#its the death stranding bike

[tinyalechardy]

... I gave him a motorised vehicle. The horse needed a break from his stubborn personality.

[theoldoor]

I NEED TO DIE I LOVE KAKAVASHA/AVENTURINE SO MUCUCHUH F

Aventurine, sentenced to death after losing his Stoneheart (AGAIN - cuz it got stolen when a group of talian bandits infiltrated the radiant feldspar, this is a small event lol), now buried under the sand of the Talian’s scorned desert after his ship crashed as they were attacked by a Galaxy Ranger. He was pulled from the wreckage, collared, and prepared for sale once again. He watched as a man handed over the heavy bag again, knowing he had been sold. But to his surprise, the man who had supposedly bought him urgently nudged him to run along in a hasty manner. He had no choice but to follow. As they escaped through the clan’s market, the other man snatched a nearby blanket and dragged Aventurine out quite forcefully. Then the market caught ablaze in an explosion, his intention was revealed - he had stole all the goods of the clan’s market, including Aventurine. The two fled to the desert on a motorbike… Though it was clearly built for 1 person.

During the bike ride, Aventurine had struggled to save his life from this giant biker. Thus, they couldn’t catch up to the rest of the clan and was left stranded in the desert plains. Having nowhere else to go and night was dawning upon them, the biker stopped to set up a small camp for the both of them.

*sniepps

During their first night together they got into a big fight during dinner, which lead to the lil comic above. Fenrir was lowk freaked up cuz Aventurine matched his freak there.

This was also when they knew of each other’s name-

“So, what should I call you?”

“…”

“… I’m Fenrir.”

“…”

“Just give me a random name to call you as. Or else you’re stuck as slave-boy. Names doesn’t matter here, no one understands literature anymore so your name holds no meaning.”

“Kakavasha.”

“… I’ll just call you ‘Vasha. Remembering more than two vowels is a hassle.”

but the bickering has its time and they knew they both need to get serious of they want to survive…

Initially resistant, they realized they had to survive together. Fenrir’s partial blindness meant he relied on Aventurine as his eyes, while Aventurine depended on Fenrir for protection. Despite bickering, they formed a bond out of necessity.

“The infamous Avidity’s brute found a new companion”

No longer Aventurine, he took on his old name, Kakavasha in the desert plains of Talia as he was basically recycled here. It was the same for the other man too, once a different name, but now went by Fenrir. But the names wouldn’t matter, everything in this desert is for survival and names are luxuries.

They worked well as a team. Fenrir being the getaway driver and the dumb dog distraction while Aventurine/Kakavasha do the talking and stealing. They would build an image of being adept thieves in many Talian clans and had a notorious bounty in Nailscrap town. Over time, they transitioned from mere survival partners to a found family, developing deep respect and care for each other.

Their nights of silence turned into moments of checking in on one another. Shared dinners became hearty and enjoyable. They stole an extra bedroll and supplies, making their camp more comfortable. Fenrir, once cold, became lively and domestic, while Aventurine, once feisty and distant, now relaxed and teasing.

Months passed and they grew so close they almost forgot their original goal of finding Fenrir’s clan. When Fenrir’s clan, Avidity, finally found them, they were hesitant to accept Kakavasha. The clan had enough mouths to feed and Fenrir could survive fine without Kakavasha now. But Fenrir pleaded for his stay. Even going against his own virtues of “taking only what you need to survive” that he had always told to Aventurine. He personally recruited Aventurine as his ‘newbie’ to ensure his place in the clan.

Now part of Avidity, a new family despite the rubbish conditions they live in. Fenrir pampered him to prove to the clan that he could ‘feed the extra mouths’, and Kakavasha gained respect among the clan for his capabilities as a thief.

It took a while until Kakavasha noticed that the stoneheart was lying in Fenrir’s clan hand - it was around this same time that the Trailblazer visited the planet due to Boothill’s request and boom trailblazer quest

obligatory tannedchurin headcanon </3 + fencakes

[geneticdriftwood]

lost and found pt. 1: missing pieces (dickroy wip snippet)

Summary:

"In the photo, Roy’s head hangs backwards over the arm of their old couch. His face is covered in doodles that Dick had helped a tiny Lian draw, all in multicolored permanent marker. He’s trying to look dramatically outraged, but the effect is ruined by the bright grin he can’t quite suppress. His gaze is directed off camera, to where Lian is giggling delightedly in Dick’s lap, a bright streak of blue smudged across her right cheek. The look in his eyes is full of such intense love and devotion that Dick forgets, for a moment, how to breathe."

Or: Dick thinks about the past and fails to change the future.

A/N: this is a little snippet from pt. 1 of lost and found, my wip au where Lian and Damian become friends while she's running around gotham still "dead". they get themselves stranded half a galaxy away, and in the process of rescuing them, dick and roy finally work through their issues and figure their shit out. takes place shortly after bruce returns from the time stream, pre-nu52 canon but with lian's current death plotline

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

The last kid from his gymnastics class has finally been picked up, so Dick heads to the staff locker room to rinse off before going home. 

Honestly, Dick hates this locker room. It’s nothing like the tiny one at his old gym in New York, with its cracked mirror, and its shower with shit water pressure, and its photos and stickers and children's artwork on every locker. This one is too big, all shiny and new and impersonal, remodeled, like the rest of the gym, with money from a generous anonymous donation. Because Bruce can’t resist shoving himself into every fucking corner of Dick’s life.

That’s probably enough bitching about Bruce for now. He doesn’t want to hit his daily quota before he even finds out what happened last night with Damian. 

Dick finishes his shower and towels off, changing into a clean pair of sweatpants and an old Wonder Woman t-shirt. Gym bag over his shoulder, he waves goodbye to his coworkers and steps out into the soft light of early evening. He throws a helmet on, hops on his bike, and pulls out of the parking lot, heading in the direction of his apartment. 

The fog of stress and exhaustion has finally cleared from his head, and he’s feeling more like himself than he has all day, but something in his chest still aches. 

His last group of the day had been the tumbling class for 5-6 year olds. It's one of his favorites to teach–– it’s mostly just playing games, and he loves seeing how carefree and comfortable in their own skin the kids that age still are. But there’s moments when he looks at them and chokes on the air in his lungs, unable to swallow the grief. 

Sophie had landed her first cartwheel today, and all he could see was Lian, running into the tower kitchen to proudly show him that look, she finally got the feet right! And he and Donna had applauded, and let her lick the cookie dough off the spoon, and listened as she’d sat at the kitchen island, kicking her feet and telling them all about some new animal fact she’d learned. 

He thinks about calling Roy and sharing the memory. But he doesn't know if he should, hasn't talked to him recently enough to know whether the thought of past joy would be a comfort, or just a painful reminder of loss.

It aches down to his bones, that he doesn’t know. The distance between him and Roy feels so wrong, like he’s missing a limb. 

Dick pulls in and parks in front of his favorite little corner grocery store. Dick wants to say he doesn’t know how all this started, but, well, he definitely does. He just doesn't particularly want to think about it.

This is his own damn fault, he knows. Roy’s been trying to reach out, lately. They see each other semi-regularly, at Justice League meetings or during the occasional mission. Out of costume sometimes, too, at someone’s birthday dinner or a West family cookout. But Dick’s had a lot of practice dodging conversations he doesn’t want to have. And normally Roy doesn’t let him get away with that, but they both know better than to start this fight in public. 

So Dick avoids being alone with Roy, and Roy stares at him from across the room, eyes burning holes in the side of Dick’s head. Between the two of them, silences have always been so much louder than screaming matches. 

Dick glances down. He’s a little surprised to notice that he has his phone out and opened to Roy’s contact, where a much younger face looks up at him. Donna had taken the picture, one afternoon when it had just been the three of them and Lian in the tower.

In the photo, Roy’s head hangs backwards over the arm of their old couch. His face is covered in doodles that Dick had helped a tiny Lian draw, all in multicolored permanent marker. He’s trying to look dramatically outraged, but the effect is ruined by the bright grin he can’t quite suppress. His gaze is directed off camera, to where Lian is giggling delightedly in Dick’s lap, a bright streak of blue smudged across her right cheek. The look in his eyes is full of such intense love and devotion that Dick forgets, for a moment, how to breathe.

It’s not like Dick wants things to stay like this. He misses his friend so much it burns inside. But he doesn’t know how to fix this. He’s afraid to try. Dick feels stuck, frozen. Why the hell is this so hard? 

His thumb hovers over the call button on the screen. He really, really wants to hear Roy’s voice.

Suddenly his phone vibrates, and a text from Tim pops up at the top of the screen.

dropping itty bitty bat off at ur place, eta 20min. if u arent home to stop me i WILL be stealing all ur zesti.

The tension of the moment breaks, and Dick is back to being just a guy in a parking lot. He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and pauses for a moment before pocketing his phone and turning to head into the store. He’s got a kid he needs to make dinner for, and he should probably restock on Zesti.

As he pushes the door open and is hit with cool air and the sounds of shoppers, a little voice in his head whispers “coward”. It sounds uncomfortably like Roy’s.

[comicarc]

𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐦𝐨𝐢𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐚 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 (𝐈)

next

Eva just wanted to escape Jasper after she graduated high school, but recent circumstances have made it seem like an impossible endeavor. She's seen things she shouldn't have, heard things that should never be said, and felt things she should never feel. Maybe she'll make it out on top, or drown from the hauntings of her past. or An inside look into every character of TFP, their grief, struggle, past and present, through the eyes of my OC (with a little romance). *TW for abuse, phycological and physical trauma, kidnapping & death*

wc: 4941

𝚂𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚄𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙵𝚊𝚌𝚎, 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝙱𝚕𝚞𝚛 𝙷𝚎𝚛 𝚂𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝

●・○・●・○・●

The warm breeze brushed against her skin and ruffled her hair. Eva closed her eyes, cherishing the rare moment of freedom. One hand softly brushed through the strands of her wavy hair, while the other shielded her from the glare of the setting sun. She gazed at the desert in the distance, noting every cliff, cactus, and tumbleweed she could make out as she waited. The jingling of bells at the entrance of the K.O. Drive-In finally brought her out of her trance. Turning her head, she watched as Jack locked the door behind him before heading towards her.

The lean, somewhat muscular, boy ruffled his dark hair and patted his shirt as he walked down the sidewalk. Grabbing a nearby ladder, he propped it against the back wall and climbed up to the roof of the of the Drive-In. Sitting next to her, Jack flashed a heartfelt smile. His droopy eyes managed to widen, straight eyebrows rose and his dull face brightened.

Eva folded her dangling legs and shifted to face her body towards him before she asked, “Are you going to the dance tonight?”

He replied, “Like I told my mom, no. Experience suggests I should never cut a rug.”

With a slight chuckle, she continued, “How’s the job? Saved up enough for that bike yet?”

“If only Vince paid for his food, then I could probably afford it in about a couple hundred years.”

“Well, you can only do so much. Don’t worry though, when I get out of here I’ll help you get a bike.” Looking down, she points to a sleek, blue motorcycle parked right in front of the entrance. “Maybe even a sweet ride like that.”

Following her gaze, Jack glanced at the vehicle. “I’ve never seen that around.”

“Me neither. Wanna check it out? Maybe even–”

“No, I’ll just check it out.”

Jack made his way back down the ladder, helping Eva jump down from its creaky ridges as he did. In a hurry, he rushed over the the motorbike and set his lustful gaze on it. He delicately felt the seat, touching the unscratched leather surface with the palm of his hand. He moved further down, the sensation of cold metal against his skin raising goosebumps on his arm.

Entranced by the vehicle he whispered, “I love you,” before announcing, “It may take a few K.O. paychecks, but I am going to own a ride like you someday.”

“Ah, there’s the Jack I know!” Eva exclaimed, leaning against a lamp pole as she watched him.

As he began to sit on it, Eva rushed towards him, warning, “You shouldn’t play with things that aren’t yours you know.”

“Oh, come on. Just sit and imagine with me. The wind beneath your hair, as you feel the breeze caressing your face, the–”

“Fine, fine, I’ll get on, Shakespeare.”

Rolling her eyes, Eva sat on the bike, leaning her head against Jack’s back. She intertwined her fingers after her arms looped around his waist and lifted her legs to fit on the passenger foot pedals. Jack adjusted his grip on the handles, pretending as though he was going to drive it. Just as he was about to get up, the engine suddenly revved to life. Thinking it was an accident, Eva let out a chuckle.

She heard more engine noises coming from behind her, prompting her to turn her head. Two sets of blinding headlights were facing them. Before Eva could inform Jack, the bike backed itself onto the road and began to drive between the two cars. Caught off guard by the sudden motion, Jack tried to adjust himself so he wouldn’t fall off the bike as Eva held him tight.

She was too stunned to make a sound as she looked back to see the same cars tailing them. After jumping a few red lights and turning into random streets, the bike swerved into an alleyway, screeching to a halt. Both Jack and Eva took this as a sign to promptly jump off of it.

Heart racing, Jack questioned, “What are you?”

The breeze grew calmer, the alley became almost dead silent, and the bike’s engine died down to a hum. The few seconds of stillness were deathly painful, but what came next was utterly inexplicable.

The bike threatened, “I don’t exist. Tell anyone about me and I will hunt you down.”

Eva, ever more curious than cautious yelled, “WAIT–” but before she could finish, the bike was already gone.

Moments later, Jack and Eva broke out into a sprint attempting to escape from the two cars that had tailed them earlier. Eva panted furiously, losing her breath too quickly for her frantically beating heart to cope. Her legs moved almost automatically, barely touching the ground as they did. She looked to her side to see Jack sitting on the strange motorbike that had left them helpless.

Jack leaned to the left trying to grab hold of her hand as he yelled, “Hop on!” Though it took a few attempts, Eva was eventually able to jump back into her previous position behind Jack. Sweat ran down her neck and her cheeks were painted with a furious blush, yet her heart had finally begun to ease its pace. Strands of her hair stuck to her face, partially obstructing her vision, and the sheer exhaustion from the workout had left Eva falling in and out of consciousness. Jack’s reassuring voice became blurred into the background as she struggled to keep her eyes alert and open. She continued to resist the urge to give in to her fatigue but eventually fainted.

●・○・●・○・●

Silence. It was all Eva could hear. Her body remained motionless lying on a hard concrete surface. The soft breeze blew dust on her face, forcing her to jerk forward and relentlessly cough. Disoriented, Eva swung her head from side to side, frantically searching for Jack or the bike that she was with earlier. All she was met with was the sight of dry leaves rustling in the distance. There was no voice to be heard for miles, no person to be seen anywhere, there was only her. Alone.

Laying back down, Eva looked up at the moon surrounded by billions of twinkling stars. Though the sky wasn’t as illuminated as it had been when the sun had shone, this night brought about a magical and rare sight. She was left in a secluded area, where not a single street lamp or traffic light could be seen, only miles and miles of an empty canal. It seemed that tonight, even the Moon decided to be accompanied.

“What the hell am I doing here?” Like nails on a chalkboard, her voice croaked. The dryness of her throat left her to sound like a piano out of tune, so horrendous to her own ear that she immediately shut her mouth and pursed her lips.

Jack wouldn’t leave me…but then what am I doing here alone? No. I refuse to believe that Jack would abandon me. Did the bike kidnap him? But why him and not me?

Eva’s attempt to grasp her situation was a futile endeavor given the scarcity of information she had so, to momentarily wallow in her self-pity, she rolled over to her side.

Something a few meters ahead caught her eye. Her curiosity overpowering her tiredness allowed her to hoist herself from the ground. Her tender hands were cut as the weight of her body allowed the broken pieces of concrete and other tiny minerals to jab into it.

Ignoring the thin stream of blood that flowed down her arm and fell from her elbow, Eva trekked forward, following the glow of an object at the other side of the canal. Reaching for the object, she observed the intricate symbols it had carved on the outside. Her blood seeped into its nooks and cracks, dulling the shine of the metallic box under the moonlight. Feeling all sides of the box, she pressed a button that unfolded the beautifully decorated exterior to reveal a book.

It was a leather-bound book, with a gold quill emblem on its cover. A loose piece of leather was wrapped around it, keeping it firmly closed. Seating herself back onto the ground, Eva set aside the exterior, unraveled the piece of leather, and flipped through the book.

She stopped at one page when the blood from her palm trickled and fell, highlighting one word: Megatronus. The mere unfamiliarity of the word enticed her to look into the book further.

Flipping to the beginning, the inside cover revealed the book to be the Covenant of Primus and the foreword beside it explained why it was even written:“To this day I could not tell you the beginning of our story–how Primus came to be, nor why, nor when. Though my curiosity burns me greatly, I have had to be satisfied with looking at the Covenant’s hidden stories, written in codes I cannot decipher, knowing that they exist, and knowing that there was a beginning.

Yes, there is a first page and prior to that there is a blank page. Today, I have set myself the task of translating and editing the Covenant of Primus so that it is meaningful for human contemplation. Since our fates are now entwined as galactic neighbors, you should have the opportunity to gain a greater understanding of who we are and where we have come from. The Covenant is our history–a full and lengthy record–of which this is only a fragment, but I hope that it proves a worthwhile and illustrative fragment that will satisfy your curiosity and allow you to develop a richer understanding of the personalities you have so lately met.

- Alpha Trion”

To Eva, it seemed to just be another immersive sci-fi novel; one that could keep her company for the night. With an aching body and a defeated will, she rested her back against the canal wall and began to read.

●・○・●・○・●

The sun had almost fully risen, and Eva had almost fully finished. The inner corners of her eyebrows were pulled up and together as her eyelids sagged. Cracked lips mouthed the final few words on the last page of the book, as Eva bore her heavy eyes into the ink. Her exhaustion was amplified by the streaks of dried tears on her face leaving her a mess of emotions. Closing the book, Eva winced as the dried blood pulled at the skin of her fingers.

The pain reminded her of her loneliness. Jack had never come to find her, and it seemed at this point, that he never would. Though no one had any obligation to her other than herself, the thought of being completely alone was maddening. Yet, she reminded herself that to wallow in self-pity would be to condemn herself to struggle. Finally mustering the strength to leave, Eva repackaged the book into the box, just as she had found it, and carried it with her on her walk home.

A couple of hours later, she was able to relax in her bathtub. She had vigorously scrubbed off the dried blood from her forearm, flinching every time the soap water touched her wound. She then completely submerged her face in an attempt to let the fatigue fall and flow in the muddy water in which she lay. The heat from the bath relaxed her body, softening the roughness in her hands and feet. Begrudgingly emerging from the heavenly water, Eva passed out on the living room couch, wrapping herself in a fleece blanket to cuddle with.

●・○・●・○・●

What the hell did I do? I just left her there and–

Rising his head from between his folded hands, Jack’s thoughts were interrupted at the sight of Eva walking into the classroom. The teacher seemed to be berating her about something, presumably her tardiness, but Jack was more concerned with how she looked to be. There were specks of dried blood littered across the length of her arm, the brown hues of it almost blending into her tan skin. Her eyes had visible bags under them and her mouth was very apparently set in a frown.

The school bell rang, indicating the end of the school day. As everyone rushed out, Jack stayed by the door waiting. Before Eva even took a step past the classroom entrance, Jack pleaded, “I’m so sorry.”

Eva seemed indifferent to his apology, if you could even call it that, and replied with a nod. Jack continued, “OK, let me explain. The motorcycle we were on turned into a robot and started fighting the cars that were chasing us. Then, one of the motorcycle’s friends tried to help but because they were losing, me and Raf ran. I tried to carry you, but before I could, one of the bad robots got you, and I…I thought you had died.”

Tilting his head to face her again, Jack was met with a bewildered expression. The shock was apparent on Eva’s face as she tried to process the outlandish story that Jack had just recounted. “I can’t believe I’m saying this but I believe you.”

As she moved to hug him, she whispered, “And, I’m glad we’re both OK.”

Jack took it as an opportunity to feel her arm where the remains of what seemed to be dried blood originated from. Slowly moving his fingers, all he could feel was her soft skin. Chalking it up to some dirt, Jack dropped his arm and released himself from her embrace to reply, “Me too.”

Eva headed out first, striking conversation with Miko Nakadai about her latest sketches near the entrance steps as Jack headed towards a smaller kid named Rafael Esquivel. Eventually, as the school parking lot began to empty out, Eva set out to get home and catch up on all the work that she had missed. One day of skipping school wouldn’t hurt her grades, but she knew that this sort of thing couldn’t happen again if she wanted to get into a good college.

She wanted to go somewhere far away, preferably the East Coast. Maybe somewhere that was colder than it was warm, after all, her favorite season was winter. And of course, she had to be surrounded by a student body who cared about their future as much as she did hers. It wasn’t that she hated Jasper, it was rather what the town represented.

“Your old man ain’t back yet?” A gruff voice from behind her boomed.

“Aren’t you tired of asking that every day even when you know the answer, Silas?” The man, Silas, quickened his heavy steps to be at Eva’s side. He kept his eyes forward as he continued, “Never. Now tell me, why didn’t you come home last night.”

“I don’t need to tell you. After all, we’re technically estranged.”

“Just because I’m not close to my brother, doesn’t mean I can’t have a relationship with my favorite niece.”

“Your only niece.”

“Listen kid, as much as that asshole may not care for you, I do. You’re family. Always remember that.”

“ I was out partying. OK?”

“Fine, don’t tell me. Just…let me know you’re safe every once in a while.”

“Yes, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

“Alright, I won’t bother you any longer.”

Eva waved goodbye to the older man. She smiled at the reassurance that she had at least one parental figure in her life and that he would always check up on her every month. It was one of the very few constant routines in her life, and though she felt guilty disobeying her parents, she wouldn’t change a thing.

●・○・●・○・●

After finishing all her work on Saturday, Eva thought that she deserved to treat herself by heading to the Drive-In to eat out. She had her beachy waves down to compliment her jeans and tank top. Putting on her favorite pair of tennis shoes, Eva began her trek. She put the strange book she had found days prior in a backpack along with a few snacks and water, eager to show Jack.

She hadn’t seen him in a while, so she thought she would be able to bump into him there. At the thought, Eva remembered how Jack had mentioned transforming robots. She would definitely be asking him about that.

When she arrived and sat at one of the booths in the fast-food joint, Eva couldn’t seem to get a hold of Jack at all. She texted, called, and even asked his coworkers if he was a no-show today. He was acting stranger than usual and that worried her enough to wait a few hours for Jack to show up.

When the sun began to set, Eva decided enough was enough and headed to leave. Walking into the parking lot, she noticed a car that looked almost exactly like the one that tailed her and Jack. She tried to take the long way home, turning at every corner she could see and staying near well-lit places, yet that didn’t work at all. The car followed her for about a mile before blatantly accelerating onto the sidewalk and hitting her hard enough to have her pass out.

She was conscious by the time the car had made it onto a strange metallic platform. Though weak, Eva could still move her body to fall out as soon as the door opened. Afraid to look back, she broke out into a mad dash to the nearest door she could find, praying that it was the exit.

To her dismay, when she slipped through one of the automatic doors, she was met with the body of a metallic monster. Its head had a sharp, angular design that resembled a helmet. Its mouth was agape, revealing a set of pointy teeth. Worst of all was the gaping hole surrounded by rusted metal at the robot’s center. Wires and tubes came from the ceiling into every part of its body. It was dying.

There was no time to sympathize. Eva had to figure out where she was and how she would get back home. Reaching into her jeans pocket, Eva tried to turn it on to dial 911, yet she realized her phone had died. There was no way out anymore, for the automatic door no longer opened in her presence either and she had no idea who she was dealing with. Why would robots want to kidnap her?

Deciding that there was nothing she could do at the moment, Eva climbed up the platform to seat herself against the ledge of the metal bed the robot was lying on. She crossed her legs, leaned back against the frame, and took out the Covenant. There was nothing else to do, and rather than allowing her mind to succumb to her fear, Eva thought she could re-read the book.

Everything seemed so surreal. This robot, her kidnapping, and Jack’s strange behavior. Things were changing, and Eva hated change. Reaching into her bag for something to calm her, she felt the strange book and recalled the vivid stories it contained. The characters, they didn’t seem fantastical anymore. Maybe if she studied the book then she could gain some semblance of understanding. Flipping the book to the first page, Eva chose to read it with more intent. She began to pronounce each word aloud to help her remember all that she would learn. And if not for that, then she would speak to give her creepy companion some company.

●・○・●・○・●

The descriptions of these characters, the Cybertronians, seemed to resemble the robots that Eva had seen thus far, and that scared her. Closing the book and placing it back into her bag, Eva moved closer to the metal giant’s face. It had so many dents and scratches that it made her wonder if he was one of these characters.

She heard thunderous echoing footsteps in the hallway, warning her of the danger she was still in. She scrambled down from the metallic bed and hid in a spacious nook below the deck, just far enough to not catch anyone’s sight.

“Lord Megatron seems to be making some progress, but he is still far from waking. Soundwave?” A tall, slender robot with a vibrant crimson color scheme announces.

The blue and silver robot beside him, Soundwave, remained silent. His digital-like face had brainwave graphics displayed, soon replaced with a thumbs-up directed to the red robot. Both had a grayish insignia embedded into their shoulders. It was shaped with a sharp edge pointing on both ends resembling a trident that framed a menacingly angular face.

They stayed for a few more moments, staring at Megatron’s still body before heading out. Eva breathed a sigh of relief as they exited. Remaining in her hiding spot, she used her jacket as a blanket and leaned her head against one of its walls, mentally preparing herself for what was to come. She could only survive off of snacks for so long, she’d get bored of reading eventually, all she could do was pray that someone could save her.

●・○・●・○・●

A week had passed and every day Eva would follow the same routine. Eat a bite of one of her snacks, drink a sip of water, read for an hour or two to Megatron, drink another sip of water, sleep, and repeat. She had barely any food left now and only a fourth of her water remained.

Her extended slumber was the only anchor to reality she had left. For most of the day, she would keep her eyes closed. Her back would lean against the cold metal wall, shielded from the cool air that spilled from the vents with only her thin jacket. And all she would do was sleep.

In her dreams, she found little solace, for they would always remind her of the life she had. Sometimes she would dream about her times with Jack at the Drive-In. Other times she would recall special bonding moments with her Uncle. One particular memory would always replay. The day her life had changed.

She was ten and playing on the swings. She would push with her legs every time the swing neared the ground and with each thrust, Eva soared higher above. She was flying, as free as a bird with no care in the world.

At her own pace, when her exhilaration wore down, Eva slowed and hopped off the swing in search of her parents. Though the freedom of isolation was exhilarating, she wanted to feel the warmth of company.

It seemed to her that they were playing hide-and-seek, for her thirty-minute-long search became a futile endeavor. When she had finally given up, she didn’t cry, she didn’t throw a tantrum, all she did was sit back on the swing. This time she closed her eyes, shutting her lids tighter with every kick of her feet so she could not be bound by the limits of sight. She wanted to feel freer than a bird, to fly high enough to find her parents wherever they may be.

All of a sudden she was abruptly stopped. Caught by a stranger no less. She knew who this stranger was, but she refused to accept his aid. Her parents always spoke ill of him, and being the loyal little girl she was, she kicked and screamed while his hand held the swing chains firm.

When she lost her shrill voice, the man said, “They’re gone. They left you.”

Her voice had a slight rasp to it as she responded, “They wouldn’t. They’re not like you.”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Now, where are they?” He was right.

Before she could respond, Eva would always wake up with tears streaming down her. Though she would never admit it, Eva missed her parents dearly. She didn’t lose them once. It wasn’t like getting lost in a mall or in a public area only to find her parents eventually. No. She lost them every second she was alive in the last six years. Every time she needed them and there was no one there. There was no end to this loss, for they were still alive. She grieved the souls of the living. She loved those who did not love her. And even now, she held onto her memories with them, seeking a comfort that was never there.

But she was able to find that comfort in June. She was the only mother Eva considered, for June helped Eva grow as a woman. She took care of her when she was sick, she cooked so she wouldn’t starve and she loved her like a daughter. Jack was just as welcoming for he was her best friend, her confidant, her brother. They were inseparable for as long as Eva could remember. Though recently Jack had been more distant than usual, Eva would invariably go back to sleep with the hope that they would be OK.

Eva had finished the book for a second time three days into her stay. Thus she opted to talk to Megatron as if he was her personal diary. These ‘conversations’, were the most productive she had ever had. Stuck in her own mind, she began to voice her thoughts, her fears, her desires, her plans, everything. Every once in a while, she would hear a light groan or see a finger twitch as though Megatron was responding to her words. It made her heart skip a beat each time, out of both fear and curiosity.

●・○・●・○・●

The cold is crushing, bitter, and harsh. Her mind aches to be united with her soul as surely as the day moves toward the night. Her stomach churns in deep hunger like a crew battling a monsoon. The wails of their widowed wives are eclipsed by the rumbling emitted from her abdomen. Her peace in darkness was broken with a ceiling light. The storm had died, leaving shallow waters in its wake. The air stilled, kissed with the warmth of comfort. Eva awoke.

A melody of laughter and booming voices emitted from the other side of the sofa. Too weak to hoist herself above the cushions, Eva looked at the ceiling longingly. Their voices were like a secret hidden in plain sight. Close enough to hear, but too far to feel. Yet, their enthusiasm seemed short-lived, for they soon began voicing their regrets.

“…Did my best to finish Megatron’s story. Just couldn’t stick around long enough to see how it ended.”

They must be Autobots if they hate Megatron this much. Speaking of, is he truly dead? Eva’s disappointment scared her out of her wits. What was the tyrant to her, for her to care this much? He was callous and cruel, the Covenant lay a testament to that. Though, she didn’t need to worry anymore. She was safe, for her saviors were none other than the Autobots.

Heavy footsteps echoed against the walls of the large room as the mech made his way toward Eva, both intrigued and rueful. He walked with conviction, but his mind was a mess of self-loathing. Seeing her limp body resting on the sofa served as an inevitable reminder that he would always fail in the face of Megatron.

Optimus Prime always believed himself to have been a failure. As an archivist, as an advocate, as a brother, and worst of all, as a leader. The paleness in her face, the dryness in her lips, the weight in her eyelids, Optimus had thought her dead. But the batting of her lashes, the hint of a smile on her face, and the light blush creeping on her cheek had given him reassurance. Though he often fails, he does not repeat his mistakes.

Eva, completely conscious of her environment now, raised her head to be met with bright cerulean blue eyes. She knew who he was. She could tell by his demeanor and stature. He was the one and only leader of the Autobots, Optimus Prime.

“Hey there,” Eva contemplated for a moment whether it was wise to reveal her knowledge. He was still an alien, and though the Covenant detailed his motivations, there was no such thing as being too cautious. “Where am I?”

She didn’t need to reveal all her cards but she didn’t need to seem ignorant either. Eva had to be cunning to survive or who knows what other horrors she might face.

“We are in a secure military facility just outside Jasper city limits,” he answered immediately. “You are Eva, correct?”

“Yes, and you are…” Eva decided that playing coy was her best approach. If he was in fact the saint that the Covenant claimed him to be, then he would understand her skepticism. And if not…then it was a good thing that she tried.

“Optimus Prime. I alongside my crew are autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron. We have come to Earth to protect it from the Decepticon forces, notably, Megatron.”

“I think I saw him back at their…”

“The Decepticons control their operations from a spaceship known as the Nemesis.”

“Yeah. That.”

“I’d like to ask you a few questions if you’re up to it. I know you have gone through a traumatizing ordeal and I do wish for you to relive it.”

“Thanks for the concern, but I’m fine. Maybe in desperate need of a shower, but otherwise I feel fine.”

Optimus hesitantly nodded with a disapproving expression. Regardless, he motioned toward the elevator doors that stood a few meters from the couch on which Eva lay. She haphazardly scrambled off the couch, retrieved her backpack from the coffee table nearby, and slowly walked towards the doors, careful to not lose her fragile balance. 

[axofluff]

✩ Get to know Alex ✩

*.·:·.✧ Welcome to my about me! ✧.·:·.*

➸ This post will let you know all the stuff you need to know about the author behind this post! Me! :D ♡⸜(˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝ ➸ I wanted to make an official one since my old one isn't to my style anymore ➸ If you still have any questions after this, feel free to ask me anything in my dm's or AMA! (づ˶•༝•˶)づ♡ Happy reading!

Hi there! I see you've stumbled across my tumblr page! (・ω・) ✦ My name is Alex and I'm a small writer here! I've been writing ever since I was 12. My grandma introduced me to books and ever since then I've always had my nose stuck in a novel about some mystical far away land. ✦ I mostly write oneshots and fanfics but I do have my own works which I sadly deleted or no longer continued as I wasn't happy with them (｡•́︿•̀｡). ✦ I started off on Wattpad with writing Twilight fanfic and I developed my basic writing skills from there. I may move my work over to a03 but I currently like Tumblr's UI and how I can link my stuff under one blog so it's easier for people to find my work. ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ✦ I am 19 as of writing this and I live in England in the UK! I speak only English, although I want to learn Italian at some point since I love the history and culture of the roman empire. It's been my special interest ever since I played Assassin's creed 2 back on my xbox 360.

✦ I am autistic and I have ADHD so my attention span is less then a goldfish. I have a lot of special interests such as space, the paranormal and history. I also have a huge soft spot for aviation and the military, mostly because I am a huge fan of Top gun and ever since then I've been interested in jets. ✦ I've been in too many interests to honestly label at this point but my mains being; Call of Duty, Detroit: Become Human, Red Dead Redemption and Spiderman. I'm also a huge fan of the game Death stranding and Assassin's creed. I have also dabbled a bit in the Apex Legends fandom as I played a large chunk of the game last year. ✦ I have hobbies outside of writing such as going biking, walking, reading, sketching, arts and crafts and video games. I also love to play chess when I have the chance. ✦ I kin characters a lot, my main being Konig from CoD, Wattson from Apex Legends and Pavitr from Spiderman/ I tend to kin characters that share the same qualities as me. They also bring me a sense of comfort. ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა ✦ My music taste is currently a massive heap. I listen to all sorts but I'll label some of my favorite artists ✧˖*°࿐The Weeknd ✧˖*°࿐Childish Gambino ✧˖*°࿐ Kendrick Lamar ✧˖*°࿐ Twenty One Pilots ✧˖*°࿐Radiohead ✧˖*°࿐Slipknot ✧˖*°࿐The neighborhood ✧˖*°࿐Arctic Monkeys ✧˖*°࿐Lady Gaga ✧˖*°࿐NF ✧˖*°࿐Rammenstien ✧˖*°࿐AC/DC ✧˖*°࿐Porter Robinson ✧˖*°࿐Post Malone ✧˖*°࿐Coldplay ✧˖*°࿐Avicii You can find my spotify here to find all my music tastes and what not ৻( •̀ ᗜ •́ ৻) Some simple facts about me •⩊• ✩ Name(s): Alex/Tobias/ axofluff ✩ Birthday: 8th November 2003 ✩ Pronouns: All! ✩ Gender: Bigender trans masc but atm its just c o n f u s i o n, I'm still exploring who I am so this is most likely to change .

✩Favorite food: I love chinese takeout's, Pizza and Ramen ✩Favorite animals: I love cats, sharks and kangaroos

✩Favorite colour: Mint green ✩Favorite show: The dragon prince on Netflix ✩Favorite Song: United in grief by Kendrick Lamar ✩Favorite icecream: Mint chocolate chip

This may be updated in the future if I feel the need to add more to the blog! Thank you all for reading! "૮₍ ˶•⤙•˶ ₎ა Remember you are loved and stay hydrated and eat something today if you haven't already ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ MWA! Have a great rest of your day! <3

[dcpamines]

[ quintessa swindell, non-binary, they/he ] - was that HUNTER KING i saw by the lighthouse today? i heard that the TWENTY-EIGHT year old who has been in nightrest for TWENTY YEARS and works as a/an PARAMEDIC has a reputation of being SHARP, but also DISTANT. they reside in LOW POINT & people in town usually associate them with flirting on the edge between life and death, finding comfort in chaos, not knowing who you are anymore but trying to find it, and missing a person so much you pretend it doesn’t exist. let’s hope the killer doesn’t go after them next. 

full name — hunter king nickname(s) — hunny ( only by their brother and it’s to annoy him )  name meaning — one who hunts, pursuer age — twenty-eight date of birth — november 3rd place of birth — bronx, nyc star sign — scorpio sun, scorpio moon, aries rising  current location — salem, massacusetts  gender — non-binary pronouns — they/he sexual orientation — bisexual religion — atheist  occupation — paramedic/firefighter  education level — paramedic school  family — roscoe king ( father, estranged ), marianne tinley ( mother, estranged ), janine king ( aunt ),  jordan king ( brother ) finances — could be better spoken languages — english, spanish

inspos: rue bennett ( euphoria ) , tk strand ( 911 lone star ) , meredith grey ( greys anatomy ), jo march ( little women ), evan buckley ( 911 ), jeremy gilbert ( the vampire diaries ), steve harrington ( stranger things ), hayley marshall ( the originals ), nick miller ( new girl ), ian gallagher ( shameless ), sarah ( palm springs ), shawn hunter ( boy meets world )

tw: npc character dies on the job, non descriptive

“don’t go where i can’t follow you,” it’s the saying that jordan and hunter have been pinky promising each other since they were kids. hunter was raised by his brother and aunt janny, the three of them thick as thieves, and nyc was hunter’s playground. jordan taught him how to ride a skateboard when he was four, jordan holding onto their small arms, hunte’s legs never hit the ground but it was like they were gliding on the pavement, by ten hunter was skating circles around their brother with janny on her bike trying to keep up with her two children. 

janny was well loved in the community, a mother to many who needed it, always serving home cooked meals, jordan and hunter often bringing home some kind of stray ( whether it be a friend or an animal, all were welcome ). 

when hunter is eight they move from nyc to salem for a job opportunity. it wasn’t an easy thing for hunter to pack of up the only place they’ve known and live somewhere else, while it was phrased as a job opportunity their aunt thought that the two kids needed a change. 

it’s only really when hunter becomes a teenager does the woes of identity crisis start to hit, on top of wishing that you had a mom or a dad to teach you certain things. he’d never tell jordan or janny that — in many ways they knew that jordan probably felt it too. but janny was home and love and comfort. it didn’t mean that it fixed everything. 

hunter was hot and destructive and their teachers not understanding how hunter can be so smart but make such stupid decisions with their life, like it was some sort of gamble. they could never sit still for long, they had to be going somewhere, could never sit still and it would be the downfall, that kind of impulsiveness. hunter made a lot of wrong choices. 

jordan and janny loved them anyway. it wasn’t love that saved them, but the willingness to not become the ghosts of their parents. ( hunter thinks its funny how ghosts work, their parents were still here, just never… here. )

hunter becomes a firefighter after high school, then becomes a paramedic, either way — they see the firehouse more than they see their own apartment. it’s good for hunter, they’re good at what they do, their recklessness and impulsivity will always be their own downfall, but in the end it wouldn’t have mattered. it would take months of their own investigation, friends and family saying, it wasn’t your fault. you did the right thing. 

hunter and their partner got a bad call while on the job, it seemed off at first, hunter had been the one to say that they should wait for backup, its what they train for – scene assessment. scene size up. scene safety. it didn’t feel right, and hunter was usually correct when it came to their gut feelings. it didn’t matter. their partners funeral was days later. and their feelings for their partner would be buried with them. 

jordan moves in with hunter for the first couple of months, janny wants him to come home but he never does. on the outside they’re okay, they try to heal. 

hunter gets a new partner. life goes on.

more fun stuff:

ok look their story is sad but like on the outside they are very chill and act like everything is fine its called repression baby and they are living proof of it !!

v much loves their brother he's their bffl and probably comes as a duo most of the time

looking for best friends & possible roomie , hunter needs a ride or die fr

lowkey a slut ngl !! but they're hot so its ok asdkfnlsd

honestly just needs a hug

hunter still keeps the post cards that his parents send him, in a little box that's kept under his bed. is it healthy?? no !! but they're secretly sentimental and a softie at heart

[isabellavolere]

Transformers Prime—Part 3: First Day of School

Masterlist

<-Previous Part

Next Part->

The blast knocks you to the ground and you clutch your shoulder in pain. You turn over and its face looms over you, the red lights of its visor burning a hole in your mind. The triangle blaster lights up and you close your eyes, waiting for the shot that will end everything. A loud crashing makes your eyes jerk open and you see the red robot straddling the purple one, his fists colliding over and over again with the purple robots’ body. After one last solid blow the purple robot struggles no more and you struggle to your feet. The red robot turns to you and the last thing you see is him, the red body, the silver face, the broken off horn. 

You awake with a start, your heart pounding and your breath unsteady. A drop of sweat drips down the side of your face and you swing your legs over the side of your bed. 

You’ve been thinking about the day you met those strange metal robots for days, the scene playing on repeat in the back of your head, but at night the scene came alive. 

You shake your head and stand up, wanting to get ready since today is the first day of your new school. You put on a white shirt with bold black letters that reads ‘Me? Sarcastic? Never!’ And a pair of navy blue cargo shorts. You brush through your tangled hair, braid it, and pull the strand of hair through a denim baseball cap. For the finishing touch you tie a red bandana around your wrist, then grab your backpack. When you walk into the kitchen you find your mom sitting at the dining room table eating Cheerios while flipping through a Real Style magazine. She notices you walking in and says “Morning y/n. I made you breakfast, it’s on the island.”

You thank her, grab the baCon’ she made, and go to the front hall to get your f/c Converse High Tops. When you come back to the kitchen, your mom takes out her phone and snaps a picture of you.

“Ack mom!” you say and shield your face in case she wants more pictures.

“I’m sorry, but look at you! My baby girl’s going to 10th grade at her new school in her cute little outfit,” She says.

“It’s not supposed to be cute, it’s supposed to be laid back,” you say as you cross your arms and fake pout. “Can I go now? Please?”

Your mom makes an overly dramatic sigh.

“Okay fine! No pictures. But, I’m driving you to school, let’s go.”

“What?” You ask. “I injured my arm, not my legs.” 

Your mom rolls her eyes and replies “It’s your first day of school, I’m driving you there. Besides, I want to make sure the walkway is good.”

Yes because I’m sure so many sketchy things happen in the middle of Jasper.

You decide against voicing that last thought, instead shrugging your shoulders, earning a flash of pain from your right shoulder, and walking to the truck. After a 10 minute drive you reach the school and your mom pulls in along the curb.

“Wow. You know I’m not sure I can walk to school every day. That 10 minute drive will surely double if I walk,” you joke, living up to your sarcastic shirt.

Your mom lightly hits your leg and says “It’s a good thing that sense of humor of yours survived your biking wreck. What a shame it would be if you lost it.”

You grin and say “I learn from the best.”

Grinning back, she says “Have a great day at school sweetheart.” 

Leaning across the truck, your mom proceeds to give you a death squeeze.

“Mom! I can’t breathe!” you say laughing. But she gives seriously tight hugs.

“Sorry, I’m just excited for your first day.”

“I think you're more excited than I am,” you say in a flat tone.

“Oh you’re going to be just fine,” she says.

You open the door, sling your backpack over your good shoulder, and walk up the front steps of your new school. It’s a two story brick building with a tan roof. Small square bushes line the sidewalk and a large oak tree stands by the side of the road. Students are scattered in front of the school and the idol chatter and laughter of the teenagers wafts through the warm and breezy day. You push your way through the crowd and walk through the double doors. You see a large circular desk in the middle of the school, with a small golden plaque on top of the dark wood that reads ‘front desk’ in a dark gray script. As you walk up to the desk you can see a man you guess to be around the age of 20 typing furiously on a small Chromebook. You can see several stickers of various video game logos placed haphazardly on the back of the computer. You recognize the pixelated grass block of Minecraft, the tilted white square of Roblox, the yellow gear and black 76 of Fallout 76, and many others. The man is wearing a bright turquoise shirt with bright pink flamingos, khaki shorts, black framed glasses, and has untidy brown hair.

Wow that shirt is an assault to my eyes. I wonder where he got it.

“Umm excuse me Mr…” you look down at his name tag. “Morison?”

He looks up and arranges his glasses, his hazel eyes pausing briefly on the bandages wrapped around your shoulder, before meeting your gaze and fixing you with a lopsided grin.

“You can call me Scott. How can you help?”

“Um, well I just moved here. Could you give me my class schedule please?”

“Sure thing! What’s your name?”

“It’s y/l/n, y/n y/l/n.”

You wait as he clicks on your name on the screen, fiddling with the end of the bandage that hangs by your right elbow.

“Ah, here we go. Let me print this out for you. So y/n, where did you move from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Colorado.”

“Really? I’m from Colorado! What part are you from?”

“Parker. How about you?”

“I’m from Castle Rock.”

“Cool. It’s nice to know someone from Colorado.”

“Likewise!” 

Just then a dull ringing reverberates throughout the school, signaling the start of class. 

“Well, welcome to Jasper. I’m sure you’ll love it here," says Scott. “This is your schedule. Your first class is history with Miss. Grizwald. The class is upstairs, down the hall, third door on your right.” 

You grab the schedule that Scott hands you, thank him, then turn around to look for your class. 

“Let's see...Up the stairs, okay then down this hall. Yep, and the third door on the right,” you mumble to yourself as you shuffle through the school. 

You find the class and take a deep breath before knocking on the door. A short, ancient looking woman opens the door. Her silvery hair is tied up in a tight bun on her head and a strong cloud of perfume reaches your nose. You can’t help your nose from wrinkling. 

How old is this teacher? She looks like she’s at least 150 years old, and her perfume is going to choke me!

“Well?” She barks in a stern voice. “You are five minutes late!” you gulp but bravely meet her gaze.

“I-I-I’m a new student. My-my name's y/n ma’am.” 

She reminds you of the substitute teacher from Percy Jackson.

“Well that’s no excuse to be late, hmm? Go find a seat, and be snappy about it!”

You quickly brush past her and start walking quickly down the center aisle. You hardly notice the kids that you pass until a head of messy jet black hair sitting a few rows away from the front catches your eye.

“Jack?” you blurt out and he looks up, surprise and recognition showing in his face.

“I’m pleased you seem to already have a friend, but do you think you can hold your enthusiasm until the end of class?” says Miss. Grizwald in a crisp voice.

You flinch and mumble a small sorry before rushing to find an empty desk. The only empty desk is two seats behind and one row to the left of Jack. Naturally. The desk is the only one left open for a reason. It’s covered in small doodles, previous peers’ names, and crossed out swear words. Wads of gum who’s color had long faded stick to the underside of the desk. When you sit down the chair squeaks and wouldn’t sit level, instead opting to sway from leg to leg.  

The class is dull, and you and Jack spend most of it looking anywhere but each other. Every time you locked eyes, your faces would go promptly back to focusing on the class. When your morning classes finish you walk to your locker to drop off your books and get your lunch. The locker is a faded tan color and the paint chips off in a few places. It takes you a few tries to unlock the lock, but when you get the locker open the first thing you notice is the smell. It is a sharp metallic smell that makes you gag and you make a mental note to bring a car air freshener to hang on the door. By the time you find the lunchroom the tables are packed with kids. As you stand by the doorway scanning the room for an empty chair, you hear your name being called. You look around and see Jack and the younger boy from yesterday waving and gesturing for you to come over to them. You walk over to the two boys and greet them with a small smile.

“Hey. I think all of these tables are taken. Do you want to eat outside with us?” Jack asks.

You shrug and say “Sure.”

The boys lead you through a set of double doors to a small courtyard behind the school. A gushing stream filled with tiny pebbles rushes past several tall oak trees and ends in a glittering pond filled with orange, white, yellow, and black coy fish. In between the trees and the pond sits a long wooden bench, and is covered by all sorts of names carved into every square inch of the tan wood. You sit down on the bench under the shade of the oak trees and the boys follow. You open your lunch bag and start eating a turkey and cheese sandwich. 

After a few minutes of silence Jack looks at the younger boy and says “You know, I don’t think I got your name.”

“I’m Raf. What’s your name?” He asks.

“My name is Jack,” he says and turns to you. “You’re y/n, right?”

“Yep, that’s me,” you Con’firm.

“I guess with all those robots we didn’t really have time for introductions,” says Raf. 

“The Con’s, or whatever they call themselves,” you say as you furrow your brows.

You flash-back to the day that purple Con’’ shot you. You can see his faceless features, gun pointed at your head, arm ready to fire the shot that would kill you. Or would have, if it weren’t for that red robot.

“They were the ones who did that to your arm, didn’t they?” Jack asks. 

You realize he was looking down at the bandage that was wrapped around the top of your shoulder and down to just above your elbow. Biting your bottom lip, you nod slowly.

“What happened to it?” Raf asks tentatively.

“Well, I might as well tell you the whole story. It all started when I came across these robots when I was dirt biking in the woods,” you begin. “I was riding down a path and saw a big crater up ahead. I was going too fast to stop so I kicked the bike out from under me and slid down the side of the crater. That’s when I noticed a bunch of the purple robots fighting a red robot. It wasn’t going well for the red robot, he was outnumbered and needed a distraction, so I got its attention and threw a rock at it, which wedged itself into where the heart of the robot should have been, causing it to explode.”

“Whoa whoa whoa hold on!” Raf stops you, his eyes wide. “You see this giant metal robot getting attacked by a bunch of other robots and instead of running away, you throw a rock at one of them!?” 

“Yes I did. As I was saying, when I threw the rock all the robots started chasing me and shooting. Since my dirt bike was at the top of the crater I tried to climb the rock but it was too steep. The purple robots were coming for me so I started running around the edge of the crater, but one of the robots got a lucky shot and hit my shoulder. The impact knocked me to the ground and the bot that shot me caught up. He pointed his gun at me and would have finished me off if it weren't for the red robot. 

He came and tacked the purple robot out of the way, then started beating it up. Now, I was hit pretty hard, but I will never forget when he picked me up and then sort of transformed around me. I don’t know how, but he turned into this Dodge Challenger and I was sitting in the passenger seat, or, I guess the body of the robot. Anyway, I-“

“The robot picked you up and transformed into a car around you?” Jack asks.

“Yes!” You respond, a little frustrated at the interruptions. 

“Like I was saying, I began to hear voices coming from the car radio. I think the red robot knew who they belonged to because he was talking with them. As I was listening to the Con’versation I learned that the robots that were shooting at me are called DeceptiCon’s. So the red robot was driving through the forest when this gray robot sort of appeared and he slams on his brakes. Then he transforms again and I’m sitting in his hand while the new robot starts shooting at us. Apparently it was my day for near death experiences because the gray bot shoots the red bots’ arm and I go flying to the ground, landing at the gray bots feet.”

You pause to take a big breath of air and then Con’tinue with your story.

“So the gray bot picked me up and was threatening to squish me or whatever. All of a sudden someone yells Cliff, which I guess is a nickname for the red bot, and all these robots come from out of nowhere with their guns loaded. But of course they didn’t want to risk hurting me if they missed the robot so I summoned up all the strength I had left and kicked him in the face! It felt pretty good too. Well naturally he drops me, which is like 10 feet off the ground, and I-“

“You kicked him in the face!? That’s awesome!” Raf pumps his fist in the air. 

You just look at him and say “Thank you, but hush and let me finish!”

Raf drops his hands in his lap and looks at you sheepishly.

“So I drop to the ground and run back to my dirt bike, then ride as fast as I can back to my house. I totally freaked out every time I heard a car. By the time I got home the adrenaline rush I was riding wore down, and I pretty much collapsed onto my bed. And then there was the whole thing with meeting you guys. So now here we are.” 

As you finish your story, you can’t help but chuckle at the reactions of the two boys. Rafs’ eyes are the size of saucers and his mouth hangs open while Jack looks equal parts concerned and terrified. 

They are silent for a long time before Jack asks, “So, if we’ve all seen the evil robots, are we all in danger? I mean how else would they have found us at the restaurant if they weren’t following you?” 

You frown and look at him, eyebrows furrowed in contemplation. 

“If you two are in danger because of me...” but you can’t bring yourself to finish the sentence. You are all quiet again, each lost in thought. Dimly you hear the bell ring signaling that classes were starting again, but you are so lost in thought that the sound barely registers in your head.

“Well that’s the school bell. We should probably get to our classes,” says Raf.

“Yeah probably,” you respond. “I guess I’ll see you guys later.”

You grab the empty plastic bag that holds your sandwich. With all the talking you hardly ate the rest of your lunch. Quickly you begin eating the other food as you walk to your locker. 

What if Jack and Raf are in danger because of me? What if they get hurt? I be the one to blame?

***

When the school bell finally rings, signaling that school is over, you rush to pack up your school books. You sling your backpack over your good shoulder and then walk out of the classroom, joining the wave of students pushing their way out of the school. As you are walking through the doors the sun shines brightly in your eyes and you bring a hand up to your face, hoping to shield your eyes, but it doesn't help much. You let the flow of students push you along but a backpack comes out of nowhere and hits you in the chest. You fall sideways and stumble into a girl who is sitting on the railing of the stairs, brows furrowed in concentration as she sketches something on a notepad. As you look at her more closely you can see that the girl is Asian. She is wearing a pink tee shirt with a navy blue tank top and jean shorts that has a bright yellow belt. Her hair is black and streaked with hot pink highlights.

“Sorry!” you say as you adjust the strap on your backpack. 

“y/n, over here.” 

You turn to see Jack and Raf standing under a tree a few feet to the right. 

You walk over to them and say “Hey guys.”

Jack was just about to respond when you hear a car beep and you see a black and yellow Camaro pull up next to the tree.

“Oh, not again!” Jack mumbles as the door to the car opens. 

The car makes a series of beeps and you frown slightly.

“It wants us to get in?” you guess, already dreading the answer.

“No,” says Raf. “Just me.” 

“How do you know that?” Jack asks.

“It said so. Yours is over there,” he says and points behind you and Jack. 

You watch as Raf gets into the passenger seat of the car. The Camero shuts the door and speeds off, kicking up a cloud of dust. You and Jack cough a few times before turning around to see a red Dodge Challenger and a blue motorcycle parked in the lot in front of the high school. Images start to flash before your eyes, the purple DeceptiCon’s, the muzzle of the bots’ gun just inches from your face, the inside of the Dodge Challenger, the little metal face on the steering wheel, and worst of all, the grin of that gray robot.  

“That red car’s the one who you were talking about, right? The one that saved you?” Jack asks, seeming to have noticed your slightly paling face.

You nod slowly, eyes glued to the car that has haunted your dreams for days. After everything that has happened to you, after getting shot by the Con’s’, almost squished to death by that gray robot, nearly getting you and Jack killed…the red Challenger flashes his headlights twice at you and you suck in a breath. You know you can’t face him, not now. You turn around quickly and start walking down the sidewalk towards your home. You start to get lost in thought again when you hear Jack jogging to catch up to you. You both turn down an alleyway and reach the middle of it before the motorcycle skids to a stop in front of us, a blue and black leather-clad lady with a black racing helmet sitting on her. 

“Relax, I just wanna talk to you,” she says. 

“Don’t you mean you and your leather-clad friend?” Jack accuses.

“Kid, there’s a lot you don’t understand,” says the motorcycle as the lady pixelizes and vanishes. 

“No, I get it. The first rule about robot fight club is you don’t talk about robot fight club. What you need to understand is that I don’t want a bunch of crazy talking vehicles following me around, trying to get me killed! I’ve seen what those purple robots can do to people.” 

Jack quickly glances at your shoulder, then looks back at the robot, backing away. He turns around and is about to leave the alley when the red Dodge Challenger pulls up, blocking Jack's escape. 

“What took you, Cliffjumper?” Asks the blue robot. “You were right behind me.”

“There was a red light!” He retorts.

The blue motorcycle transforms and rolls her eyes as Cliffjumper transforms as well.

“Look, Jack and y/n, is it? Your personal safety is exactly why Optimus Prime has requested your presents.

“Optimus who?” Jack questions.

“He’s the tall red and blue robot with the deep voice from a few nights ago, isn’t he?” you guess.

“Optimus has been especially worried about your safety. It seems like you're very popular with the Con’s. Two mash ups in two days? You’ve got to be a legend up at Con’’ HQ!” says Cliffjumper, smiling as you look up at him. “Hey there. Glad to see the Con’s didn’t hurt ya too badly. I thought you were scrapped for sure!” 

“And because of that,” the blue robot says, redirecting the conversation,” you might be one of the few, one of the only who have ever seen us.”

“Dudes, what are you waiting for? Go with!”

You turn around and see the Asian girl with black hair and bright pink highlights that you had run into earlier. She was leaning around the wall of the alley and was apparently unfazed by the fact that she just found two humans next to two giant talking robots. 

“Scrap!” Exclaims both robots at the same time.

“Well, should we bring her with us?” Cliffjumper asks, turning to the blue robot.

“I guess we have to,” says the blue robot, though you notice she doesn’t sound thrilled. Cliffjumper nods and transforms into his car form, revving his engine and opening the passenger side door.

“You wanna ride with me kid?” He asks. 

You look back at the new girl and Jack, then slip inside the car. You reach over your shoulder to put your seatbelt on but Cliffjumper says “Allow me” and buckles you in. The belt gently tightens around you and the door closes with a soft bang.

“Uh, thanks,” you say uncertainly.

“I’ve got to say, it’s nice to officially meet you. Which reminds me,” he says as he pulls out onto the road, “I don’t think I properly introduced myself. I’m Cliffjumper, and my partner is Arcee.”

“I-I’m y/n.”

“Pleased to meet ya y/n,” He laughs. 

It’s a smooth, rolling laugh that makes you smile. His voice is like that too, calm and smooth so that when he talks low his voice rumbles. It reminds you of the thunder storms that would roll through the mountains and valleys of the Rocky Mountains.

 You lean back in the seat and prop your elbow on the side of the door, staring out of the window as buildings and houses pass by. Absent-mindedly you begin to mess with the door, stroking your finger up and down the latch. A shudder passes through the car and your hand retracts quickly, like you’d been burned. You fold your hands in your lap, mumbling a faint “sorry.”

“It’s alright. I guess I’m just not used to humans sitting in me,” Cliffjumper says. 

I hadn’t thought that I’m sitting in Cliffjumper. This feels weird.

“Have you ever met a human before?” you ask curiously.

“I’ve only met one human, but I don’t like him very much,” He says.

You were kind of disappointed, you’d hoped to be the first person he met. 

Seeming to read your thoughts, Cliffjumper quickly adds “But you’re the first human kid that I’ve met. And, the first person I’ve been able to drive around.”

You nod and look out the window, where the buildings and houses were much more spread apart.

We must be driving though the outskirts of town. I wonder if he’s driving me somewhere in the desert.

Sure enough you pass a green sign marking the end of the city limits. 

“Umm, not to be rude or anything, but where are you taking me?” you ask, wondering how much farther the drive will be.

“If you told you I’d have to kill ya,” says Cliffjumper in a solemn voice. 

A moment of silence fills the car, then he laughs and says “Kidding! You don’t think our base was in the town did you? It had to be somewhere no one would go snooping around to find it. Speaking of bases, we’re here.”

You look around excitedly, but all you see are spikey green cacti with pink and yellow blossoms scattered along a dusty, sprawling landscape. Towering mesas cast shadows that stretch across the sandy desert. You look through Cliffjumpers’ windshield and see that the road you have been driving on ends up ahead. A stop sign marks the end of the road but Cliffjumper flies past it, heading straight for a huge mesa that looms overhead. 

“Uhh, Cliffjumper?” you squirm slightly in your seat as the wall of rock gets closer and closer.

“Do you trust me?” He asks.

“Wait what? What are you doing?” you brace, waiting for the impact that would come from driving head-long into a wall. Just as you were about to crash, a section of the seemingly solid wall slides to the side to reveal a dimly lit tunnel that winds through the rock.

“Huh. Thought for sure you would scream. You're braver than you look, kid,” Cliffjumper says, sounding impressed. 

“I suppose after almost being killed by giant metal robots twice, little will shake me at this point,” you contemplate.

“Fair point,” says Cliffjumper.

You flash a grin, but your jaw practically drops to the floorboard as your brain struggles to comprehend what your eyes are seeing.

Masterlist

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[elslittlestories]

Star Fighters

All it takes is one random interaction on a 4-years-old fanfiction and here I am side questing editing it to repost it on AO3... If anyone fancy some space adventure with Poe and Finn, I've got some for you!

Fandom: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy

Rating: Not Rated

Warnings: Major Character Death

Characters: Poe Dameron, Finn, OFC

📖 Read on AO3

Summary :

After the heavy loss they suffered in the events that led to the battle of Crait, the Resistance is slowly rebuilding. From their new base on Ajan Kloss, General Organa sends Poe Dameron and Finn on a mission to assist a partisan milicia and hopefully bring new recruits. But nothing ever goes as planned...

Chapter 1 : Crazy and the droids [extract]

1

  The old jumpspeeder splitted the air, slicing the wild vegetation growing along the pathway as it flew through the jungle of Yavin 4. Riding it, two teenagers were screaming at the top of their lungs.

Poe took a second to clear some loose strands of his messy dark hair off his driving goggles before gripping back at the handlebars, his pulse racing, adrenaline rushing through every fiber of his body. Oh, how he loved it!

"Faster Poe!", yelled the girl behind him, frantically hitting on his shoulder, " Faster!"

A cocky smirk spread on his lips and he pushed the engines a little more, bending over to try and protect himself from the violent wind the speed was creating. Behind him, he felt Deelio standing up, her hands firmly grasping at his jacket to keep her balance, and urging him to go faster again. 

Poe pushed the thrusters with an exalted whoop that instantly died in his throat as the speeder jerked and the engines started coughing.

" What the-" cursed Poe as he felt the handlebars shaking violently in his hands.

He hit the brakes and engaged the bike in a drift to lose more speed while Deelio wrapped her arms around his chest and squeezed her body on his back. They should have put their helmets on! Poe clenched his teeth as they hit a trunk and the bike was thrown in the thick jungle of their home world.

The jumpspeeder ended its course in a curtain of vines that tangled around the machine and its passengers as a black smoke escaped from the dying engines. Poe felt his friend shaking against his back and feared she'd hurt herself in the crash but he soon heard her chuckling in his neck. He spat a laugh, removed his goggles and ruffled his hair before saying : "Well, that was fun."

"Dad is going to kill me", replied Deelio.

Her father had brought that old Empire's jumpspeeder from one of his scouts a few month ago and allowed them to ride it out of exasperation at their constant asking. "Don't go too far", he had said. " Or too fast", he had added eyeing Poe whom had wisely nodded even though he knew he wouldn't obey.

"You mean me", he snorted.

She shook his shoulder, mildly at first but then with more force and Poe woke up with a start. His eyes took some time to adapt to the dim light of his surroundings and his brain even more to understand why Finn was staring at him urgently.

2

   "You need to see this", said the former stormtrooper, squeezing his shoulder.

Poe frowned, the nervousity in his friend's voice putting him out of his reverie and casting away the long lost memories of his childhood home. The time for reckless joyrides in the jungle was long gone—even though one could say flying the Millennium Falcon was close enough. 

Finn took a step back and motioned the pilot to follow him with a lift of his eyebrows. Poe scratched his hair and stood up from his bunk bed: back to the mission.

Leia had sent them off to an old mining asteroid in the Outer Rim to persuade a droid programmer that was already working for the Resistance to come work in the new base on Ajan Kloss. After the battle of Crait, the Resistance had been reduced to a few tens of people and they were in desperate need for any help.

Poe felt his gut twisting at the thought of all the lives they had lost on that dreadful day, the lesson had been hard to learn. Admiral Holdo's sacrifice, his own retreat order as he realized they were no match against First Order canons…

Poe shook the memories away and followed Finn in the cockpit of the Millennium Falcon. BB-8 greeted him with a tilt of his head and a whistle, asking him if he rested well.

"I'll sleep better after the mission, buddy", replied Poe as he sat on the pilot chair.

The Falcon was on autopilot as long as they were on light speed, which in theory should have offered a 2 hours nap for Poe. Judging by their position, he only had 40 minutes…

"The general sent us a message", said Finn sitting in the co-pilot seat.

His voice was tired and Poe put a supporting hand on his friend's shoulder. Before he could think of anything to say, Finn was already playing the message and he focused on it.

"Commander Dameron", was saying Leia in a formal tone - Poe cock his head and couldn't help but feel a little burst of pride at his newly recovered rank. "I am afraid the situation is evolving faster than our intels can follow and the coordinates you have are no longer valid. I'm sending you your new delivery point and I'm urging you to stay unnoticed there. You might need to use another ship for the drop out", she added grimly.

Poe checked the new coordinates and frowned. "Corellia, uh?"

"That's in the core center of the galaxy", growled Finn, "it's going to take us ages to go there from the Outer Rim."

Poe side glanced at his friend, amused. "You just want to be back to Rey and Rose".

It was sometimes hard to tell if Finn was blushing due to the dark tone of his skin, but his childish scowl was as eloquent. Behind them, BB-8 was already babbling everything he knew about Corellia in a concert of beeps and whistles, even though Poe was already aware of the most important part: The planet had never truly recovered economically from the fall of the Empire and most of the ship factories had turned into dumpsters. Now that he thought of it, this might be the perfect conditions for the First Order to take root in the core systems unnoticed… 

"I don't get it", said Finn, "who would need a reprogrammed droid on that planet?"

BB-8 turned his oculus to Poe, apparently agreeing with Finn, and Poe took a moment to think. Bringing back the droid programmer was one part of the mission, she was also handing them a reprogrammed First Order droid for them to deliver it to a Resistance friendly faction, led by some guy by the name of Von Bi'll, that was trying to infiltrate the First Order. But to their knowledge, that faction was supposedly stationed in the Unknown regions of the galaxy, which was where most of the First Order planets were. 

"Look," said Poe, "I don't know either. But if Leia says we need to go there, she must be sure of her intel. Like she said, things evolve fast around here."

"But how are we going to find another ship?"

"We'll figure it out. First we need to get the droid and convince that Deely lady to come with us."

Finn opened his mouth to argue but Poe gave him a glare that shouted "Period!" before heading back to bed. He couldn't remember the last time he was able to sleep for a few hours straight and his body was starting to make him painfully aware of that. He was in his early thirties but as he lay down on the bunk bed, he felt like an old battered man.

He tried to prevent himself from overthinking the implications of their change of destination - as confident as he had tried to sound in front of Finn, he wasn't exactly thrilled by the idea. Plus, that programmer's name kept reminding him of his childhood best friend Deelio and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. He hadn't heard of her in ten years and he couldn't help but wonder if she was alright.

His tired mind drifted into an agitated sleep full of weird dreams and mixed memories until the signal of the ship about to exit light speed woke him up.

He found Finn fast asleep in the lounge bench and shook him up gently. The two friends took their seats in the cockpit where BB-8 was running a diagnostic on yet another malfunction.

"This thing is falling into pieces," grumbled Poe as he rubbed his face. 

In front of them, hanging in the deep void of space, appeared Boroth, an asteroid occupied by a mining facility from the Empire's era. The dark planetoid seemed on the verge of turning into dust and rocks, it seemed like the mine's metal skeleton was the only thing keeping it together.

A few areas seemed lighted but it was clear that the mining activities had stopped a long time ago. According to their intels, it was now used as a hideout for pirates, spice runners and all kinds of smugglers.

"And here I thought Jakku was the worst rat hole of this galaxy", said Finn.

"You clearly haven't traveled enough", sniggered Poe.

Finn glanced at him, an eyebrow raised, waiting for maybe an adventurous story but Poe just smiled.

"You don't want to know", he said as he engaged their descent on the landing deck at the south pole of the asteroid.

[thejacksmit]

Short Takes at LYIFF: The North has a new film festival, and it's awesome

This weekend indie cinema got its rightful moment in the spotlight, as the Lytham International Film Festival took over the iconic Lowther Pavilion. With features, shorts, and curated strands from festival partners - including our old mates at Beyond the Bar programming the 'After Dark' strand - this is a festival rooted in its Northern roots, with a view to going global. So what better way to showcase the best bits than with a return to the Short world of things?

Across the weekend members of the TheJackSmit.com family seen a lot of shorts, and as ever, we're gonna showcase the best ones here on the blog - because you never know how a career might take off from out of nowhere. It was difficult to narrow it down to just a few, but these were the ones which stood out.

JACK'S TOP 3 SHORTS FROM LYIFF

DARWIN'S FOX

SYNOPSIS: Driven by the urge to prove the existence of an extinct creature, a father and his son head off into the wilderness. But soon the search becomes much more personal, when the son suddenly vanishes without a trace.

The Germans like doing the basics right - and this short from Ben Scharf does just that. In half an hour it has the makings of a feature, with some well thought out cinematography and writing. Importantly this short features young talent Cooper Dillon- who will be next seen in Hunger Games prequel The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes.

MIDNIGHT RIDE

SYNOPSIS: A drug-dealing, Italian delivery rider resorts to robbing a South London burrito joint after his bike and drugs are stolen, little knowing he might be the one taken for a ride all along.

This was a neat short from Alessandro Farratini Pojani (who has shadowed names like Pete Czernin and Graham Broadbent behind the scenes), that has a distinctly British vibe but subverts the idea of a drug dealer trying to get his life back on track... by adding everyone's favourite food delivery service into the mix as he has the unluckiest night of his life. It gets the look and feel pretty much spot on.

A LITTLE GLASS OF RUM

SYNOPSIS: After grieving over the murder of his wife and son, prison guard Stan Ailor dines with the killer, Kenneth for his last meal. The two converse about the murders which leads Stan to getting the revenge he's been longing for.

LYIFF has its roots in the education sector - so to see Point Park University graduates make a short like this, on a similar kind of budget to UK students is nothing short of extraordinary. Going back in time to the 70s, what Carah Chafin did with writer/director of photography Lauren Keller's script, added in with the authenticity of the locations and those performances.... this is a cracker.

MENDO'S CAROUSEL

SYNOPSIS: After the death of her father, a troubled woman robs a dry-cleaning shop to make ends meet, but when the owner finds out, a secret from their past forces her to choose between doing what is right or following in the footsteps of her father.

Reading the EPK for this short, this is quite a personal film about honesty for its writer/director David Michael Maurer - and in 12 minutes it tells an incredibly powerful story. It was a worthy way to close the first session of shorts on day 1, and it is definitely making waves on the festival circuit.

As well as the main festival selection, partners Director's Notes brought some of their featured shorts to LYIFF, and as much as we want to talk about things like crazy American dark comedy The Flute, BAFTA nominated short Stuffed and student effort Heart Failure... they are a bit too 18 certificate to be showcased here on the blog. But ultimately the filmmakers enjoyed a Northern welcome, the audiences lapped up each and every film, and the Q&As hosted throughout the weekend (hosted by LYIFF's festival director Ed Greenberg) got a lot of discussion going.

Filmmakers, listen up - you can be part of it next year

The 2024 Lytham International Film Festival is on August 23rd-25th - and applications for next year have just opened on FilmFreeway.

[good-prog]

ff7 impressions

I'm overdue on a 7/7 remake review. I played the two games in conjunction with each other, which is to say, I got somewhat bored of FF7 after the Kalm flashback, went to play FF7R, then came back with a renewed interest in the original game.

FF7:

Main campaign date: 2023/11/28-2023/01/02 Playtime (Steam) to roll credits: 57.2 hours (I afk'd/wiped a lot :() Playtime (in game) to roll credits: 38.5 hours

FF7R:

Main campaign date: 2023/12/18-2023/02/27 Playtime (Steam) to roll credits: 50.2 hours (including DLC)

Spoiler warning as always. Not super polished, just wanted to compile my notes.

On FF7 (original):

This was my first playthrough of FF7. I didn't experience it as a child, so I don't have nostalgia or context for that era of video gaming to positively affect my impressions. I'm glad I played it and was able to experience a piece of gaming history; sure, it's made a significant cultural impact, but it's not some serious epic 100% of the time. The sidequests and minigames throughout provided some levity, whether it was Wall Market or piloting a bike or submarine with counterintuitive controls.

Going in, I was aware of the major story beats (Cloud takes on Zack's persona, Aerith dies, the lifestream is involved) but not too much about their execution.

gameplay:

I liked the flexibility of the materia system. Most of the game I was running cloud as a tank (counter + cover + HP up), until I couldn't guarantee that he could stay alive through a turn of attacks toward the end of the game. I tried to set up materia loadouts in accordance with different characters' strengths and/or personalities (e.g., Vincent as a magical glass cannon, Yuffie as a thief, Cait Sith as blue mage for manipulating enemies). I had trouble juggling the number of party members (9!); emotional impact aside, Aerith's death at the end of disk 1 was ironically somewhat welcome from a party management perspective.

I typically kept Cloud + 2 of the least leveled characters in my party. I couldn't always find time to swap in party members due to laziness (not enough materia to go around), so I neglected Cid and Vincent until the game forced the player to have Cid in the party.

I've been babysat too much by modern games. I had difficulty figuring out where to go after Midgar (to the point where I ended up using a walkthrough for major story objectives). I also lost a significant amount of time due to limited save/checkpoints (e.g., wiping to a morbol high up on the Great Glacier, losing an hour of progress as a result).

graphics:

Despite the graphics being dated, I still liked the visual quirks/personality each character got (e.g., Rufus Shinra's hair flip, "gya haa haa"/"kya haa haa" Heidegger/Scarlet, Tifa tucking a strand of Aerith's hair behind her ear). There were also nice details in the overworld (e.g., the Mako-polluted sky above Midgar, or the perpetual sunset near Cosmo Canyon). The summon animations are cool the first time, but take forever to resolve after, same as Sephiroth's Supernova attack.

story:

Aerith's death hit really hard, even though I knew it was going to happen--she looked so hopeful as she prayed for holy, and then Sephiroth comes down from who knows where suddenly, kills her, then immediately leaves, leaving the party to deal with the JENOVA flesh that remains (all while her theme plays).

I loved how willing the story was to to bring its protagonist so low in contrast of to a more generic video games protagonist embodying some sort of power fantasy. One of these days I'll think through how relatable Cloud's arc of putting on a front (both pre and post Nibelheim incident), dealing with memory loss due to trauma, totally breaking down then having his friends work with him to accept his "true" self perhaps in the form of a "cringe" "personal" "essay" but today is not that day.

Story beats that I was confused about, but didn't really detract from the overall presentation (presumably some of these are addressed in the FF7 Compilation):

Why did Hojo think combining Mako and Jenova cells in his subjects was a good idea, besides "comically bad and unethical science experiment"? Seems like he's introducing confounding variables. (Maybe offscreen he experimented with each separately and got desireable, but distinct results?)

How is a rocket functional after 25 years? (Sure, you can argue that it was well engineered, but that's in stark contrast to the lack of thoroughness with preflight procedures (see: Shera and Checkov's rocket))

Jenova (as alien, rather than supposed "ancient") wasn't well explained--could be the fault of me not paying attention, the translation, or the original writing. Perhaps she's just meant to be unknown/incomprehensible.

Is Sephiroth (as human) or Jenova driving the events of the Jenova reunion? (if it's Sephiroth, how is he able to maintain autonomy via strength of will when Jenova has destroyed uncountable civilizations previously?)

Not sure if humanity still exists 500 years in the future (re: ending FMV), though it doesn't negate the overall impact of the story. After all, the party manages to save the world the best they can in their particular time.

highlights:

The opening bombing mission is so strong and immediately drew me in, even if Cloud himself isn't invested in Avalanche's mission. The music helps: it starts with peaceful opening strings/mallets, then all the other parts come in, culminating in the piano/timpani urging the party on

Escaping the Shinra building on the double elevators took forever, since Barret was my only ranged attacker (I didn't realize materia had been removed from Aerith/Nanaki)

Tifa helping cloud reconnect with his inner child in the lifestream

Turning Shinra's weapons against themselves (e.g., highwind crew mutiny)

Bugenhagen! Old men (see: Maechen, FFX) always have so much to teach the party. Loved seeing him tease Nanaki and telling him the truth about his father.

FMV where Shinra diverted Midgar's mako output to power the Sister Ray (leaving the entirety of the city dark): chilling! visually representing the human cost of their work (even if said work at that point in the story was self preservation (and by extension, saving the planet))

"I'm Cloud--the master of my own illusionary world" or "Let's mosey!" and other endearing turns of phrase that show off Cloud's true self, in an endearing/dorky way

Fighting Bizzaro Sephiroth: this fight took a while because I didn't understand how to damage the core with two parties. I thought I could just rely on the main party, but I needed the secondary one to do damage to expose the core.

I never actually used Omnislash during the final 1v1 confrontation; I hesitated too long and Cloud defeated Sephiroth with a counterattack.

music highlights (in no particular order)

Everyone loves the soundtrack, but here are a couple of my favorites:

Marching theme (even if I failed the parade minigame)

Jenova's theme (especially when descending past the point of no return)

Aerith's leitmotif as the party descended Northern Crater

One winged angel kicking in after Bizzaro Sephiroth was defeated

Notes on 7r:

7 Remake was a decent game that at its best, made the Midgar section of the original more impactful. At its worst it was a hallway simulator with too many cutscenes or forced walking segments that interrupted the flow of gameplay, but hey, at least they were pretty! The characters look fantastic in high resolution, and battle animations feel stylish and forceful (with the exception of Aerith's standard magical attack).

big fan of the character development (really came through in the localization/voice acting), especially for minor characters like the Turks or Rufus that don't really come into play until later in the main game. Contrary to the other parts of the Compilation that make Cloud come off as edgy and cold, Remake brings out the insecure/immature/awkward parts of Cloud's personality. After all, he's spent 5 years in stasis, and is arguably still a teenager mentally.

That being said, I wish there was more banter when the party was just walking around without triggering a cutscene (see: FF15).

gameplay

Combat was fun! I liked learning how to effectively use the ATB system by being proactive about healing/barriers/mitigation, but also knowing when to play more aggressively. Stacking % stagger on Tifa is super satisfying. I don't know if I'll do a full hard mode playthrough but I might pick at it a bit in advance of the second part of the Remake trilogy.

In typical fashion, I barely made it through the bike game (in no small part due to the poor KB/M controls); Jessie even called me a bad driver.

On the remake's changed elements

I don't have strong feelings about the whispers, but i knew going in that they were meant to keep the original story on rails (so it was more a given rather than me reacting and going "wtf are they doing here").

I enjoyed how much the cheesy/cool factor of the game got amped up, like fighting the motor ball while on a bike, or turning forgettable trash mobs into full spectacles (see: Hell House, the Swordipede in Hojo's lab, even Rufus Shinra's boss fight).

I was very annoyed having Sephiroth dangled in my face but never getting to fight him; to be fair, the original game does that to the player (but arguably to better effect, since he doesn't actually show up in person: just signs of his power/destruction).

music

The music had to grow on me -- the full orchestral arrangements toward the beginning of the game felt almost too rich, like the sonic equivalent of expecting crackers but getting a three layered cake instead. It wasn't bad (quite the opposite!!), just wasn't what I expected.

favorite tracks that come to mind:

The arrangement of j-e-n-o-v-a that plays when fighting the tentacles

Collapsed Expressway theme (robot hand minigame)

Yuffie's theme in the DLC (really captured her mischief)

closing thoughts

After beating FF7, I immediately watched Advent Children with friends. It was less comprehensible than the Kingsglaive movie, though it had a lot of cool fight choreography (and I'm sure the CGI was a landmark for 2006). The main villains were Sephiroth remnants, but their personalities were terrible; I didn't find their motivations to be well communicated or compelling. Also, without reading the novels addressing the years following the main game, I was unable to take Rufus and the Turks' good intentions for the world seriously. I definitely squealed when Sephiroth actually showed up, though (and blocked original Omnislash!)

I'm looking forward to how the next installments of the Remake continue and remix the story. I'd also eventually like to play Crisis Core to see the additional characterization Sephiroth and Zack get. (Of course, the cynical part of me thinks this is primarily a money grab by SE, but I've enjoyed the entries in the Compilation I've played through.)

[luthienne]

Louise Glück, from Averno

“Sometimes you leave your hair at the bus station & get on the bus & as your face falls asleep against the window you realize it is all your body now, everything between you & the pieces you lost once,”

Aracelis Girmay, from Kingdom Animalia; “Portrait of the Woman As a Skein”

Marie Howe, from Magdalene: Poems; “The Girl at 3″

“She knew herself, how she had slowly, over years, become a cat, a wolf, a snake, anything but a girl. How she had wrung out her girlhood like death.”

Catherynne M. Valente, from Deathless

“Many girls lock themselves up, / become pantries, closets. / Some, like trees, grow bark, / and others, like rivers, / burble into dimpled pools.”

Eli Mandel, from “Rapunzel (Girl in a Tower)"

“Sometimes I forget. I become a volatile spirit / a butterfly out of its wings, a blooming flower / in decay. I fall in love with ghosts and cry / when they flesh out,”

Mahtem Shiferraw, from Fuschia; “Being a Woman”

Aracelis Girmay, from “Portrait of the Woman as a Skein”

“Not every girl survives the forest. / Sometimes she becomes it.”

Catherine Garbinsky, from “The Princess & the Thorns,” Even Curses End

Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

“I was something else, not a girl, not a wolf, something blank-eyed, tired,”

Catherynne M. Valente, from The Bread We Eat in Dreams

“Shame fuses to silence letting the night maraud, killing bit by useless hope of not being this girl I was. Am. She is.”

Eimear McBride, from The Lesser Bohemians

“When I was a girl / and you were a girl / we were floral / and ungiveable. Squash / blossom. Bleeding / Hearts in the sideyard. / Vine, albino root. / Petals open only in the moonlight.”

Emily O'Neill, “Wedding Soup,” from Pelican

“Glory be to the girl who goes back for her body.”

Dominique Christina, from Star Gazer

“Cover the memory of your face with the mask of who you’ll be—come, and frighten the girl you used to be.”

Alejandra Pizarnik, from Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972 (tr. Yvette Siegert), “Paths of the Mirror”

“—if I could remember a day when I was utterly a girl and not yet a woman— / but I don’t think there was a day like that for me. / When I look at the girl I was, dripping in her bathing suit, or riding her bike, pumping hard down the newly paved street, / she wears a furtive look— and even if I could go back in time to her as me, the age I am now / she would never come into my arms without believing that I wanted something.”

Marie Howe, from What the Living Do: Poems; “The Girl”

“‘How strange it is to long for one’s self!’ she said; ‘and yet I often, so often, long for myself as a young girl. I love her as one whom I had been very close to and shared life and happiness and everything with, and then had lost while I stood helpless.’”

Jens Peter Jacobsen, from Niels Lyhne

Mary Oliver, from Blue Horses; “Blueberries”

“Your bare feet became a woman's feet, always saying two things at once.”

Louise Glück, from Descending Figure

“And I must choose. War before me, and behind, a woman I do not know, the woman I could have been, a human woman, whole and hot.”

Catherynne M. Valente, from Deathless

Louise Glück, from “The Myth of Innocence”

“Beware your face, / your limbs, your walk: / Gods see these / as invitations. / Beware of swans. / They may lift you / but you will fall. / Beware of children / hatched from eggs, / unfledged and beautiful: / they will burn / cities to the ground. / Don’t be seduced by the gods, / my daughter. / Though you break / into song beneath them / you will remain broken.”

Jeannine Hall Gailey, from Becoming the Villainess; “Leda’s Mother Warns Her”

“What could I have grown up to be? What kind of human woman, what kind of simple, happy thing? If I had never been broken on a bird’s wing. If I had never seen the world naked. I want to be myself again… I want to stop knowing everything I know.”

Catherynne M. Valente, from Deathless

“But I don’t really like what I know; I don’t really care for wisdom and experience. I would rather believe, and beat out my brains, and believe some more. I do not like this safe well-armed woman I have become. The loud bleating disheveled starry reckless failed girl was a better person.”

Martha Gellhorn, from Selected Letters

“a child with seafoam eyes / and dusky skin might cry, there / goes a girl with seven thousand years / at the hollow of her throat,”

Amal El-Mohtar, from ‘Song for an Ancient City’

“I say “her,” because I don’t recall having been present, not in any meaningful sense of the word. I and the girl in the picture have ceased to be the same person. I am her outcome, the result of the life she once lived headlong; whereas she, if she can be said to exist at all, is composed only of what I remember.”

Margaret Atwood, from The Blind Assassin

“There were always in me two women at least, one woman desperate and bewildered, who felt she was drowning, and another who would leap into a scene, as upon a stage, conceal her true emotions because they were weaknesses, helplessness, despair, and present to the world only a smile, an eagerness, curiosity, enthusiasm, interest.”

Anaïs Nin, from The Diary of Anaïs Nin: Volume One, 1931-1934

“Come, let me suffer! That is worth more than viewing injustice with a serene countenance, as Shakespeare says. When I have drained my cup of bitterness, I shall feel better. I am a woman, I have affections, sympathies, and wrath.”

George Sand, in a letter to Gustave Flaubert

“Slapped the man’s face, then slapped it again, / broke the plate, broke the glass, pushed the cat / from the couch with my feet. Let the baby / cry too long, then shook him, / let the man walk, let the girl down, / wouldn’t talk, then talked too long, / lied when there was no need / and stole what others had, and never / told the secret that kept me apart from them. / Years holding on to a rope / that wasn’t there, always sorry / and righteous and wrong. Who would / follow that young woman down the narrow hallway? / Who would call her name until she turns?”

Marie Howe, “What I Did Wrong”

“She is a woman stranded at doorways and passivity is killing her. There is only one thing she can do. Make noise.”

Anne Carson, in her Introduction to Elektra

Audre Lorde, from The Black Unicorn: Poems

“Part of me died here / so another could go on.”

Marty McConnell, from “When They Say You Can’t Go Home Again, What They Mean Is You Were Never There”

“see, you will rise. / and are you less of a woman for this? / no / what is woman? / woman is this—enduring. / listen girl, you will survive this—you will. / but what fool said you had to do it silently? / here is a tip—scream”

Salma Deera, Letters From Medea, “medea gives advice to a young girl with a broken heart”

[wizkiddx]

was thinking for toms most recent ig story it sounds like hes working out early everyday, what if u did a blurb where the reader does it with his and its like best friend --> something else ? sounded like a you type of story, id love if you gave it a go ❤️💕

oohkay so sorry this lit just came through this evening and I suddenly got v stupidly into it (if u put in a req before that I promise I am working on it I just got way to invested cos this is stupidly cute) xxxx

summary: what starts off as tom taking you under his wing and some sunrise workouts together might just develop into something more

“It shouldn’t be legal…. to be doing anything… this fucking early!” Spoken, well yelled, in between the fake strokes of the exercise bike and your pants. All you got in response was the two men laughing at you, no sign of sympathy at all, as your gritted your teeth - fighting against every body instinct to stop the movements. Your heart was pumping like the clappers; breathing shallow and rushed and your arms… your arms felt like they were about to fall off. Combine that with the lack of sleep from waking up before the sun did at 5 am - meant you felt like your were in literal hell.  

Why ever you’d agreed to do these workouts with Tom and Duffy escaped you. Being the new and rising actress, with a new supporting role in the next Spiderman, meant you’d spent a lot of time with Tom over the past few weeks. Not to inflate his ego either, but Tom had been a real life hero to you. See, you were the complete opposite of his experienced and seasoned professionalism - this was your first acting gig. And what a gig it was, the second biggest part in a Marvel movie. You never really believed you’d get the part and even when you did, were pretty sure it was some elaborate joke, where Ant and Dec were going to jump out from some corner and go ‘ha its a prank!’ or something. 

Yet somehow it was all still happening, you had been flown halfway across the world to spend three months alone on a film set. Well obviously not alone, but you knew no one - you were a complete outsider. That, really, was the reason you’d agreed to do these sessions with Tom. He’d offered half heartedly while between takes as you were moaning about how out of breath you got in that scene. At that point, you’d only known each other for a matter of weeks, he really hadn’t expected you to commit to 5 am each and every morning. What he wasn’t aware of though, was how ocmplerly stranded and lonely you felt here, hence why you jumped at his offer. 

And yes you loved to moan and complain when you were there, however you were also so incredibly thankful he ever offered. Duffy, Tom’s PT, was a right laugh too and he took great joy in torturing you - and was also entertained by the new and inventive ways you’d insult him after he ordered you about. 

“Come on Y/n, 200m more and then we are done, even your little arms can survive that.”

“Really … not the encouragement… I was looking for.” Still panting, face bright red and blotchy as you pressed your legs straight again.

“Tom? You wanna help Y/n out?” 

“Nah you know… kind of enjoying seeing her in pain.” The British voice laughed from somewhere behind you, making you roll your eyes.

“Why the hell… are you not… torturing him?” He sounded way to comfortable and relaxed to be working hard. 

“He’s got a stunt heavy day today so wanted to go easy this morning.”

Now that was a bloody joke. You were BOTH filming the SAME scene today, doing the SAME stunts. 

“Did I forget to mention Y/n is on set too?” The joy in Tom’s voice made you want to do horrible things to him. Even though you felt like you wanted to collapse on the floor, you’d happily do a set or two on a punch bag right now - if that punch bag was Tom’s face. 

Before you could hurl some fresh abuse at your costar, Duffy called time on the rowing machine, turning the display off and passing your water bottle over as you slouched on the slidey seat. 

“Done good Y/n/n, I am actually super impressed with your progress” The stocky man patted you on the back genuinely, bringing a bit of smile to your otherwise grimacing face. He went over the chat to Tom about some boy shit that you couldn’t care less about, allowing you a couple minutes to get your breath back. As soon as you did and tried to dismount the machine of death, your ruined legs seemed to have other plans, shakily buckling so you ended up starfished on the floor, groaning at the dull ache that came with the sudden movement. 

And what show of concern did Duffy show you? A belly laugh that echoed round Toms indoor gym making you groan again, throwing your forearm over your eyes. It was in fact the curly haired brunette, who came and knelt by your side, wordlessly balling up the towel and placing it under your head as you shot your eyes open in shock. 

“You okay? Sorry… I might’ve taken our friendly competition a bit too far.”

“I just… just might have to gain the power of flight this afternoon cos my legs aren’t gonna bloody work.” Tom chuckled and shook his head at your dry humour. 

“Oh I’m sure we can talk to Jon and get that arranged… not like Marvel don’t spend years crafting the script and storyline for a newbie actor to change it all.”

“Might I remind you… they wouldn’t have to if your weren’t such a dickhead!” You exclaimed, sitting up and staring at him with an exasperated look than only made him burst out laughing again. 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry… I just cant take you seriously when you look like such a tomato!” His voice went an octave higher as he laughed at himself, the situation getting even worse for you when you heard Duffy join in too. 

The boy was bloody lucky you couldn’t lift your arms right now, otherwise they’s almost certainly be attempting to ruin his pretty boy face. 

/////////////////////////////

After a long day of shooting you and Tom were in one of the set buggies, being taken back to your trailers to change for the evening. There was a peaceful silence until Tom ruined it yet again.

“ Got any fancy plans for this evening then?”

“Well you know me, back to my lonely little old place and  frozen pizza - so living the movie star life.” 

“It’s a Friday! You not going out with your team or anything?” He sounded so bemused at your quiet plans, and mention of a ‘team’ had you cocking your head to the side. 

“‘My team?’ Tom until I get my movie star pay check I can barely afford my pizzas, never mind a whole persons wage.” You were still only three weeks into filming and although you spent an hour every other morning sweating your ass off with Tom - apart from that you’d tried not to impose yourself on him too much. You didnt want to look clingy and naturally Tom always had a mountain of people vying for his attention - you would go to the back of a long line. So honestly, you were still a bit of a mystery to him, right now you’d both only scratched the surface on each other. 

“Really? I know this is your first big job but I thought you’d have someone here?” 

“Nah… I mean I’ve kinda clung to the Marty on the camera crew but he’s going to see family tonight sooo.”

“Come back to mine. I’ve swapped Harry for his twin Sam, which is a bit of an upgrade cos Sam’s a chef. He just arrived last night. I bet he can one up any pizza you were planning on.”

“Honestly I don’t want to impose, sorry I didnt mean for this to be a pity party or-“ The buggy slowed to a stop and Tom instantly vaulted out of it, standing right infront of you and blocking you exist off the back sofa. Both of you were still in costume, Tom in latex and you in your corset-esque two piece, but then both wrapped in matching long line black jackets supplied by set. 

“No come on I’m serious… Sam’s dying to meet you and it’d be good to spend more time together. You know, cos of chemistry and all.” The last bit was a switch from his cool and smooth, normally easy going tone - into something a bit more… anxious? Just like that, before your brain even knew what it was doing, you agreed, smiling broadly and nodding. 

So barely an hour later, you were knocking on the doors to Tom’s mansion-ish rented Atlanta home which was much much more grand than what the studio had arranged for you. Even though you were here most mornings, this time it felt different. Yeh it was stupid, but you can’t help the way you feel and you were stressed. For no real reason… just, just because. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t awkward at all  and you especially instantly hit it off with his younger brother Sam. Everything just felt easy and simple which meant so much more considering you’d felt so isolated an alone halfway across the world for your home comforts. Being British too, simply chatting to the two young men about your hometown and growing up was just so familiar, it really helped you feel less homesick.  Naturally too,  you’d fallen into a casual and friendly ribbing of Tom with Sam, making the three of you spend to majority of the evening cracking up (or in Tom’s case pouting at the abuse). It was a nice change from the two on one attack you got from Tom and Duffy that morning. You’d all cooked dinner together… well no, you and Tom had stood idly watching Sam cook an amazing chicken curry dish - which he promised to give you the recipe too. Honestly Sam felt like your long lost best friend, especially when it came to your shared ability to berate Tom for anything and everything. 

About an hour ago Tom had stuck on the film, effectively shutting up you and Sam - thankfully for him since Sam was just about to get to some rather embarrassing stories of Tom as a kid. You and Tom were on the longer grey sofa; with Sam sat  the other side of the coffee table in an impressively soft armchair - looking as though it was swallowing the lanky boy. The calm, the silence and the comfort was only going to go one way for you though. After your workout this morning, plus all the running and jumping during the shoot,  after what had already been a pretty intense week, it was hardly surprising that you didn’t even notice yourself drifting off the sleep. 

Who did notice though? Perhaps your brown haired costar who’d been stealing glances across to you ever since the movie had been put on? Because as much as he hated to admit it to himself, this didnt seem to be panning out as a normal job. A normal job is something you put your all into, for a couple weeks, and then leave with good memories and a good pay check. Yes, he had only known your for a matter of weeks or so but it already seemed to be unfathomable to cut ties with you. How would he go without your kind mannered abuse everyday? You were just refreshing, new and mysterious. And Tom was more than intrigued, his interest was peaked. 

And it was stupid to feel like that…. Of course it was. You can’t fancy a colleague because things get complicated and awkward. Tom knew that. 

Then why was he now delicately draping a blanket over your frame and smiling smally when you hummed in your sleep, in what seemed to be a show of appreciation for the layer of warmth? 

Because you were his excited puppy of a costar who is giving everything she has for the job? Because he is worried and wants to look after you? Because he cares? 

No matter why, in that moment you were contented and as was Tom. Oh and Sam? 

Sam saw the tell tale signs in his brother. He saw the way Tom had been touching your arm or the small of your back just a little more than what would be considered normal while he’d been cooking. He’d seen the way Tom had been laughing purely because you had. His eldest brother never did anything rash, it was always a painfully slow process for everyone involved. But Sam thought this just might be the start of something. The start of a slow burn.

[red1culous]

A Thousand Steps Between Here and There

It was one of those days you thought to yourself as your bike zipped through the path half obscured by branching leaves and overhanging vines. If Wanda knew what you were up to she would have had a fit. She always hated when you rode what she fondly called ‘that death trap’ at ungodly speeds. But you had a good excuse this time and you were sure she would understand. You had been sitting through 5 meetings back to back and by the end of the day your head was throbbing and your throat was hoarse. It didn’t help that the city was experiencing one of its warmest and balmiest days of the year. One thing you were thankful for was that the day was bleeding into evening and fading into crisp and cooler nights. The weatherman even threatened rain, albeit a short but intense downpour. That didn’t put you off your task at hand. Only one thing was at the forefront of your mind; getting to your secret lake deep in the forest behind the compound.

You stop your bike and dismount letting out a sigh of relief. You could feel the weight of todays events just evaporate into thin air. Behind you in the water, you hear a faint splattering sound. The subtle splashing of tiny waves on the waters surface startles you and you turn on the spot ready for anything that was waiting for you. Well….most anything. You weren’t expecting to find Natasha there. In your lake.

She came up for air like a bobber and started to paddle closer to you holding on to the side of the mountain that came down to an almost vertical at the waters edge. She gives you a devilish smirk. 

“What are you doing here?” you question deliberating whether or not to abort mission and return to the base.

But it’s such a hot and sweltering day, your brain screams locking your legs in place not allowing you to move even an inch.

“It’s called skinny dipping, Y/N,” she says moving her hands gently be her side to help keep herself afloat. “Wanna join me?” she adds as a hint of mischief flashes across her face. 

“B-but you don’t have any clothes on.”

“I would hope not” she replies chuckling at your response. “It’s not called nude sunbathing, Y/N. No one’s going to see you.”

“No one except you!” you retort hugging your towel closer to your still completely clothed body.

“Oh come on it’s not like you’ve got 3 nipples…” her eyes widen slightly, “you don’t have 3 nipples do you because if you do that would be totally fine too—“

“STOP. PLEASE” you interrupt her surprising yourself with how loud your voice was. “I don’t have 3 nipples. Jesus Nat.” “Really?” she paddles even closer, that stupid smirk still on her lips.

“Yes. No. I mean…” she seems to be amused at how flustered you are, “…I have 2 nipples ok!” you manage to stammer out.

“OK. Just checking” she raises her hands in defeat. “So come on get in here. Water’s nice.”

“But you’re already in there” you say cringing at the nonsense spewing from your lips.

“Y/N I do not have cooties if that’s—“

“No it’s not that. Just…just don’t look while I-I get in will ya?” you take a step closer to where her clothes lay in neat piles.

“Seriously?” she raises an eyebrow.

“Yes! Seriously! Now turn around!” you sternly instruct her with a hint of a blush blooming across your chest and cheeks.

You’re pleased that she turns around with only an exaggerated groan. Ripples of water illuminated by the setting sun break against Natasha’s skin signalling that you were already in the water. The overflow swirling and splashing noisily down the sides of the moss covered edges of the slippery rocks that littered the sides of the lake. 

She turns to face you. Small beads of water trickle down her face. She runs the palm of her hand across her eyes then over her head in one motion before dunking her head underwater and reemerging with her head angled back to keep wet strands of hair from her face. “How’d you find this place?” she asks wiping at her eyes again.

“Couldn’t sleep one night so I went for a ride. Kinda stumbled onto—well more like I almost rode right into the lake” you say smiling at the recollection. “You?”

Just then a chilly breeze blows through. You shiver slightly as the tree beside the lake shakes gently so that it’s leaves looked like hundred of light green metal shards perched on thin branches with the light of the faint stars that started to emerge shining through them. 

“Cold?” she asks moving closer towards you. Without waiting for an answer she reaches for your hands and pulls you to a rock outcrop in the lake. “Here lean against this” she pushes you gently backwards so you’re pressed up against the smooth surface of the stone. It’s surprisingly warm. Hot almost. You let out a sigh of relief as you enjoy the warmth on your back. “The sun heats it up in the daytime and it stays hot till well passed midnight.”

“Thanks Nat. This is nice” you say and she smiles in response. You can’t help but be amazed at how she looks in this moment. She looks like Venus rising from the water as starlight bounces off its ripples and merge with the darkness of night.

Leaning against the rock next to you her elbow grazes yours. “It’s beautiful tonight” she says to herself and your eyes follow hers gazing up at a sky as black as a jet stone.

“Sure is” your voice is just as quiet. The stars twinkle and you wonder why you don’t look at the night sky more often. In a distance the crickets sing with delight as a chorus of frogs belt out a perfect baritone accompaniment. 

“So simple yet so beautiful” she continues and you chuckle at how poetic the Black Widow is. “What?” she smiles in your direction.

“I mean…It’s not simple at all, Nat” you say pointing up at the skies. 

“Well you know what I mean” she says again looking towards the heavens as your eyes stay glued to her face. All of the sudden she seems to bloom and shine with a special brilliance. Shimmering in the moonlight and glowing like an ember at dusk. 

“Stop staring, Y/N” she says with a laugh in her tone.

“Can’t.”

Gathering water in her cupped hands she splashes some in your direction. You sputter as some enters your nostrils. “And why not?” she says turning to face you.

“Well you see...“ you smile and cast your eyes downwards and continue, “…there’s already one heavenly body in front of me.” This time you gather all your nerves to raise your eyes and give her the best shit eating grin you can muster.

“Y/N...“ she says inching closer placing both hands on either of your shoulders. “That’s…that’s…“ and as fast as a cobra attack she launches up out of the water and back down again pushing you underwater with her full weight on your shoulders. 

Underwater you hear her laughter in between fits of giggles. When she finally lets you come back up for air you madly wipe at your eyes and splash her back in retaliation. 

“You know...“ she says after having caught your wrists in her hands, “…for someone who is scared of a little skinny dipping you sure are bold with your pickup lines.”

“I uh…I umm…it-it’s just—“ you start but she cuts you off.

“Andddd she’s back” Nat says a huge smile plastered on her face. “Come on, Romeo, let’s get out of here and get some coffee” she says nonchalantly rising out of the heated waters. The frigid night air envelops her causing a thick layer of steam to rise off her body. You can’t help but think she looks like a mythical being from some blockbuster Hollywood movie. She shimmies into her jeans making you bite your lower lip. Just as she turns around, you spin to face the other side. 

“Your turn” she says as you turn to face her happy that she’s got her top on and is wiggling her feet into her shoes.

“I can’t believe you just got out like that” you say certain there was crimson dusting your cheeks.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’m not exactly shy about my body” she chucks a tiny pebble in your direction gathering up your clothes and holding them out to you.

“Nope, that you are not!” You laugh at her comment. “And why would you be? You’ve got a great one.” You immediately clasp your hands over your mouth eyes widening in horror at what you had just said.

“Oops did bold Y/N make a comeback?” she squats by the waters edge a sparkle in her eyes.

“Umm…I didn’t mean…I mean…not that…” you stumble over your words.

She stands chuckling at your ever reddening cheeks. “Ok come on Prudence get out of there before you wrinkle like a raisin. I won’t look” she teases before turning around with her back towards you. “But hurry or I will look” she threatens as you scramble up to the surface and quickly dress yourself.

“OK done” you say as she slowly turns around with a sly smile on her face. 

“What’s with the face?” you ask suspiciously.

Her deep chuckle is unsettling. “Oh nothing…” is all she says as she starts walking and as she passes your bike she taps on the smooth metal side surface of the petrol tank that reflects everything in super high definition. You’re left standing there in sodden clothes completely stunned.

“Come on sweet cheeks…the coffee won’t drink itself!” she calls out to you in a sing song voice.

Well shit.

---

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[imagine-darksiders]

I hope you feel better soon! When you're feeling better would you be able to write something about jealous Strife? That ask made me curious

“Do you really have to go?”

From your seat at the vanity, you heave an exasperated sigh and set down your lipstick, swivelling around in the chair to face the Horseman who stands sulking at your bedroom door.

“Strife,” you begin patiently, “I'm afraid my answer still hasn't changed since you asked me ten minutes ago.”

“Yeah, I know. It's just -” Averting his gaze, he crosses his arms and grumbles, “I thought we were gonna hang out tonight.”

“And I told you two weeks ago that I wouldn't be around tonight.”

You can't see his expression, hidden as it is behind the silver helm he wears, but you're fairly confident in guessing that there's a pout on his lips.

“And besides,” you add, “We hang out all the time. You practically live here. Hell, you've already turned my spare bedroom into your own personal den.”

'Den' is an understatement. Your spare room is now less of a bedroom more of an Earth museum, filled from floor to ceiling with all of the things that Strife has picked up simply because they took his fancy. For the most part, it's all junk. There's an obsolete gaming console that no longer works, a skateboard, a horse figurine made of glass, no less than three Nerf guns and not a foam dart between them...

Honestly, you're loathe to tell him to get rid of any of it, though you fear you might have to soon if you don't want the mess spilling out into the rest of your house.

Giving your head an exasperated shake, you check the time on your phone and stand up, throwing your bag over a shoulder. “Listen, it's just one evening with an old friend who I haven't seen since before the apocalypse. We can hang out tomorrow, I promise. But now, I really need to dash, he'll be here to pick me up any minute.”

Pausing to stuff your phone into the pocket of your trousers, you head towards the door, hardly noticing that the Horseman is still standing in front of it with his arms folded neatly across a broad, armoured chest. It's only because you glance up right at the last second that you manage to avoid a painful collision. “Um...Strife?” you ask, halting in your tracks, “... Move?”

In response, he simply leans back against your door and begins to inspect the claws on one of his gauntlets. “Nah... I'd rather hear about this friend of yours. You've never mentioned him.” Pausing, he shoots you a sly smirk that you can sense more than see, his golden eyes flashing, “You guys close?”

With a roll of your eyes, you mimic his posture, crossing your arms and giving him a glare that would make Death proud. “Strife, what's gotten into you? I just said I'm going to be late for my friend.”

“Yeah, I get that,” he returns coolly, “Just wanna know that my friend isn't walking into a trap.”

“Oh wow – a trap? Really? Of all the-” You cut yourself off and raise a hand, massaging at your temple. “Okay. Now you're just being ridiculous. It's not a trap.”

“Why don't you let me come with you, just in case?”

“Because!” you cry, throwing your arms up, “It'll be awkward! You remember what I taught you about third-wheeling?”

He remembers it well, in fact. Just like he remembers everything you teach him, committing the moments to memories that he'll carry with him until the day he snuffs it. He only has you for less than a hundred years, after all, and he's determined to remember every last bit of it. The Universe must have thought itself pretty hilarious when it placed you in his life. Of all the creatures in all the realms, the one he ends up caring about most just so happens to be the one with the shortest lifespan. It makes him want to hunt down the Creator and shoot a hole where a heart might be.

Shoving down his contempt for the omnipotent bastard, Strife returns his attention to you and lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “I don't mind tagging along. You know, just in case I have to watch your back.”

Your response hits him harder than a crack from Fury's whip. “I don't need you to watch my back every second of every day! Stop being so paranoid.”

The Horseman is too proud and obstinate to ever let the stab of hurt show in his eyes, but he can't ignore its presence in his chest.

He is not being paranoid... He's being a good friend - watching your back, looking out for you, all the things a friend is supposed to do. Not that he's had much experience being friends with a human. Or anyone, for that matter, who isn't a horse or his siblings. It's been a learning curve for both of you, though more-so for him, and so far, the most prominent challenge he's faced is balancing the line between being a friend and being an overprotective nuisance.

It perhaps hasn't helped that, ever since humanity was resurrected, the pair of you have been nigh inseparable. He's grown used to your presence – is dependant upon in, according to Death; a fact that Strife had vehemently tried to deny, at least until he learned that you'd made plans. Plans with someone else. Plans that didn't involve him.

It was only once he'd taken some time to reflect and found that he had indeed been glued to your side for months, that he realised the awful truth.

His older brother was right, after all. The smug ass.

A shudder rolls over the Horseman's body and he blinks, realising that in the few seconds he's been lost in thought, you've managed to reach around him to push open your bedroom door.

“Hey!” he complains as you all but shove past, and he – being the soft-touch that he is – simply allows himself to be moved aside. Grumbling, he follows you across the landing and down your sweeping staircase until you reach the front door and stop beside it.

From outside, the thunderous roar of an approaching, automobile's engine thrums in his ears.

“That's him!” you chirp, and Strife hates the way your face lights up at the mention of whoever 'he' is.

Throwing open your door, you head outside and try to pull it shut behind you, yet find your efforts abruptly halted by the Horseman sticking close to your heels. He ducks through the low doorframe and moves to stand beside you, his viciously keen gaze raking over the vehicle that idles at the end of your driveway.

By his own admission, Strife has always had a weakness for those 'motor bikes' the humans like to ride, with their shiny gaskets and noisy engines. But this one – the one upon whom sits a tall, lanky human – Strife does not care for.

“Anton!” you call out, flying down the driveway, splaying your arms out wide in anticipation of a hug.

'Anton' laughs brightly and kicks down the bike's stand as he leaps from the seat, his own arms only just opening in time to receive you when you crash into him with a whoop of delight.

As soon as those long, stringy arms wrap around your shoulders, the Horseman's hackles raise like a feral beast's and the sudden presence of Anarchy begins to claw at the confines of his ribcage. For a few moments, he wrestles with himself, weighing the pros and cons of letting his most primal form take over for a while, but after envisioning the disapproving frown that's sure to adorn your face should he pull such a stunt, he bitterly shoves a reluctant Anarchy back down and settles upon prowling down the gravel drive after you, glaring hard at the stranger the entire way. Admittedly, he is a little surprised at himself for the animosity. On the whole, he's always maintained a good rapport with other humans. He likes the species, a lot. So to suddenly be filled with such a strong disliking for this particular human strikes him as odd and out of character.

Then, Anton's hands slide down to your lower back and another bout of indignant fury flares up in the Horseman's belly. After what he thinks is, quite frankly, an obscene amount of time, the stranger releases you, holding onto your shoulders and leaning back to get a better look at your face.

“God, it's good to see you, Y/n,” he drawls, eyeing you from head to toe in a way that makes the Horseman's skin crawl, “I can't believe it! You've changed so much!”

Grinning shyly up at him, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and reply, “Hopefully for the better?”

His own smile widens. “You were always at your best, even before the apocalypse. Still, being Humanity's Hero seems to be really suiting you, huh?”

At once, your expression falls and you pull a face, extracting yourself from his grasp. “Oh god, don't call me that. I've told the media till I'm blue in the face - the Horsemen are the ones who deserve to be called heroes. Oh, speaking of whom...” You turn to face the looming presence at your side and gesture up to Strife. “I'd like to introduce you to a friend of mine.”

Anton's gaze leaves you long enough to flick over towards the Horseman and you watch as he does a very comical double-take, his eyes bulging for a moment before he manages to compose himself again and lifts his hand in greeting. “Hey! You must be one of those Horseman guys. Death, right?”

Noticing that the Nephilim's hands curl suddenly into tight fists, you interject, “Uh, actually, this is Strife, Tones.”

“Tones?” He really does try to keep the disdain from his voice when he switches his burning, golden glare between you and the other human. “I thought you said his name was Anton?”

How many other friends do you have?

“It's a nickname, Strife,” you reassure him quickly, “This is Anton.”

A nickname... Of course. The Horseman's stomach twists itself into a knot and he can't stop himself from blurting out, “How come you've never given me a nickname?”

The human concept surrounding abbreviated names was a fairly easy one for him to grasp when he first learned of them. They're terms of endearment, meant to signify familiarity and friendship.

He's your friend. He's familiar. Why doesn't he have a nickname too?

"Ugh, I'm sorry. We'll brainstorm nicknames when I get back," you huff, "But the restaurant will give our table away if we don't hurry. So -"

Turning to usher Anton onto the bike, you hardly manage to take one step before a large, metal hand is sliding around your forearm and tugging you gently to a halt. Biting back a groan, you glance over your shoulder, ready to scold him, but one look at his slouched stance and averted gaze stops you in your tracks.

"Uh. Hey, Tones?" you call, never taking your eyes off the Horseman's mask, "Can you give us a sec?"

The human behind you is careful to check that Strife isn't looking when he rolls his eyes and grunts in acknowledgement before he turns and saunters over to his bike, leaning up against it and pulling out his phone.

Once Anton has turned his attention elsewhere, you raise a brow at the Horseman and wait, patient, expectant. After working his jaw for a moment or two, he finally looks at you properly and tightens his grip on your arm, not until it's painful, but enough that you understand what he's trying to convey in the gesture.

He really doesn't want you to go.

"Strife?" you prod.

Reluctantly, he lets out a rough exhale.

Although he's far better at it than his siblings, watching Strife try to openly express emotion isn't unlike watching someone pull their own teeth out with a pair of pliers. The process is slow, and it's best to sit back and listen to him rather than try to encourage him to speak. So, that's what you do, and eventually, your patience is rewarded when after another few seconds of silence, he offers a strained chuckle and says, "This guy isn't my replacement, is he? I know the bike is cool, and all, but..."

"Your replacement?" you laugh, incredulous, "Strife. I don't know how it worked with Nephilim, but for humans, having another friend doesn't cancel out any existing ones."

He knows that. He's not some whelp who never learned how to share. Frustrated with himself, the Horseman huffs and turns his head to the side, glaring hard at nothing in particular.

"Hey..." An old habit kicks in, and before you can stop yourself, you reach up to trace your fingertips along the underside of Strife's helm, tipping it back towards you and smiling at the bewildered look in his yellow eyes. Confident that he's paying proper attention, you pull your hand away again and state, "I could search the whole universe from top to bottom for the next hundred, thousand years, and I'd never find a friend who could replace you, okay? So stop worrying. Your ranking as 'my best friend' is not under threat."

"M'not worrying," he grumbles, but inside, his heart is aglow with the warmth of your words. At the back of his mind, Anarchy rumbles happily. You said best!... He's your best friend? He tries to recall you ever calling him that before. Then he realises that, no, you can't have done. He wouldn't forget a moment like that. Not in a million years. Just like he won't forget how he feels right now after hearing those two words.

Oblivious to the fate you've just sealed for yourself, you clap your hands together, bringing the conversation to what you hope is an easy conclusion. "Good. In that case, will you please let me go with Anton now?"

The Horseman's mood sours almost immediately, but at least he peels his fingers off your arm.

"Hey, kid?" he address Anton, packing his voice with all the menace and threat that he can muster, "If I find out she gets hurt on your watch, I'll introduce you to a couple'a friends of mine..." His hands fall less-than subtly to his holsters, where the silver handles of Mercy and Redemption glint in the sunlight.

Anton's face pales upon seeing the Horseman's legendary pistols.

"Stop that," you scold him, smacking the back of your hand against the armoured chest plate before turning to your other friend and calling, "Come on, Tones, let's go."

Anton all but throws himself onto his bike, kicking the stand back and jamming his keys into the ignition whilst you climb on behind him, albeit far more gracefully. The man tosses you a helmet and you shove it onto your head.

Strife's eyes remain settled upon your hands that wrap snugly around Anton's waist and it takes everything in him not to grab you, haul you off the bike, drag you back to your home and lock you inside.

“I'll be back late tonight,” you call over the roar of the engine as you begin to pull away, “There's food in the fridge if you want to eat! And my Netflix is still logged in! I'll see you later, okay!?”

Strife doesn't respond, not because he can't think of what to say, but because there would be no point. Anton has already peeled away and pushed the bike to a reckless speed. All the Horseman can do is stand there at the end of your driveway, his shoulders drooping dejectedly.

After you're nothing more than a dot on the far horizon, he tears his eyes off you and lets them fall to the tarmac near his boots.

He never notices you looking back.

[mudhornchronicles]

maroon | din djarin

gif posted by sledposting 

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: all the fluff, soft!din but then i said sike... angst, mentions of death and violence, also mentions of... sexual encounters?

a/n: lowkey wanna make into a series, but idk if someone has done this. if so, i do apologize. 

masterlist

“You best learn how to weave, girl. A husband wouldn’t be caught dead wearing tattered clothing, let alone a Mandalorian riduur.”

“You must wear much more layered clothing. A Mandalorian riduur wants a respectable woman at his side.”

“Learn these recipes and maybe you’ll find yourself a Mandalorian riduur.”

You’ve grown tired of hearing this every day, but you sit back and simply nod. Mandalore may have not been your birth planet, but they took care of you after your father and brother both fell valiantly in battle. You were on your own after that. Your mother was not a Mandalorian, she was originally from Naboo. When your father was called back to Mandalore to assist in the ceremonial trials, your mother decided it was time she left. She said she was promised a tranquil life with the clan of four on Naboo, but the creed had to be followed. You have not heard from her since you were 7 years old.

Now as you’ve come to an age of maturity, you were being trained to… be a wife? 

You sat back and obeyed the elders wishes, but you knew that their rants were not true - not in the slightest. Your father never depended on your mother to do anything for him. Because of that, he taught you how to defend yourself and be independent. Although your father was devoted to The Way, he did not want you to swear the creed. Not because you were incapable, but because he did not want you to go through life with the restrictions that the creed entails. Even if you wanted to rebel against your loving father’s wishes, you were not able to be properly trained nor swear the creed at such a late age. So, you were content with being a member of the Mandalorian culture as a civilian.

You sat at a table that the elders reserved for the women who taught young ladies how to sew, heal, cook, and take care of the warriors in training. Whether it was a torn cape or a sparring injury, you were there to help. You always believed you didn’t need to be there as you already knew how to do it all, but the view made up for it. The table was set up on the outer boundaries of the sand pit they called a sparring arena. You got to see young Mandalorians train their bodies and minds by lessons taught by the elders. As many Mandalorians came and went, your eyes were always set on a specific foundling you met many years ago. You sympathized with that warrior when you first noticed his colored armor. You had a crafted bracelet in a similar color – a deep red, a maroon to be precise.

All Mandalorian armor was painted, but each general color had deeper meaning. For example, blue represented the reliability of the warrior, green represented duty, black represented justice, and grey or silver represented mourning.

Red represented the honoring of a parent or leader.

You watched as the two warriors, one in green armor and yours in the maroon, sparred while the other Mandalorians watched and rallied around their fighting brothers. After 10 minutes, the maroon pinned the green down and was declared the winner. The elders at your table clapped and you can’t help but smile and cheer along.

As the noise settles down, you ask to be excused from the table and wait for their approval. Once the oldest member examines your finished shawl, she excuses you for the day. You clean up your yarn and needles, place them and your newly knitted shawl in your basket, and thank them for the day’s lesson. You turn and notice the maroon armored figure standing with his brothers as a new pair of Mandalorians prepare for their turn at combat.

You walk over and stand next to him, basket in your left hand and proceed to place your right hand on his pauldron. He looks over at you and tilts his helmet as he acknowledges you. You mouth a simple hi and a small wave, not wanting to distract him from the scene in front of him.

“Hello, cyar’ika.”

You smile as he turns and holds your right hand in his left. “How was today’s lesson?”

You shrug, rolling your eyes and letting out a small laugh. “Oh you know, learning what I already know. The usual.”

He chuckles at your visible annoyance at the uniformed program you’re practically forced to attend. “Are you finished or are the elders letting you breathe?”

You just can’t help but always smile at every word that comes out of his mouth. “I’m very much finished for the day. Are you?”

“Yes, Paz and I were just asked to demonstrate a sparring technique. Would you like to go for a walk?”

You nod excitedly. He gives your hand a light squeeze and asks you to stay where you are. You watch him as he strides over to one of the elders watching over the training session to what you assume is asking for permission to leave. The elder simply nods and goes back to observing the trainees.

Your Mandalorian leads you to an escarpment not far from the main town – not far by speeder bike that is. You both called it our place. As far as you both knew, no one had known about the place. The ground is scattered with sand and cracks, but the pair are protected from unwanted visitors by an oddly bent acacia tree and nothing beats the view. The capital can be seen far out in the distance, seeming small and faded. You looked down from the cliff to the ground below. You took notice that the ground had small traces of grass while the trees began to dry and then to your luck, you spotted a strill dragging the corpse of a fanned rawl back to its pack. 

You step back from the edge and walk back to the tree. Your beloved unclips his cape and places it on the ground for you both to sit on – despite your countless protest about getting it dirty and tears. He proceeds to take a seat in the middle of his cape and places his hands on your waist. You take the hint and take a seat on his lap. He wraps his arms around your body and lay on him and he leans back on the thick trunk of the tree.

You quietly stay like this for what feels like hours, just holding onto each other. You two rarely get alone time anymore as his training has begun to be much more advanced. More advanced means longer training hours and longer training hours mean less time with you. Mandalore has nineteen hour days and the elders now have him train for six which means you barely get to talk to him and he barely gets to breathe. 

You change positions to lay on the ground with your head on his thighs. He starts to play with your hair, but suddenly lets the strand of hair go. He leans over to grab your hand. He begins to play with your fingers and places his palm straight onto yours just to feel how different his hands are from your own. He did always say he loved your hands – soft and caring.

He loves holding your hand. He loves caressing it. He loves playing with them. He loves how they look when in his.

When you’re in the safety of your home, he blindfolds you and  loves it when you play with his hair.

When you make love, he loves when you run your hands down his chest and on his biceps as he thrusts up into you. He loves when you grip his arms while you’re riding him and he brings you close to euphoria or when his body is over yours and your hands press down on his back to beg for him to go deeper.

He’s gone a long time without having gentle hands touch him. You were the first person he let touch his bare hands since his parents died. 

His helmet tilts over to you and you look up to him. He sits and stares at you and you unsuccessfully stifle a laugh. “What? Why are you staring at me?”

“Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, ner kar’ta.” He says quietly. So quietly you feel as if it wasn’t meant for your ears.

You situate yourself onto your knees and cradle the side of his helmet in one hand and hold his own hand in the other. “I love you too, Din. More than anything in the entire galaxy.”

You’ve been in a romantic relationship with Din for five years and you’ve heard those words a total of seven times. You savor every time he speaks them as it sounds like utter bliss to you.

“Ner kar’ta, I- I’d like to gift something to you, but I must know something first.”

“You can ask me anything, cyare.”

“I know I don’t tend to express my feelings and you may be thinking this is going to be a negative talk, but I promise it’s not.”

“I know it isn’t, my love. Even if it was, you’re not going anywhere.”

He chuckles at this and he nods. You know this is serious when his visor isn’t on your face.

“Mesh’la… Do you wa- Are you sure you…” he stops and clears his throat. “Cyare, do you plan on wanting to be stay? With me? I know we never talked about this, but I just thought it was time to bring it up.”

“Are you asking me if I want to stay by your side for the rest of my life, Din?”

He nods.

“Din, love, of course I want to be with you. We’ve only touched the surface. There’s so much left to do. You still haven’t given me a piece of your armor, we haven’t done a riduurok, and we haven’t raised warriors! You aren’t getting rid of me!” you joke.

He stays silent and you begin to think you may have gone too far. He opens one of his pouches on his belt. Your mind is saying he pulled out the blindfold he always carries for you to kiss you, but your heart wishes it’s something else.

Your heart wins.

He offers you a necklace. It consists of a maroon colored beskar ring clinging to a chain – his beskar. Before he can say anything, you jump on him and wrap your arms around him. He laughs and gives you a squeeze.

“I had a speech prepared, but I’d be very happy if I didn’t have to read it,” he sarcastically says. You can’t stop the tears running down your cheeks as you shake your head while you tell him he doesn’t have to. You know what he’s going to say and you know he’s going to stutter and shake. You know how much he loves you. You don’t need to hear him say it as his actions spoke volumes.

“I knew you didn’t lose your buckle to Paz! You rather lose me than your armor!”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’d rather lose my sponsorship then you.”

You playfully shove him. “Di’kut.” You grab your drink from your basket and take a swig from the cold liquid.

“Cyar’ika, w- would you like to marry me? Right now?”

You almost choke. You look at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“Is it too soon?”

You shake you head. “No, no it’s been five years. The elders probably think we’re crazy.” You both share a laugh. “But, if you’re ready Din, then yes. I’d love to marry you right now.”

He stands and helps you up. He grabs the chained ring and places it around your neck. You look down and the ring falls beautifully next to the other necklace you wear, a nexu signet - your father’s clan. You reach up and bring his head down to yours as you connect your foreheads together. As Mandalorian culture states, the warrior must begin the riduurok and every phrase must be said by each to be vowed.  

Din’s hands are shaking, you can feel them. He clears his voice, but it does little to stop it from cracking.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus d-dar’tome”

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome”

“M-Mhi me’dinui an”

“Mhi me’dinui an”

“mhi ba’juri ver-“

You feel his forehead leave yours and you open your eyes. You follow his gaze and your heart sinks. Far out in the distance you see imperial ships slowly coming through the clouds. You see bright red light coming from the capital and you begin to panic. You know he has to go fight. As much as you don’t want him to, there’s no debate. 

You both run to collect everything. He stops to look at you.

“Ni ceta, ner kar’ta. I promise that I-“ you stop him and bring his forehead down again.

“It is your duty to Mandalore, Din. I know you’ll protect us and you’ll come back to me. Promise me you’ll fight with everything in you. I can’t lose you too.”

“I promise.”

With that you pack the speeder and ride back into town, although as the war begins, you wished you had just taken Din away and ran.

Blaster shot after blaster shot. Dead body after another. The cries of children and the screaming of mothers trying to find their babies.

You hear a Mandalorian usher women and children into life-ships, each with two Mandalorians escorts. You get rushed closer and closer to one when you catch Din in the corner of your eye.

You run to him as you hear your name being called out by the other women. Din sees you and tackles you down. He pins you against a wall yelling at you to get into a ship and go. You put your hands on each side of his helmet. Both of you are crying wishing this was only a nightmare. 

“Din, please promise me you’ll find me. Promise me you’ll make it out of here and come back to me. I can’t live without you. Please promise me.”

His visor is trained on you as you hold onto each other tighter than ever. “I promise I’ll find you and when I do, we’ll properly marry and I’ll take you far away from here so we can start our own clan. Ner kar’ta, I promise you this with my entire being.”

A promise sealed with a keldabe kiss. He runs with you towards a ship. You both ask escorts where the ship is going. No one knows. You try running out of the ship, but Din only pushes you back in. You hear him tell you how much he loves you before he jumps off the ship right when the ramp starts to move. You sob as the ramp closes until the view of your maroon-clad love is completely gone.

Little did you know that the war zone you had just witnessed was the fall of Mandalore and the last time you’d see the love of your life for many years to come.

update (1.1.21): Part two to Maroon has been posted - Saguine

 mando’a translations:

riduur = spouse, husband, wife, partner

cyar’ika = darling, sweetheart

Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum = I love you

ner kar’ta = my heart

mesh’la = beautiful

riduurok = love bond, specifically between spouses - marriage agreement

cyare = beloved

di’kut = idiot

Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar’tome, mhi me’dinui an, mhi ba’juri verde. = We are one whether we are together or apart, we will share everything and we will raise our children as warriors.

ni ceta = i’m sorry 

[zinzinina]

part vii (the trade)

Pairing - Boba Fett x Reader Rating - Explicit 18+ Word Count - 7.2k

A/N -  Warnings for this chapter include descriptions of violence, injury, death and drug use.

main masterlist // series masterlist

The stolen speeder bike screams underneath you as you twist the throttle down. Too slow, too slow, the refrain pounds under the wind tearing at your ears. It took far too long to find an unattended speeder, too long to clear the narrow streets and get onto the raised magnetic freeway out of the city. Every extra second it takes for you to get there is a fresh burst of panic; another chance for Boba to get cleaved in half with a fucking laser sword. Your brain unhelpfully produces a mental picture of this, and something cracks in your throat, not quite a sob, but not entirely unlike one either.

Veering wildly around an armoured transport, you lean down flat, trying to protect your burning eyes. The already-frigid air has numbed your face, the planetoid’s short day cycle darkening the roiling horizon as the temperature continues to drop fast. But there’s another problem: geomagnetic agitation high in the secondary atmosphere is limning the sky green, ionised molecules crackling far out in the distance.

The freeway, like the rest of the planetoid’s structures, is built high, raised above the tar-like surface on the planet. Every few hundred metres, thin spires of static discharge towers stretch skyward, designed to deflect as many lightning strikes as possible from the series of open-air ramps and passages leading toward the city’s tessellated platforms.

You really, really don’t need a burst of static to short out your speeder and leave you stranded out here. Gripping the sides of the speeder bike tight with your thighs, you work to maintain your balance, rifle tucked firmly to your side. The lanes leading into the city creep into view as you swerve around a grav-crawler, and you narrow your eyes, trying to work out the best route to take you into the centre. Most of the lanes are blocked with traffic; metrocabs congesting the widest ramp.

It looks like there’s another way though, and you don’t wait to weigh up the reckless idea before you’ve decided on it, tearing out into oncoming traffic and skipping diagonally across five lanes until you’re on an unused stretch of road, the speeder shrieking underneath you. Bearing down toward the fringes of the city, you tighten your fists around the handles, holding your breath as you rocket closer to the barricaded end of the lane and, praying for a miracle, wrench the front of the speeder bike upwards.

Suspended for a second in the loose air, your stomach drops out and time freezes as you squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the crash.

You just barely clear the plasticrete barrier, sparks skidding from the back of the seat as you force the bike far higher than the antigrav was ever designed to accomodate safely. Cresting the wall, the bike slumps down and your teeth snap together with a lurching jolt as the repulsorlift pulls you up sharply, catching before you smash into the road.

Your foot swings out wildly, and you feel the heated friction through the sole of your boot as you rebalance, managing to prevent yourself flattening a graffitied cleaning droid. It squeals, its tiny brush-claws waving in panic, and you throw it a sheepish grimace as litter is blown up in an arc by your exhaust, forcing the engines on.

Jii Gani is a lot bigger than its sister city. The buildings tower over you, tinny advertisements audible from open shopfronts and an Iridonian woman leaps back out of your way, yelling something obscene as you nearly mow her down. Nothing appears to be on fire yet. That’s a good sign, you hope, decelerating, listening hard.

This sorcerer guy could be anywhere, you think. But hunting has helped you cultivate good instincts for this kind of thing, and you follow the neons, squeezing the speeder down progressively shiftier back alleys until you reach a district that feels similar to the area where you’d found the Gran, and where Boba had tortured the Quarren. The buildings are older; scratched and fogged windows affording glimpses into sabacc dens and pleasure houses. The rumble overhead mixes headily with the bass of music.

Heads turn to follow as you slowly roll down the street, and you watch more than one hand slipping underneath a coat as they take in your unconcealed weapons. A young woman watches you from the opening of an alley, and something in the back of your head twinges with alarm. You’re about to throw yourself off the speeder bike and take cover when a roll of thunder stills the street, static crackling. For a second, everyone is comically frozen, staring at one another, waiting.

And you realise a split second before everyone else does; that most recent booming is coming from street-level. The familiar crack of a disruptor rifle ricochets through the narrow maze of duracrete, coming from the other side of the alley as the crowd launches into movement. There’s an echoing burst of fire and screaming, and you aren’t sure if it’s from the storm or the explosion but you could swear the ground shakes underneath your feet, the entire section of the city being shaken to its raised foundations.

People shove one another to get out of the street, dashing past in the opposite direction as you crane your neck to see over them, the colour-leeched signs making faces ghoulish as they blur past. The woman meets your gaze just as she turns and darts back through the alley, toward the sound.

You fling your legs over the side of your speeder and throw yourself after her, boots nearly slipping on the grimed street as she looks over her shoulder and fumbles at her belt, sprinting away. A shoulder catches you in the side and you duck your head as you run, knocking someone over behind you without pausing to look back.

You reach her just as she looses her blaster, spinning to press her back to the wall of the alley. The shot sears the edge of your outstretched wrist as you seize her hand, twisting the blaster out of her grip and kneeing her hard in the stomach. She retches, doubling over and you’re too panicked, too furious to think as your hand circles her throat, slamming her back into the wall. If he’s still fighting in the street, it’s not over yet. You need to find the source of the threat before he does, before he gets himself killed.

“Where is the Jedi?” you snarl, another explosion shuddering underneath you. Blaster fire is deafening in the cramped space, red bolts of light illuminating both your faces. She stares at you in unveiled surprise for a second, before she laughs, the sound contemptuous.

“You’re fools. Both of you.”

You don’t have time for this. You fire off a shot into her knee, leaving her screeching and immobilised on the ground as you tear down the alley, skidding to a halt at the mouth and staring upward.

You’ve never seen anything like it; innumerable figures pouring out from the surrounding buildings, blasters firing wildly into the air. The street’s surface is cratered with rubble underneath the scorched bodies of limp figures, scattered like trash across the ground. And above all of it, the darkly gleaming figure above, twin sources of light from the jet pack at his back as he launches from a ledge just as it explodes into pebbles. There is a constant deluge of firepower, blaster bolts interspersed with cracking shots of the disruptor rifle, and as another explosion rocks the street you realise distantly that he’s somehow dropping charges too, singlehandedly decimating the street and everybody in it.

You don’t know how he’s doing it. He might as well be an entire army unto himself.

Another bolt of light skitters above and you dash sideways, making for what remains of a crumpled plasticrete billboard, gravel sliding under your boots as your feet prickle, nerve endings trying to stop your fall. You skid to your knees, catching yourself hard as rocks and broken glass rip into the fabric of your pants. Shoving your stolen blaster into your belt, you push the pain sideways, concentrating.

From behind your temporary shelter you swing your rifle up, firing off shot after shot into the street, teeth gritted through the punching recoil. You don’t wait to see whether your darts land, too occupied with watching above your head, trying to deflect as much fire from him as possible. Glass pops overhead as the building behind you is blown in, and the shards rain down, tiny stings of pain on your face and hands.

The heaviest concentration of bodies shooting are standing in a loose semicircle around the arched entrance to the building opposite, blaster fire and lightning by turns illuminating the street, enough that you can see a gap where a Gamorrean has fallen. It’s not a huge opening, but it might be big enough for you to flit inside unseen.

You’re trying to figure out a way to skirt around the edge of the chaos when a particularly loud pop of fire sounds out in front of you and a jagged bolt of plasma sears into the back of Boba’s leg, right into that fucking unprotected calf muscle again. He barely reacts, managing to fire off two bolts into the man who’d shot him, sending him careening backwards into another, but the sight of the blast hitting him compounds with the panicked adrenaline that had you racing to find him. This is not an assassination or a quiet extraction. It’s a full-scale brawl. Nothing prepares you for your own blind, protective fury.

A feral cry slips through your bared teeth, and you throw yourself over the barricade, firing point-blank into the startled figures turning toward you, dropping a man with a stim lodged directly in his eye, his screaming and clawing already forgotten as you fire twice more, bodies falling. You kick down on a tiny Sullustan man crouched near your feet, his jowls wobbling in terror as his crushed fingers release the blaster he was clutching, a gratifying crunch under your boot.

Hot pain shears through your grazed knee as a blaster bolt glances off your skin and you nearly lose your balance, your hair whipping into your eyes as your head swivels desperately, looking upward, trying to see whether any more shots have found gaps in his armour. A craggy-looking man with long grey hair is aiming a boiler rifle up into the air, and you don’t pause to think, stumbling over what looks like a pile of rocks but feels unpleasantly soft under your feet as you launch yourself at him.

Catching him around the waist, you throw him off his feet, the two of you tumbling down in a heap, your raw knees grinding excruciatingly against the ground as you straddle his waist. He’s trying to kick you off, the butt of his rifle catching on the side of your head, and you rear back, aiming to shoot down at his face, but nothing happens.

Cursing, you smash your jammed rifle in an upward swing across the man’s jaw, kicking back hard as another set of arms grab at you from behind. You twist your arms free, dropping the rifle and leaving your assailant holding your heavy jacket. A hot trickle of blood runs from your eyebrow into your face and you blink furiously to clear your sight, crouching to dodge the swipe of heavy arms over your head.

You wrench both your own and the stolen blasters from your belt, firing madly into the smoky confusion, no idea if your shots are hitting, indiscriminately loosing bolt after bolt into the mass of bodies.

But there are too many of them, and behind you a burst of short percussive shots ring out. Something singes your bare arm, and in the time it takes you to flinch your blasters are knocked from your grip, a kick catching you hard in the ribs before you can dodge away. You see white, knees buckling, going down hard onto your hands as your shoulders are seized and you’re flipped onto your back.

Your chest heaving, blinking away the blood in your eyes, it takes a second for you to realise why the next hit doesn’t come. The man holding you is frozen, recognition flaring long enough to make him pause and in the split second of fire bursting overhead you remember; he was one of the Gran’s bodyguards, the one you chose not to kill, leaving alive but unconscious in the street.

You pant, looking at each other, trapped in a tiny feedback loop of shock, when there’s a deafening crack of discharge and the man disappears into an explosion of sparks, grey ashes drifting down onto your face.

Boba stands over you, disruptor rifle still raised, and you roll to your feet, spitting blood through your teeth from where you’ve bitten your tongue. He’s roaring something, garbled by the modulator and indistinguishable from the cacophony around you, but the meaning is clear enough as he points toward the alley leading away from the fight.

Positive he wouldn’t be able to hear you anyway, you don’t respond, turning as the remaining men charge forward, getting ready to face them down. There aren’t very many left, but you’ve lost your blasters and you have no idea how long you’ll last with your bare hands. Resorting to your last remaining weapon, you whip the vibroblade from your thigh, holding it sideways in your fist as you prepare to throw yourself forward. Before you can, Boba snarls a curse, the noise one of pure frustration. He launches himself up back over your head, drawing the attention of the encroaching mob and tossing out another charge as he sweeps backward, leading the fight away from you.

You don’t wait for another chance. Tripping clumsily over the mess at your feet, you make for the arched doorway, left unguarded and lit with incongruously comforting yellow glowpanels. Lengthening your strides, nostrils flaring with the effort of catching your breath, you cross the threshold and make it halfway up a wide staircase before you need to rest, leaning heavily against the balustrade as pain dances up your side.

The interior of the building is glaringly unexceptional. It could be an office anywhere in the galaxy; institutional-looking geometric wall panels between rows of doors. It’s... not exactly crystals and ancient statues, you think, wiping the back of your arm across your mouth to clear the grit of ash from your lips.

It’s completely deserted, the sounds from outside echoing over your dragging footsteps. Listening hard, you just make out a quiet rattling, like a bottle rolling across a polished floor from behind a doorway at the end of the passage.

Forcing your legs forward, you reach the door and press your back to it, straining to hear, chest burning. There’s nothing, just a low humming, then… a whimper. It’s all the incentive you need. Vibroblade between your teeth, you throw your shoulder into the door. It bursts open as you crouch, bracing to fight whatever’s inside, terrified and wild.

The room is a wreck, littered with smashed glasses, overturned furniture piled haphazardly into a makeshift fortress against the long window taking up an entire wall. Your brows crease in confusion as you take in the scene. A skinny, well-dressed kid is cowering underneath the shelter of the piled chairs, shaking violently. A weapon unlike any you’ve ever seen is clutched in his outstretched hand, the source of the low vibrating sound; burning a dazzlingly bright green and thrumming with unmistakeable power.

“Don’t come any closer,” he warns, voice cracking. He couldn’t be more than eighteen, patchy facial hair, eyes fear-wild. A wine-coloured birthmark is splashed over one side of his face, and as you stare down at him, you’re filled with a creeping sense of wrongness. This isn’t right. It can’t be.

Your mouth is open, ready to question him, when spur-accented footsteps sound in the hallway and Boba storms into the room behind you, both rifle and blaster raised. He’s splattered with darkening stains, every line of his body held tight with tension. He freezes, and you see his head turn slowly, taking in the barricaded furniture.

“This is a Jedi?” you pant, dubious, and Boba stalks forward, firing a shot into the kid’s hand. He howls in pain, dropping the weapon immediately. The glowing blade retracts, leaving the ornate gold hilt laying harmlessly on the ground.

“No,” Boba finally grits, voice flat. “This is an impersonator.”

Relief wars with apprehension. How could a kid like this have managed to exert such influence over the entire organised crime ring in this sector without the powers he claimed to have? Boba steps over him, rifle raised in warning.

“Where did you get this weapon?” he demands roughly, picking it up and holding it over him. The kid squeaks in alarm, shuffling further down into a ball, cringing away from the bounty hunter.

“I found it. You can have it, take it. Take it!”

You let your attention drift, noticing the glasses scattered around the room. One is mostly intact, only part of the side cracked away. You bend to examine it, slow on your weak legs. Carefully running the pad of your ring finger around what remains of the rim of the glass, you collect the residue of the bright-coloured liquor and bring it to your nose, frowning at the sickly almondine smell.

“Skirtopanol,” you murmur, and Boba turns, the tinted visor glinting as he faces you. “It’s an interrogation drug. But it works intravenously, I don’t know why anyone would put it into a drink.”

The kid’s voice still manages to sound scornful despite the tremor in it. “Aren’t you supposed to be the expert?”

You flinch at this, and Boba lunges as though about to hit him in the face, but you step forward, hand held out, crouching in front of him.

“Wait. This is how you did it, isn’t it? Easy to make people think you’re pulling their thoughts out, if they’re too out of it to know what they’re saying. But... how did you...?”

He lifts his chin, pride evident underneath the glittering fear in his eyes. “I’ve heard of you. Running around with the Mandalorian hunter. You’re not the only one good at reworking formulas.”

You lean back on your heels, considering him. It’s ingenious, if incredibly reckless. Instilling this much fear in people with just a clever compound and an antique weapon. Sooner or later someone was going to figure out what he was doing here and then he would have been royally fucked. But you’re impressed with the complexity of the con; despite also being absolutely enraged with him for the carnage he’s caused.

“Get up,” barks Boba, and you blink, alarmed.

“What are we going to do with him?”

“He’s coming with us.”

The kid blanches, throwing his arms up in front of his face as Boba raises his arm, backhanding him with his vambrace. A tiny mist of blood accompanies a tooth, glinting briefly in the air like a comet before disappearing somewhere in the shadows. He slumps back, knocked out cold.

“He’s a child,” you start, but he’s not listening, holding firm to your shoulders, turning you backwards and forwards, helmet tilted close as he bends to examine you.

“Where is this blood coming from?”, he demands, voice hard as his gloved hand presses gently against your crusted brow. You realise how bad you must look; covered in blood and ash, clothing ripped, and you pull back, catching his hand in your own.

“It’s not mine. Not that much of it, anyway. Your leg-”

“Will be fine. Hit me with a shot so I can’t feel it,” he says, and something in his tone tells you not to argue. You fumble in your pocket, fingers meeting broken glass, and you curse as the shards prick your skin. Only one canister remains intact, and as you kneel in front of him, you suck your bleeding fingers as you gently depress the tiniest amount possible behind his kneeplate. You glance up, face inches from his crotch, filthy and wounded. You resist the ludicrous impulse to press your sore face to the cool armour over his knee.

“Never do that again,” he says, voice harsh through the modulator. You raise your eyebrows, confused.

“When I saw you down there... trying to fight the whole fucking lot of them at once. I didn’t... They would’ve killed you. Never do it again.”

You raise yourself up slowly, bracing your hands on his plated chest.

“You want to do this now? Really? Because I have a few thoughts about you flying off - alone - to get yourself shot out of the fucking sky hunting down a make-believe wizard. Why are we here? What is this? Do you know how scared I was when I thought you were in trouble?” Tears prick in your eyes but you’re too angry to be embarrassed. “I would have ripped every single one of them apart with my bare hands if it meant they couldn’t get to you,” you tell him, fierce. Your voice doesn’t sound like your own; it’s foreign, hard and cold. “I’m glad I did it. And I’d do it again.”

He takes in a ragged breath, and you wonder if your painkillers weren’t strong enough.

But then a boom of thunder rumbles through the building and you remember where you are, and how dangerous it is to stay here any longer. You bend, sliding your arms underneath the unconscious kids’ shoulders and lifting him bodily against you, biting back a groan of pain.

“I swiped a speeder bike. I can probably balance him long enough to get out of the city but that freeway was all open-air. The controls might short out halfway back.”

He raises his blaster and you nearly drop the kid as the window shatters, glass blowing out into the crackling air.

“Get to the roof,” he says, and then he’s gone, the sound of his jets disappearing into the night. You shiver, jacketless in the wind, and frown down at the motionless form slumped in your arms.

“C’mon kid,” you mutter, awkwardly drag-carrying him toward the staircase.

-

You don’t know if it’s because of his tender age, but you take more care than usual laying him down in the prisoner cage. His gangly limbs are puppyish, hands and feet too big for the rest of him. You’re standing over him, lost in thought when Boba seizes you from behind. You yelp with shock, instinctively preparing to fight him when he turns you, gloved hand running over your torso, fingers probing.

“Where are you hurt?” he grits, his hand lifting your shirt to examine the spreading bruise on your ribs. You try to twist out of his grip.

“You need to - what the fuck, put me down!”

He slings you up into his arms, swinging you into the fresher and plonking you on your ass in the shower.

Spluttering indignantly at the sudden downpour of warm water over your head, a disgusting mix of blackened grime bubbles out of your clothes. You stare, entranced as it washes around your feet. That is a lot of blood, you think distantly. Boba kicks off his pants, laying them atop the pile of armour on the floor as he slips in behind you.

You only catch a glimpse of his wound, but it’s enough to make your heart catch. The blaster hole is blackened, the surrounding skin burned tight and shiny.

“Boba, that looks really bad, you need me to -“ he cuts you off again, cupping warm water in his hands and tipping it over your hair. His face is inscrutable, eyes cold as he tilts your head back, thumb brushing your busted eyebrow.

“That could’ve been your eye,” he tells you, voice low.

“It wasn’t.”

“Mm.” He eases down behind you, his legs either side of your own as he slouches to examine your scraped knees, visible through your ruined pants. Carefully, he plucks shards of broken glass and gravel from the mess of your skin. It’s heartbreakingly gentle, almost comical with his thick fingers. You quieten, warm and suddenly exhausted as the adrenaline trickles slowly out of your system. Your sopping clothes are weighing heavy on your body and the dragging feeling is oddly soothing, making you feel drowsy.

He finishes cleaning out your knee and begins to undress you, rolling the spongy material away from your body, dropping everything into dark, squelching bundles on the floor. You let him move you, doll-like in his rough hands as he shuts off the water and throws on a pair of pants, leaving his chest bare, throwing his clean shirt over your head instead.

Back out in the hold, he lowers you onto the floor, rummaging in a compartment overhead.

You glance nervously at the door to the cage, where the kid is laying. Boba’s shirtless, armourless, helmetless in full view of a prisoner, albeit an unconscious one.

You watch blearily as he digs out a medkit, scowling at the contents as though he’s never seen inside one before.

“Those foil pouches are single-use bacta sprays,” you offer helpfully.

Wordless, he rips the top off one with his teeth, kneeling in front of you, the plastic ampoule small in his hand as he holds it expectantly over your mangled knee. Nothing happens.

“The blue part,” you try, and he stares at the thing in his hand for a beat before depressing the nozzle, the relief of the bacta immediate. You let your head fall back against the hull with a thud, breathing slowly. You hadn’t realised how badly it hurt until the pain fades, leaving space in your head to worry again.

“Is there a webbing attachment in there for burns?” you ask, eyeballing his leg.

“I don’t know,” he admits, sounding gruff. “I’m better with tech. Never tried to do this before.”

That’s obvious, you don’t say. But the fact that he’s... trying to look after you, despite the fact he has no idea what he’s doing… it’s fucking adorable. You feel stupid with endearment as your expression softens, watching the permanent furrow dug between his eyebrows.

“What did you do when you were injured before I came along?”

He doesn’t answer straight away. You’d seen the scarring on his backs of his legs, the armourless weak spots that enemies seemed to zero in on.

“Spice,” he finally says. “I’d just try not to feel it until it healed.”

You glance up at him. He wouldn’t be the only bounty hunter who turned to spice; it was almost ubiquitous in your line of work. But he’d never shown any indication of a dependence on it since you’ve known him. You wonder what else he’d been getting up to before you came along. Nothing good, you suspect.

“You’re lucky nothing got infected,” you say instead. “I’ll have to pack that with gauze again. It’s a mess.”

He’s not even listening, clumsily dabbing at your tender eyebrow, tense face inches away as he concentrates hard. He’s so bad at this, you think affectionately. Carefully, you reach up and catch his hand, extracting the swab from between his fingers.

“I can do this. You’re going to tell me what’s going on. And give me your leg.”

He hesitates and you raise both eyebrows at him, challenging.

Shaking his head, he eases himself back, legs stretched in front of his body in the cramped space. The position seems somehow boyish and your practised fingertips are gentle as you extract pieces from the medkit laying on its side beside you, barely glancing at them as you go to work.

He lays his hands flat on his thick thighs, and you watch his broad chest rise and fall as he considers your quick fingers, wrapping his mangled calf, spraying bacta into the dressings as you pack the wound.

“I have a contract.”

“That ISB client?”

“Something like that.”

“What does that mean?”

He looks exhausted, dragging a hand back through his hair. You tie off the end of the roll, wondering how many times you’ll have to do this, feeling a growing foreboding at his extended silence.

And then it hits you. Your head snaps up, cold horror dripping down your throat.

“Please tell me this isn’t it. This isn’t the deal you made.”

The look on his face answers your question and you feel like laughing, or crying, you aren’t sure.

“A Jedi? Why? Why would you agree to something that’s impossible? How many credits is your life worth?”

“I would have done it for free,” he tells you, harsh again. “I volunteered.”

You look frantically around the hold as though the answer to this situation is painted somewhere. Even if there were any Jedi left, which there aren’t, trying to capture one would be a suicidal endeavour. Catching a fake one nearly was.

Smacking your head into your hands, you shiver violently. It’s cold down here, and you’re nearly naked. The ridiculousness of your positions strikes you. Both damp, wounded, barely dressed, facing off with each other like parodies of your former selves. Two professionals without a fucking clue.

He’s still watching you warily, like you might spontaneously burst into flames and you peek between your fingers.

“So. It definitely would’ve been worth nearly getting us both dusted.”

It’s a weak effort at a joke and he doesn’t respond.

Sighing, you reach out for him across the space of the hold.

“Come here,” you whisper. He grunts, shifting around until he’s beside you and reaching to pull you into the gap between his legs. Your ribs are tender but you bite back the hiss of pain, deciding it’s worth it to be touching him again. You feel… bereft. You knew the deal must’ve been bad. You just couldn’t have imagined how bad.

“Is there a time limit?”

He inhales, exhales. “No. But… until the contract is fulfilled, I keep working. Other hunters I knew tried to renege on similar deals. They were… decommissioned.”

You close your eyes. It hurts, and you can’t pretend it doesn’t. One version of the future dissolves and another takes its place. One in which there’s no rest, no peace. Just fighting. Constant, endless fighting. Far from feeling yourself drawing away from him, you only sink closer. This what he costs, you think. And you know, even as your head swims with the thought of what’s to come, even as your eyes prickle and blur, you’re prepared to pay it.

“Okay,” you breathe, trying to keep your sniffle as silent as possible as a single, hot tear rolls down your cheek.

He ducks his head to look down at you. “Okay?”

“Yeah. It’s okay. We’ll find one. We’ll turn over every rock in the galaxy if we need to. And until then… well. You’ll have to stop getting hit in that leg if we’re gonna keep hunting.”

He hasn’t said a word and you twist in his arms, trying to see his face. It’s awkward and you twinge something in your side, gasping at the sudden sharpness. He presses a hand gently to your ribs, soothing the ache there before speaking slowly. His voice is unsettlingly calm.

“I can’t involve you, little one.”

And he preemptively cuts you off, knowing you’ll argue before you’ve even begun. “This is not something I’ll drag you into. It’s not about your competence. It’s about this,” he says, pressing a finger gently to your cheek, catching the moisture there.

You clench your hands into fists, your lips trembling. “Because you think I’m weak.”

“No. You aren’t weak. But you are still soft. I would mourn the loss of your softness, even if you wouldn’t.”

If anyone else had said it, you’d be insulted, defiant. You’d knee them in the groin, break their nose to prove them wrong. But because it’s him, it fills you with a strange ache.

You manage to slide yourself sideways, careful of your bruised ribs until you can see him.

His tiredness looks bone-deep, shadows underneath his eyes. You lean in, tracing the curve of his broad nose with your fingertips, lightly touching the edge of his lip.

His hands slide up your back, holding you to his chest, frowning at you, always frowning. You feel like you need to try to make him understand, somehow.

“I’d make that trade, so I could stay with you,” you tell him. He closes his eyes, dragging in another exhausted breath. You can see the words he’s holding back: that he disagrees, it’s not a fair trade, at least not one he’d make. So you kiss him again before he can say anything.

“Can we go to bed? I’m cold,” you murmur.

“You’re always cold.” The cool amusement in his voice tells you he’s letting it drop for now.

But as you drag your messy, patched bodies to the bunk, you get the distinct impression this conversation isn’t over. Which is fine, you decide. You’re not backing down.

Curled around him in the dark, you’re almost asleep, face smushed to his chest. Your mind tries to produce its usual cycle of post-job guilt; examining each of the people you’ve killed so you can absorb what you’ve done. But this time, you can’t picture a single face. You can’t remember them. Not one. You don’t even know how many there were.

-

You hold your breath as you try to stretch your pants over your still-tender knees. There are tiny cuts on the backs of your hands from broken glass and you aren’t sure what your face looks like this morning, but it can’t be good. 

Boba is working on something; quiet metallic noises emanating from below as you dress in the cramped space of the bunk. Your thoughts drift back to the prisoner underneath. He’ll probably get a decent price; the crime ring he was running had managed to attract attention from more than one quarter. Hopefully his young age will inspire lenience with whoever wants him.

Dropping gingerly down into the cockpit, he’s already dressed and armoured, his helmet on the control panel behind him. His gaze zeroes immediately on your brow, looking stern.

���I know,” you say. “I look like I’ve been through a meat grinder.”

“You’re still beautiful.” There’s nothing gentle or kind in his voice; it’s not stated as though he intends to reassure you. He just says it, like he’s pointing out something you should have already known. It affects you more in his way than if he had presented it as flattery and you feel your face warm, eyes dropping to his feet.

He leans in, gloved hand lifting your chin. You hold your face still as his lips ghost over your grazed forehead.

“Where are we taking the kid?” you ask.

He lets you go, stepping back. “About that. I’ll drop you off in the Core -“

“No,” you’re already shaking your head. “Not this again. I’m coming with you. And by the way, I hate the Core. It’s crowded and freezing and we still have two pucks; there’s no reason for me to be there.”

He looks the closest to annoyed you’ve ever seen him. “I’m not going to be the one who gets you tied up in -“

“You aren’t. I am. I am choosing this. Just as you did. Let me choose.”

You glare at each other, and he breaks first. “Fine. This is a bad idea. Let it be known I disagreed with this.”

“Noted,” you tell him with satisfaction. “So. Where?”

“I have to wait for a response from the client. For now, we’re drifting.”

“Okay,” you say. “I’m going to go check on him.”

He’s awake. Sitting with his back to the side of the cage, knees curled up close to his body, he looks even younger. You hold out a pack of freeze-dried dru’un slices between the bars.

“Hungry?”

He eyes it suspiciously and turns his head away, the edges of a bruise blending in with his birthmark and making it look like he’s wearing a mask over half of his face.

“It’s not drugged. It’s a new packet. Look, still sealed.”

Nothing. Against your better judgment, you open the cage door and slip inside, leaning on the wall as you ease down beside him. You make a point of ripping the packet open, eating a slice and staring at him pointedly.

The kid sniffs, and you catch him side-eyeing the pouch in your hands. Sighing, you pass it to him.

“Come on. If I wanted to knock you out, I wouldn’t bother with the subterfuge.”

His eyes dart to yours before he seems to accept this, snatching the pouch from your hands, tipping half the packet into his mouth at once. He chews fast, digging his hand into the pack and holding another slice ready to shovel in next.

“There a bounty on me?” he says, mouth full of food.

You rock forward slightly, wrapping your arms under your knees, bringing your thighs together.

“Probably more than one. But we’re taking you to the ISB. If I had to guess, I’d say they’ll send you to a labour planet. It’s better than being eaten alive by the people you were scamming,” you tell him bemusedly.

He glares at you, flushing underneath his marked skin. “I would never have been caught. I would’ve skipped before they figured it out.”

You give him a little smile. “Maybe. What did you do if they didn’t want a drink?”

He’s matter-of-fact. “Diffusers. Not as effective but I was working on concentrating the vapours.”

You nod, admiring. “Pretty advanced stuff.”

It falls quiet, only the faint sound of small tools working drifting through the ship. You wonder where his parents are, whether he grew up in the city.

“What’s your name?” you try.

He snorts. “What’s yours?”

You don’t answer. You probably shouldn’t be doing this. Talking to him like this is only going to make you feel worse about handing him over. But an ugly voice in the back of your head tells you that’s exactly why you’re doing this: so you suffer more later. Like that makes the act any less abhorrent. Sitting side by side, your eyes drift out of focus and you find yourself lightyears away; thinking about nothing. If he finds it strange that you’re hanging out here with him, he doesn’t say so.

Hours pass, though it doesn’t feel that long. It isn’t until your legs cramp from sitting in the same position for so long that you realise you should probably move. Standing up slowly, careful with your bruised ribs, you watch as he makes a point of not looking at you.

“You’ll be okay,” you tell him. “You’re smart. They might even send you to the Academy.”

He’s still glowering at the wall opposite, his picture of absolute stoicism only slightly ruined by the faint wobble in his lower lip. His voice pauses you at the cage door.

“My sister. You have her blaster. You killed her, didn’t you?”

You turn, frowning.

“No,” you answer. “She was hurt, but alive.”

He doesn’t look like he believes you. You let yourself out, climbing back up to the cockpit.

Boba doesn’t look up, his voice low as you lean on the back of the co-pilot’s chair, hyperspace streaking beyond the viewport.

“We have coordinates. I already jumped, but it’s not too late to stop somewhere and let you off.”

“My mind’s made up.”

He shakes his head, turning and reaching out to you.

“I should have had this ready faster. Lucky you lost that fucking rifle or I would have smashed it myself.”

You stare uncomprehendingly at the vambrace in his hands. “I... don’t understand.”

He turns it over, retracting the cover at the top to reveal rows of dart launchers.

“Mandalorian darts use smaller casings than the darts you were using. I already loaded these for you; if you give me the shells you made for the rifle I can show you how they work.”

You’re still lost, mouth opening, closing and then opening again. You aren’t completely sure why he’s showing it to you; the vambrace he’d been working on, the one too small for him; made for a youth’s arm... or a woman’s, you think. Something tugs heavily in your ribcage as your brain finally catches up. 

Looking at it, you can see where it’s been rebuilt in places, the solder lines clean and fine. But more than that, it’s been polished and buffed to a deep shine. That’s the part you’re stuck on: he didn’t just make it functional. He made it beautiful for you, too. Dumbstruck, you hold out your arm and he slides it over your hand, clasping the underside shut.

It fits firm but comfortably to your wrist, the edges smoothed painstakingly to prevent it from cutting into your skin. It’s a perfect fit, two-thirds the length of your forearm and with a flat enough profile that it’s unobstructive when you move. It could be a piece of jewellery, it’s so exquisite. The beskar is light but unmistakably powerful.

You turn your face to him, lost for words. He seems to be caught on the sight of it on your arm, some kind of great distraction burning in his eyes.

“It suits you,” he says roughly.

“Are you… sure you want to give this to me?” you breathe. It feels like more than just a weapon. It feels like something else.

He holds your hand in his, and you both watch him turning the vambrace to catch the light.

“I would give you anything,” he murmurs. Your breath catches, eyes snapping back up to his face. It’s hard, like the rest of him, eyes shining black. Your heart is beating so fast you can feel your pulse in odd places; the palms of your hands, and around your lips. You have no words for this. But you suspect he does, and you wish you could remember how to pronounce what he’d said to you in the dark; your mind circling on loose sounds… dara, ta’la, meaningless out of context.

Instead, you step closer to the seat, stopping between his legs. Wrapping your arms around his head you bring his face to your chest, hoping he can hear your heartbeat, counting on it to tell him what you can’t.

There’s a quiet alert from the navicomp and you both turn. He reaches out to silence it, flicking a control and bringing up a string of numbers.

“We’re here,” he tells you flatly. “Let me talk to them. Don’t draw attention to yourself and you should be alright.”

“Okay,” you respond, hesitant. He adjusts the shield deflectors, shutting down the overhead panels as he pulls his helmet over his head with a click.

“One more thing,” he says, voice harsh. “Be careful what you think.”

You look at him. “What I think? Are you serious?”

He doesn’t answer. Legs weak, you lower yourself into the co-pilot’s chair as the ship drops out of hyperspace, the lights of the Star Destroyer filling the viewport.

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