasn’t going to be as easy as he thought. Sid made it look easy. The crowd practically parted as he led the way off the ship, down the street, onto the train and to the festival. He smiled at everyone, and seemed completely at ease, introducing Silas to strangers that he admitted he didn’t know. Silas was tired by the time they arrived, but the air of the festival soon revitalized him. It was already in full swing and everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. It wasn’t a human only affair either. They passed the brightly coloured and patterned chassis of the second and third series. There were even a few multi-limbed inhuman planned, series four in the throng. The miniserver for the neighborhood was awash with talk of events and merchandise. The excitement was palpable. “There are so many people here,” remarked Silas when they stopped for a moment to watch someone swallow a sword. He claimed to be all organic, and Silas knew it was possible, but it was still a sight verging on miraculous. Sid laughed, “It’s nice to have your boots on the ground eh? You spend so much time on those corporate ships and security tours of yours. Come on, we’ve got more to see.” Silas let Sid lead him through the blur of novelty. There were street musicians, contact jugglers, dancing and the smells of food Silas couldn’t name. It was overwhelming. It was amazing. They stopped at anything that caught Silas’s eye, Sid offering a running commentary. It wasn’t particularly illuminating but it was still, somehow, nice. “Consider,” said Sid, handing Silas an iced treat made of what seemed to be seaweed and avocado, “you would have let all this pass you by holed up in that ship of yours.” “Consider,” replied Silas, “you’d get more work done if you let a little bit more pass you by.” “Touche.” Silas tried a spoonful of his treat. The flavor and the chill sat heavily on his tongue but not unpleasantly. Belayed by the creamy texture it tasted the way reentering orbit felt. It left an earthy taste on his tongue when it was gone, and a surprisingly empty feeling feeling in his mouth. He had some more. “What’s this?” “Ocean ice,” said Sid. “most humans don’t like it. Says it tastes like the ass end of a fishing trawler but some like it, and it’s popular among the first and second series.” “Not Series three?” asked Silas. He didn’t know much about the other series besides the basics. In the small microcosms he inhabited they were usually far away from him or perpetually busy. Sid stirred his Ocean ice contemplatively, turning it into a thick slurry. “They’re wired to detect chemicals so they don’t tend to eat a lot of human food.” “We go more for galactic ice, it tastes like cyanide and motor oil.” Silas looked over and found that they’d been joined by a stocky unit with patchwork synth skin in reds, yellows and oranges. Her hair was short, and so red it was almost brown. “Lee!” Sid swept her into a hug, which she endured patiently. When he finally released her, he turned. “Silas, this is my friend Auralie. Auralie, this is my brother Silas.” “Charmed,” said Silas, holding out his hand. Auralie looked at it for a moment before shaking it firmly. “You can just call me Lee,” she said. “Figured I’d just tell you now, since I can tell you’re one of the corporate types, not like this idiot.” She elbowed Sid, who beamed at the casual abuse. “He’s a walking disaster no matter where he is.” “Ouch! That hurt more than the elbow.” “Tough,” Lee grinned. “Anyways, someone said they saw Sid wandering around with his model mate who’s never been planet side proper before, so I came out as sort of a welcome committee.” “That’s very kind of you,” said Silas. “Don’t thank me yet, Proxy. By this time tomorrow you’re going to know what a hangover is.” Lee winked and spun around threading her way through the crowd with practiced ease. What’s a proxy? Silas asked, as he and Sid followed the rapidly disappearing bob cut into the crowd. Best not think to hard about it. Silas glanced over sharply at Sid but he wasn’t paying attention. Instead he looked like the proverbial cat, and Silas hoped, all things considered, this did not make him the proverbial canary. But no matter what happened Silas had the sinking feeling he was in for an experience.