#my life savings...sliced and diced

[petitesmafia]

if i was a regular bsd yokohama citizen i'd be mad as hell like i just paid off my mortgage on this condo after busting corporate ass for 10 years what the FUCK is ur problem

spent 10k on interior design only for a fucking blender piece to slice through my apartment on a random Thursday...u WILL pay for these crimes. wrap this shit up by 5PM TODAY and have the compensation deposited in my bank account by Monday i'm NOT playing

[curlycarrion]

if you’re up for it, here’s a request! fem!reader can’t stop staring at her boyfie sanji after styling his hair (his film red hair to be exact) & he teases her for it, which leads them to flirt back & forth with each other 💗 i swear he just looks extra good with that hair style 😮‍💨

Fluffy hair

Reader: fem reader, use of the word beautiful

Warnings: None really, a little suggestive near the end but nothing bad at all

Wc: 969 (nice but wasn't planned)

A/n: Sorry this took so long! Real life me is a very awkward and shy person who has never flirted before so I was tryin to figure out how to write this 😅 My back was also hurtin crazy bad so I got distracted for a bit. Either way if it's written a little awkwardly or rushed that's why but I still hope you like it. Thank you for bein my first request! I really appreciate it 💛💛💛

The kitchen was quiet save for the sound of a knife as it meets the cutting board with each well practiced precise cut. The tea sat in front of you that had been lovingly made by the man before you cooling as it sits, forgotten. You eyes instead following the movement of your lover, contentedly watching as sets about his work. It was a sight you had seen many times and will, hopefully, see for many more. The movement of his fingers as they curl on the vegetables in front of him, the flex of his shoulders and the muscles in his back beneath his shirt with each diligent slice, the shifting of the fabric when he slides the freshly chopped and diced items into a nearby bowl. It really was a sight that you'd grown accustomed to and fond of. Though your usual act of watching the cook had been amplified by the change he had made that morning, his hair.

You had always loved his hair, how could you not? But the way he had decided to arrange the blond locks today had made it look even more appealing. It suited him. The more fluffy and slightly messy look to it was different from the usual more put together nature of it. It looked soft and welcoming, like you could run your fingers through it and rustle the strands without worry of messing it up too much.

A small knowing smile graced Sanji's face as he had his back turned to you. He was well aware that your eyes were on him. He always could feel when you had grace him with your gaze, even before the two of you had gotten together. While before the thought of you looking at him just as much as he did you sent his heart into a tizzy and the butterflies to swarm in his stomach now it just filled him with a soft sense of comfort that you were there with him.. though the fluttering in his heart never did fully cease no matter how much time has passed. It was just easier to manage knowing that you felt the same. Something he still couldn't fully wrap his mind around.

"See something you like beautiful? If you stare any longer your tea is going to go cold." He asks after letting the quiet of the room settle for long enough. Tilting his head to look at you sat on the table behind him with a smile. You blink out of your thoughts when the sound of his voice meets you. A sliver of embarrassment making itself known in your mind to be caught staring.

"I see plenty I like," you respond smoothly while shaking off the feeling "and if it gets too cold I can just have you warm it up for me." He smiles as he hears your response, cleaning his hands off on a rag and making his way over to you as you're sat.

"Why is it that I've seem to caught your attention so readily mon cœur?" He asks as he sets his gaze on you. Leaning a hand on the table next to the ceramic that sits in front of you.

"Isn't my attention already always on you?" The returned question causes a warm fluttering to fill his chest. A small chuckle leaving him while leaning a little closer.

"That isn't what I meant love."

"I know," You begin with a grin "it's your hair. The way you did it today looks nice." The answer makes him smile a little wider. He's always glad to know that you pay attention to whatever change he makes, that fact that you pay close attention to the little changes always filling him with a little more fondness with each word.

"My hair? What is it you like so much about it?" Taking advantage of the closer proximity you find yourself leaning forward a touch. One hand coming to his tie to pull him down a little as the other moves to his hair, teasing the strands between your fingers. Pleased with the way it feels against your skin.

"The way you've styled it today makes it look so soft and fluffy." The words are said in a softer tone, sweet in how the come to his ears. He can already feel himself falling into you when you'd lead him down so gently only to be met with a similar gentleness in your tone. Forming only a simple response after you'd spoken.

"Oh?" Seeing you were starting to affect him your smile grows a little more mischievous, leaning in closer, an inch away from him. So close yet not close enough.

"Mhm.. it looks so inviting, like it's begging for me to run my fingers through it." You start quietly while inching your fingers further up through his hair. Watching with delight as his breath hitches a little at the touch and you looks down to you with slightly wider eyes as you lean in closer to his ear. Purring out your next words.

"It'd be perfect to hold onto and tug when you taste your next meal." Sufficiently satisfied with the flustered state you'd brought out of him you press a quick kiss to his cheek. Standing up and giving an innocent look as you head to the door.

"Well I've got things to do, thanks for keeping me company darling~!" You practically skip out of the door as you call out to him over your shoulder in that candied honey tone. Seemingly not caring to have left him hunched dizzily over the table with steam coming out of his ears and a hand clutched to his nose. It seems it'll still be a while until he'll fully be over how much you affect him after all.

[blazeymc]

A lot of people have been talking abt Arin in DR S2P2 and I guess I'll give my defence of this adorable lil bean

Spoilers ahead, though you probably already know that

Many people have been calling Arin selfish in DR. This whole thing is going on where the world is basically being sliced and diced and stitched back together, and it seems that all Arin cares about is his parents. And guess what? That's perfectly valid.

I don't know about you, but I have a loving relationship with my parents. If the Merge were to happen in real life, of course I'd be worried about them. Arin loves his parents, so is it such a big surprise that he'd be worried?

And yes, he may be being unfair to Lloyd and the other Ninja. But for several months now, his parents have been missing. Lloyd keeps promising that they'll find them, but nothing happens. Arin is getting nowhere when it comes to his parents because the world keeps getting in trouble. And yeah, to be fair, the world comes before one kid's parents. But they were everything to Arin! The two most important things in Arin's life pre-Merge were his obsession with the Ninja and his parents.

Speaking of his obsession with the Ninja, yeah. They were his heroes. He looked up to them so much when he was younger, and still does. It probably isn't helping that one of them is evil now. And then there's the news that the mentor of his heroes caused the Merge. Let me talk about Ras for a second.

Arin has that scene where Ras tells him stuff. First, Ras says that Sora lied and that Arin's object spinjitzu in the P1 finale wasn't him, but Sora using her powers. He tells Arin that Wu caused the Merge. And he says that he knows where Arin's parents are. Yes, this all seems like a bunch of lies, but then he questions Sora.

Sora says yes, she lied. But only because they couldn't afford to lose Nya to Netherspace like they lost Kai. And this hurt. The person that Arin's been friends with for years lied to him because she didn't think that he could do something on his own and that he needed help. She didn't trust him. She didn't believe in him. And that hurt.

It feels like no one cares about Arin. They care about saving the world, not about his parents. They care about guaranteeing success, not about letting him prove himself. And yeah, it's fair to care about that stuff, but to be on the receiving end of this? That has to freaking hurt.

Then Ras comes in. First, he promises that he knows where Arin's parents are. That information is invaluable to Arin. He'd do anything to find out what exactly Ras knows. And then there's the issue with spinjitzu.

Arin has his wonky, homemade spinjitzu that doesn't work like the others. Lloyd is trying to help him get better, but just like with his parents, he's getting nowhere. Then Frak comes along. Arin's best friend from before the Merge, who helped him when he was in trouble. Frak is on Ras' team and shows Arin what Ras has been showing him. With Frak's help, Arin manages to do actual spinjitzu, although this first time he does it, there's a bit of those red shatterspin effects, which is kinda interesting.

Something else that I think is super interesting here is that before training with Frak, Arin was on the fence about whether Ras was actually telling the truth. However, once Ras' teachings actually help him do proper spinjitzu, he seems utterly convinced.

Anyways, Arin's gotten nowhere with Lloyd in terms of progression in his spinjitzu, but one tip from Ras via Frak is enough to bring him a lot farther along than before. This obviously gives Arin more confidence in Ras than in Lloyd and the Ninja.

Ultimately, this results in Arin actually caring a lot to make sure that Ras is not brought to harm in the final battle against Nokt, and he follows his only lead on his parents through a collapsing passage. He no longer cares about the Ninja and only for his parents and a master who it seems actually cares about his wants and needs and is willing to help him. And yeah, Ras is manipulating him, but Arin is in a state where he probably doesn't care. He no longer has the time to care about the world, because, with Ras, he is closer to finding his parents than he ever was before. And if that means leaving behind a friend who lied to him and a group directly related to the catalyst for his parents being lost in the first place, then so be it.

He's gone through so much, and is now looking out for his own needs when no one else is. And that's what makes him such an amazing character. That's what makes his arc such an amazing arc. He hasn't done much when it comes to saving the world anyways, it's always been Sora or the Ninja. They don't even need his help, so he may as well break off and do his own thing.

I love Arin and I will defend him with my life if necessary.

Thank you for coming to my TED talk.

[sunriseseance]

Promo Theory Brain Dump

I Have Thoughts and now I am making that other people's problem.

GENERAL THOUGHTS: I think this season is going to center around the fact that you cannot just paint over the cockroaches in your life and have them go away. They got rid of their powers, they have lives to live, and by all rights they should be happy. They're not, and it's because their trauma still exists, and they are still the Hargreeves (even if they do not want to be). I think being without their marigolds is killing them. I think the universe is probably tearing itself apart in some way or another. I think that's why this mysterious subway exists. They CANNOT escape their pain, they have to actually face it. Which is why I think their powers come back wrong/weird/better when they do get them back. Will they end up in the original timeline? Who knows. But I think they are going to have to actually, materially confront their shitty father and the shit they've gone through in order to save the world. What will that look like? I don't know, but it seems they have a ways to go given that they are still DOING SHIT WITH HIM!!! I am excited to see, and to hear any thoughts y'all may have. Ok, theories under the readmore.

One last trip to the moon 🌚:

Luther....@anglophile-rin said stripper and that was my first thought as well. HE's got the ones in his pants, he's covering his crotch, he's holding the umbrella in a kind of salacious way. We see the one dollar bills, he is number one, and he is outweighing his space helmet full of cash. Why? It's a deliberate choice that they did not have to make. He sits on a lot of sitting surfaces very normally. They chose for the balance to be off, which I think means it matters. I think it is about internal balance, or perhaps self worth. He is figuring out that he is more than the moon trip, finally unpacking it (as it seems this season is circling back to a lot of life and trauma from season one). I think there is also something to the fact that they used the moon with the face. Personifying it. And maybe he's a stripper.

One last slice and dice 🔪

Diego is split between two worlds. He has the boxes on his left (packaged up, and mirroring both the box in Lila's and his emoji from the first set of promos). Interesting that the Umbrella is also on his On the left, but it is closed (indicating no current need for it). He only has a knife that he is holding by the blade in his right hand (which makes sense to me). He is harming himself and turning his back on his family and closure by choosing the "right" thing. This is probably the most brilliant one IMO. I wish I knew what the boxes were about more specifically. Interesting that in Lila's, the boxes have baby bottles.

One last starring role 🎬

STARRING ROLE I KNEW IT. Allison is the answer to it all. She kept her marigold, and she caused all of this (one way or another), and she is miserable, and she has to fix it. She got herself the limelight and she HATED it (more circling back to season 1), just like she hates this world. The detergent is interesting to me. It feels... quaint compared to international superstardom. It also feels domestic, except that it is her face on a bottle that would be in a domestic space, not her. Just her image. I do think the bottles are for Ray and Claire. She did all this for them, and she has to do it again. I think she will be back to stardom, but I think this is more about her being the key. I think she will have to play a part. The first episode is clearly named for her, "The Unbearable Tragedy of Getting What You Want" is literally the story of her life. She has to fix this.

Also she looks so fuckin cute I love her so much.

One last Cleanse 👻

Klaus knows shit we don't. As @bisexuallilapitts pointed out, Episode 4 is called "The Cleanse" and is about how the world needs cleansing (with sage, not with soap. I wonder if his cleanliness thing ties into Allison's detergent at all). It seems clear to me that he is aware of something and it is terrifying him. In the trailer we see him hung upside down in what looks like a shitty motel (s1 anyone?), and we see him performing a seance, and we see him with his fucked up You Look Like Death tat. Interesting, also, that cleanse and clean are linguistically tied. That would also echo his s1 arc, esp if some part of this is related to Dave (like the gas mask, maybe?). Germophobia/agoraphobia are one thing, a gas mask is a whole other fucking ballgame. I think he is having visions, and that he is going to want to fix this (for selfish reasons), and that as the prince of death he will have a unique part to play in righting wrongs. In addition, the bubble wrap looks more like someone trying to dispose of a body than someone trying to protect themself. Note that he has the ghost emoji again, instead of the sponge (and his goodbye tat). He has to face his new fears and his new troubles, and the old ones as well. I am interested in the fact that he is standing far to the left (farthest of all, in fact!) if we work with the theory that right is heroism/trauma and left is healing, I think that makes sense. I also think he fits into that first ep title perfectly. I want to know what he knows. Whatever his arc is, it will be tragic and wacky and insane and important. Glad to see some color on him.

One last time jump 💼

Okay so those are commission files, and his emoji is the briefcase instead of the hour glass. Five is finally going to deal with his commission trauma. He got the world safe, now it is time to reckon with what that means. He's also all the way to the right, with the umbrella and the files to his left. The files are open, but the umbrella is closed. I think this will have to do with closure. Five has to work through his past (literally) and find peace. More echoes of s1.

One last fight 💀

Christmas lights???? OK???? This is the one I am far and away least confident abt. The skull is, I think, a triple meaning. We are going to find out how Ben died (referenced in s1 as the thing that really tore the family apart), but this Ben is also a killer, and their Ben is dead. That I get. We also know that this Ben felt really sad about not getting to be with the Boys for the bachelor party, about not getting to be a part of things, and we know he got arrested. Christmas is a time for a lot of stuff, but it is absolutely a time for family. That is the only meaning I can derive from that.

One last chance to save the world 🎻

Viktor has nothing to his right, and the umbrella comfortably in his left hand. He also, from the trailer, seemed the most well adjusted to this new life (makes sense, given his old life). He has his bar rag on his person, and he has his closure and his family in his left hand. He looks relaxed, and content. What is left, then? Well, finally righting his wrongs. "The End of the Beginning" is the name of the final episode, which subverts the first season's finale title. He saves the world this time, with his violin (thank you emoji), to bring it all back around again. Closure. Peace. I think his arc will be about accepting those powers back so he can do what he always needed to do. I also REALLLLY hope they address the book, as long as they are bringing back season 1. That said, I am so happy for him.

One last disguise 👠

Oh fuck! Baby bottles in a box, a map of the multiverse, and the umbrella to her left, her far right. Her emoji is a red shoe (the handler), and her caption references a job she does not want to be fuckin doing!!! She wants her family, she wants her life, but she has to don the shoes in order to save those things. I imagine her arc will be tied with Five's intricately (and Diego's ofc). " I wonder why she was sobbing in the trailer. Has to be something there, right? She wasn't in season one, but she was all red shoes in s2, so I am counting that as her callback. She has to unpack what the Handler did to her, and what kind of person she wants to be moving forward. She started that work, but hasn't ended it.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAND FINALLY

One last family reunion 🧐

His item is the marigolds and his emoji is the monocle (do we finally get to learn the secrets? Will Kracken go diving to find the monocle he dropped in the water in s1? Find out in 43 days lol). Clearly, he still has power over his kids, power that they will need to take from him and dismantle in order to heal. Ominous and disgusting as hell that he literally has their essences hostage. I think that their powers are their history, are their trauma, so they have to have them back in order to move forward. IDK what his arc will be, except finally finally finally getting what is coming to them.

Okay parting thoughts. Of course it is releasing on 8/8. There are 8 Hargreeves now. Of course they released this 43 days before the show. 43 children. It is interesting that the numbers change based on who is in the picture. I realy do think this is the season of healing and coming to terms with what happened to you. I think this is the season of finding peace, and taking it. I think this is the season of family and friends and love. I am so excited for this season I love you all so much mwah mwah tell me what you think tell me your theories say hi!!!

[oonajaeadira]

LOSING MY RELIGION: CHAPTER 13: THE EXCHANGE

Rating: Mature for series, lighter for this chapter.

Pairing: Post Season 2 Din Djarin x force sensitive reader (fem, post-Order 66 Jedi). Soft, slow burn on both sides, internal struggles and feels. Alternating POV.

Warnings: A little bit of angst, culture shock/differences, Din pushing authority a bit, jealousy, and a whole lot of private feelings burning hot in a public place. A/N: If you’re still reading, thank you so much for your patience. I had to do a little soul searching and make the decision to let Din and Little Bird follow the path that the story calls for. It took me a while to let canon go, but this chapter hit me very unexpectedly. There are beats in this story that weren’t there when I first mapped it out and surprised the hell out of me when I realized where it was leading. The road ahead is a little twisty for Din and LB, but the story always goes where it needs to, when it needs to.

Senaar’ika = Little bird.

There’s more Mando’a spoken, but the translation is eventually given in the storytelling.

Summary: You and Din broker a very important exchange.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up at my MASTERLIST

←-Previous Chapter 12: The Camp

________________

PART 1: DIN DJARIN

Your helmet stands out among the others down below and Din tracks your path through the Tusken camp from his perch on an outcropping of a cliff face above. You’re not going to like this, but it’s the best solution he’s got.

“We’re on a mission here to acquire some resources and take someone into custody,” he explains to his comrade. “The negotiations aren’t something I can hurry along. How much time can you give us.”

Fennec sits with one knee popped up and stares into the distance out over the dunes, her eyes squinting more in calculation than from the bright suns on the sand. She’s a warrior he’s come to respect–a renegade turned team-player--even beyond her capabilities that could land her easily among the best of Mandalorian soldiers and make her a queen among bounty hunters, she’s evolved beyond her need for the Empire. Her ready repayment for a life saved, her loyalty to Boba Fett–and, by extension, himself–is noble in a way he can truly admire. “I can hail at first light tomorrow.”

“The whole day? That’s generous.”

With a half chuckle, the ex-assassin absently tosses away a stone she’s been rolling between her fingers, letting it clack over the clifftop. “What can I say? One of my many qualities.”

Even as his mind works, Din’s absent focus stays on you in the shadow of the rock face, sitting with the child he assumes is the force-sensitive. For some reason, he thought the child would be smaller, but he looks to be halfway to adulthood by his height. Definitely not gonna fit on the speeder with both of you. “The mechanic. Peli Motto. She’s unharmed?”

“Fine for now. They’re keeping her under lockdown but they’re not torturing her.”

“Good,” he huffs with a sardonic laugh. If Peli has guards set on her, then they’re the ones who are probably begging for release right about now. Tapping a few buttons on his vambrace and checking his nav for coordinates and distances, he calculates the time it will take to pack up, get to the drop off, and arrive at the Palace. Of course there will be a pit stop to refuel the speeder, get in a midday meal, exchange pleasantries, ask for favors….

“This would be a whole lot easier if she’d come out to us.”

“Wouldn’t it though. No dice, Mando. Boss hailed back–Bo won’t open herself up to attack. Insists on meeting at the Palace.” Her black eyes glitter behind the open slice of her helmet. “If you want to get in some target practice, we could stash your partner and the quarry somewhere in town and take down the garrison, grab the ship and go. Avoid her completely. Could be fun.”

“It’s only dragging this scenario out. She’s not going to let this go. She’ll just follow us somewhere else; somewhere I don’t have options.”

“I suppose the boss wouldn’t like me disobeying an order either. Ah well,” she sighs back onto her elbows, “buys your friend a little vacation, hm?”

Dank farrik. You’re not going to like this.

To be honest, he doesn’t either.

“You didn’t catch the name of her companion? And it’s not Koska?”

Laying back onto the sun-warmed rock and closing her eyes as her head lands in the cradle of her hands, Fennec hums in thought. “No, it sounds like Koska might be leading the garrison at the docking bay. The Mando that came with Bo Katan definitely isn’t her.”

“Hmm. First light then. I appreciate your help.”

Stretching out like a cat, content to take in the morning suns after a cold evening in the desert, Fennec has nowhere to go and nothing to do as long as Din isn’t following her back to the Palace. “Patience is a virtue. Bo Katan can use the lesson.”

________________

PART 2: YOU

“That’s good, Uli-ah. Now can you do both stones at once? Try to swap their positions.”

Taking refuge in the shadows by the cliff face and sitting in the sand across from the Tusken foundling, you watch as two pieces of desert shale lift from their positions by the boy’s knees, come together in the air and bump only a little awkwardly before passing at nose level. One of them drops and breaks while the other makes its way to its new spot.

It’s hard.

“Yes, it is, and you almost did it. That’s actually very very good. You must practice often.”

No. I’m not allowed. It frightens the mothers. I make things dance for the other kids sometimes if the mothers can’t see.

“You keep bringing up ‘the mothers.’ Is one of them yours?”

They all are.

“The children are raised by the clan.”

Drawing his knees up and under his chin, Uli-ah hugs himself in tight, burying his face, becoming a little desert-colored ball. It’s not that he goes silent as much as he shows you ideas, images, emotions, everything you need to understand that he is not assigned to one family like the other children are. Uli-ah does not answer to one set of parents or any one mother or father in particular. He is protected by everyone but advocated for by nobody. He learns as part of a group, but is never given wisdom as passed down from parent to child.

He is alone in a crowd.

It’s a wonder that the child hasn’t grown to be dispondend or wild, surprising that he’s quiet and respectful. But it isn’t that he’s neglected or uncared for. Din’s words from the night before begin to stir. The Tuskens aren’t like Mandalorians. He’ll never be paired and never asked to join the fire. He will never truly be one of them.

“How old are you, Uli-ah? How long have you lived among the clan?”

He doesn’t lift his head, his fingers only dig into the cloth of his leg coverings.

Five years I think. There have been five water cycles.

Only five? This tall, gangly, capable child? The answer slams into you and before you can control your surprise it rebounds on him, his hands balling up in fists as yet another adult finds him strange and unusual.

“Hey, hey, hey, friend,” reaching over to his shaking shoulder and laying a warm hand upon it, “it’s okay. That’s a good answer. You’ve learned so much in your young life, I’m only surprised you’re not a little older. You’re very smart and talented for your age.”

The touch, your tone, your praise causes him to bring his head slowly up, his helmet shielding his expression, but his sinking shoulders telling you all you need to know.

“I know some other younglings like you, with abilities like yours. They go to a school for people like us. I could take you to them if that’s what you’d like. But you’d have to leave your home behind. Everything will be new. It’s a long way from here.”

I don’t know what a school is.

“It’s a place where you learn. A training place where someone teaches you how to master your skills. Would you like that?”

Stillness. You can sense a little turmoil, all his thoughts tumbling around without a good tried-and-true way to organize them. This is why the Jedi used to take them as babies; it’s a lot to ask any child. Too young in their development and they’re bonded to their family. Old enough to make the decision and it may be too late to hone their abilities. Five though. Five is so young for such a big decision.

I...would like that. Except….

Uli-ah’s helmet spans slowly, taking in the camp, the sands, the wavering heat at the horizon…

Is it…hotter there? It’s so hot here. Sometimes I can’t breathe.

Is that what he’s worried about? “It’s warm there, but there’s water. Green things. Trees. I suppose you’ve never seen trees. They’re hard to explain–”

I remember trees.

Something about this violently shifts your heart. To be so young and still have fleeting memories of a different place, perhaps a home he once knew….and you find yourself putting your arms around the young force-sensitive, taking no offense to the fact that he does not have any experience of how to embrace you back. ________________

“Well? What did you find out, Captain?”

The midday Tusken meal is taken in the privacy of their tents and that means bringing two bowls of black melon gruel back to your campsite. Din’s made a makeshift lean-to out of your blankets and the speeder–a place to have a little shelter from the high suns and to remove your helmets for the meal–and you hand the bowls off under a flap so that you can crouch and crawl through to the snug space, taking a seat knee to knee with him in the cooler patch of shaded desert.

The surprise is that his helmet already rests in the sand by his hip. His jaw is set, his eye determined. He holds the bowls patiently, waiting as you remove your own bucket.

Something tells you you’re not going to like what he has to say.

“Bo Katan Kryze is here on Tatooine. She’s holed up in the local tradelord’s palace with some of her followers and she has others posted at our docking bay with the Crest in custody.”

“Peli–” you start, but he shakes his head, handing your bowl over.

“She’s okay. They’re just not letting her leave the terminal.”

Suddenly, you couldn’t be less hungry. “Why is Kryze here? For you?”

“Mmyeah,” he says, smacking his lips and squinting after a sip of the bitter broth. “Technically, she’s probably here for the Darksaber. Been tracking us for a while.”

“I thought you told her you weren’t going to fight her.”

“I’m not. But I have to go. She’s causing trouble until I get there. I’m not going to inconvenience my friends over this. I’ve got to go and deal with it.”

There a quick spike of bitterness in your gut from something other than the melon gruel. But you don’t need to feel anything from him to sense his irritation as a valley forms between his eyebrows and he downs more of the broth.

Joining him in your silent meal, watching him as he keeps his eyes on the bowl, you know him too well. There’s something he’s not telling you; it’s best to just keep sipping until he gains the courage. It takes longer than you expect and it’s not until he puts down the empty bowl that he meets your eyes. “You’re not coming with me.”

“What? You’re just going to leave me here? Din, the Darksaber–”

“No,” is what he says, but what he means is Quiet. Let me speak. “The kid you’re talking to. Tell me what’s happening there first.”

Damn. You can sense your Mandalorian is begging you with his whole being to cooperate, and the last thing you want is a fight. “You’re right. He’ll never be one of them. They’ve adopted him into their numbers but not into a family. He’s got an astounding amount of ability and talent for his age...and that’s another thing. He says he’s only five.”

“What?” Shock washes over him in a mirror of your own. “Huh. So. Not human then.”

“No. Being so tall, I thought maybe Kaminoan, but too many fingers. Maybe Weequay. Possibly Wookiee, but I can’t imagine living under all that covering and fur besides. Although he did say it was too hot here…” Stay on topic. “He’s open to going to Luke’s school.”

He sighs. His eyes close and squeeze. The news is expected, but not favored.

“That means we’re back on the clock,” he grumbles as he locks his gaze to yours again. “So it’s my job to make sure you’re both safe. I’m not leaving you here with the Tuskens and I’m not bringing the kid into a palace crawling with power hungry Mandalorians. We’re taking a detour to a mining settlement. I have a friend there. Maybe he can give you two a place to stay for a night or more.”

“Din, why–”

“Speeder won’t carry us all, so Fennec’s gonna help us out. We head out at first light. I’ve already spoken to the elders about that pearl–”

“Wait. You need me with you. That saber–”

“Senaar’ika.” Din doesn’t speak Mando’a often. His whisper stills your tongue. “I’ve spoken to the elders about the pearl. They have an imperfect one they’re prepared to trade if you’re willing to build a saber for them.” When you blink incredulously he explains, “I showed them the Darksaber and what it can do. They can use it for cutting. For defense. It makes glass from the sand and lights fires. It would be a valuable tool for them. I know…” he swallows, “I know it’s an insult to your order. To make a lightsaber for…base reasons…”

It’s risky, putting such a powerful weapon in the hands of those not trained to use it. They could badly harm someone. Or wield it to embolden an attack on innocents. But perhaps you could temper it, shorten the blade, make sure it can’t be used to cause too much harm….

“I’ll do it.” It’s a rough trade, but it will do. And you’re glad to see that he nods, relieved, quick to take up your offer. “Depending on the size of the pearl, a shard of it could power many lightsabers. And I’m happy to make something that’s useful to them.”

“Good. Then while you’re doing that, I’ll negotiate for the child.” He holds up a hand when you open your mouth to protest. “I know. But the women of this clan don’t have final say and you’re not allowed to talk with the men. Trust me. I know what they need to hear.”

If the burn in your cheeks didn’t signal frustration as he takes the lead away from you, then your frown most certainly does. But he’s right. He’s right about everything. Except…

“I don’t want you to leave me behind in the mining settlement. I know you can wield that saber, Din, but my being with you will boost your power with it. It feeds so highly on your emotions. Having someone you love nearby can only help…”

“I understand,” he says, softly. He’s already replacing his helmet, readying himself to go retrieve the pearl so you can get to work. “But you don’t have to be standing next to me to be the one thing I can’t stop thinking about, Little Bird.”

And he slips out of the makeshift shelter, leaving you with cold broth and a pounding heart. ________________

The pearl is about the size of Din’s fist, definitely from a young krayt, and it takes you a little time to figure out how to fracture it without wasting any. Your own lightsaber is up to the task to hew a sliver of it away and you’re able to ascertain that even this small portion holds enough force energy to power a short blade. It will be more unstable than your own kyber, but less mercurial than the Darksaber; a fine beginner’s blade if not a tad loud.

The new utility saber is a good tool, sturdy, powerful. You’re adjusting the final resonance when Din rounds the speeder bike. He’s been gone a good part of the day and the suns sit on his shoulders, winking off his armor, causing you to squint up at him even through your visor to ask, “Well? How’d it go?”

Settling into one hip, his hands come up to rest on his belt and he juts the chin of his helmet at the weapon in your hand. “You got enough to make another one?”

“That’s their offer?”

“That’s their offer.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh as you lock in the final calibrations, your neck and shoulders aching from working half the afternoon on a blanket in the baking sands. “Yeah. More than enough parts. Time though, that’s another issue. I just,” one last twist of the mico-spanner, a click as the final panel fits into place, you toss the finished hilt to him, “I can’t believe that a little boy is worth the same amount to them as a dragon’s gut rock.”

Din catches the piece, ignites the blade, turns it, twists it through the air to hear its low feral howling, then hits the power switch, dimming its vibrating emerald light. “Well, not even as much. Pearl cost us one of these and the rest of our water.” When you make a face he adds, “We should be fine until we reach Mos Pelgo. We can get more there.”

“The water’s not the detail I’m unhappy about.”

Taking a quiet assessment of the mess in front of you–the scattered scrap metal and bits of pearl, the wires and tools and sand, always so much sand–the realization that you’ll have to start all over again and work into the evening is suddenly exhausting.

Even if he's not a force-user, you can see that Din picks up on this and you close your eyes as he moves around and takes a seat on the blanket behind you. After removing your pauldrons, his gloved fingers work into your shoulders and neck, deliciously limbering you, stretching out all the constriction, smoothing down all the coils. Even if it is more military restoration than it is gentle relaxation, it’s what he knows, his way of giving care.

A water bladder lands in your lap. “You haven’t been drinking.”

He’s right. And you take a long draw as his hands pull and prod your muscles, untangling the mess you’ve made of them, letting him heal you and do his bit to protect you from as much hurt as he can.

It isn’t the touch you truly long for–his gloves and your flight suit keep his fingertips from gliding over your skin, your helmets prevent his lips from kissing the back of your neck, beskar and leather cover the chest you so badly would like to sink back into. The way he has twisted your fingers in his own, or dragged his nose behind your ear, or leveraged your thigh with one of his own… It seems a sin that you are being given the gift of his touch and his care and yet, greedy and selfish, you would wish for more.

But perhaps you’re not the only selfish one here. His hands finally flatten out, firm kneading becomes gentle soothing, palms eventually sliding down to cradle your elbows as the ting of his helmet meets the back of your own, and you feel the broad frame behind you slowly fill with air and expel it in a fashion that, had it carried sound, may have been a soft whine.

How gracefully your hearts dance together. How far you’ve both traveled to meet here in this place.

“You should take a break; get up and move around.” Flaying himself from you, Din stands and holds out a gentle hand, beckoning. “Come on. I’d like to meet the kid.”

________________

Uli-ah works with a few of the other children, almost completely swallowed in bantha fur as they hold up one of the beast’s feet while a herder inspects it. Once that foot has been deemed healthy, the children race to the next foot, jostling and braying laughter as they vie for space to help pick up the next paw while the bantha merely shifts its weight and chews its cud.

Din sits by your side in the hot sand, waiting quietly while the children and the herder finish their task, and then Uli-ah runs your way, ending in a skid on his knees as he comes to a stop almost in your lap.

The elders say I’m going away with you.

“That’s right. We will be leaving at first light tomorrow. Are you ready for an adventure?”

The child bounces on his knees, braying his own kind of laughter, not quite Tusken, but certainly not human.

“I guess that’s a yes,” you laugh, then point to Din. “This is our Captain. He’ll be with us. He flies the ship and protects us.”

The bouncing stops then, and Uli-ah makes a half move, as if he’s going to hide from the Mandalorian behind you, except that Din’s hands cut through the air as he speaks.

“I’ll make sure. You’re safe.”

There’s a slow, renewed interest from Uli-ah as he realizes that he can communicate with this stranger and he raises his own hands into gesture.

You can speak with your hands.

Din chuckles, signs back. “Yes. I’ve talked with your people. For a long time.”

There’s a wave of relief that comes over the boy, some kind of calm knowledge that “his people” are changing, that you and Din will be his people soon.

Then his hands clap and flutter excitedly–

I’m going to go to school!!!!

–before he tosses himself backward onto the sand in a moment of youthful glee.

You don’t know what lifts your heart more, this display of joy, or the sound of Din’s quiet laughter–light and welcoming and calm–coming through the comm.

In the morning every mother in the clan will touch the child’s head as they pass by him in a line. All the men will gather in a group and shout a message of farewell before turning back to their herd. But on the back of the speeder, it is you that Uli-ah will hold tightly. And even before that, it is Din who will help him get situated on the seat, check him over to make sure he’s secure, pat him kindly on the back, and tell him there’s nothing to fear.

Your Mandalorian’s come to understand that there are some who can see through the beskar to the good man underneath. And you can see he’s starting to believe it himself.

Some beliefs, it seems, can take a long time to crack. But belief can also nourish a man in the desert and show a warrior that his milder moments can house another form of strength.

Ahsoka really did choose well for you. And the Darksaber chose well for itself.

________________

It’s taking all of your concentration to keep the speeder bike at a steady velocity as you whip through the canyon. What you wouldn’t do for a cup of caf.

The second saber build had gone smoother than the first since you had duplicates of many of the same pieces and were able to put something together more easily, but you’d still worked past twilight and then there was packing up the speeder and joining the group for evening meal….

After that, you’d lain awake, curled into Din, listening to his shallow breathing, trying to come up with a valid argument for going with him, each excuse a play more desperate than the one before it. You actually entertained the thought of removing the kyber from the Darksaber while he slept--your most clever plan yet. Except for the fact that the weapon was entirely sealed and getting into it would cause more damage than your honor would let you make.

He’s the Mand’alor. The High Leader. Whether he likes it or not, if he won’t fight or let anyone best him, then he must take up the mantle. If the Mandalorians are gathering, he can’t fail to steer their ship. There’s so much he has to learn about the weapon. Also so much he has to learn about asking for assistance. You think there has to be someone who can tell him this, make him understand how much his level head and moral compass and loyalty to his people are needed. Someone who can teach him to wield the instrument of his leadership….

But your hour of denial is over. Because there is someone.

It’s you.

But who are you to him? You are not his advisor. Not a member of his sect. Not even his…for lack of a better word…queen….

“Used the wrong word. Called you my queen instead of woman. I tried to correct myself and they asked me who you ruled over.”

“Ah. And you said, ‘just me.’”

“Yep.’”

“What did I say about burning out the repulsors, Little Bird?” Din’s voice cuts through your thoughts into your earpiece, bringing your focus back to the task at hand, and you ease off on the throttle so Fennec’s speeder can catch up to yours.

From the moment the suns broke the horizon, Uli-ah has been attached to you–literally refusing to loosen his clutch of your flight suit–the realization sinking in that he’s leaving behind everything he’s ever known and keeping close to the best constant he has. So it only made sense that he’d ride with you, and Din would pair with Fennec.

She’s an intimidating one, Fennec Shand. Din mentioned that she’d been an assassin for hire in the Imperial days, that he’s never known anyone who can beat her skill or match her tenacity. And you believe him; she has eyes like a lothcat and a body like a loaded pulse rifle, always watching, seemingly always ready to strike. But there’s a sparkle to her too, an allure that draws you in like bait for the snare.

He’s known her longer than you. The bond between them is strong. A bond between friends, between warriors. You can sense his high regard for her. He’s holding onto her waist so nonchalantly…

Well this is a new feeling. You shake it off and find a constructive distraction.

“How are you doing back there, padawan?”

This is fun! It goes so fast! What’s a padawan?

“It’s an old word. It means you are in training to be a master of the powers you have. The old word for those powers was ‘force,’ and they called the masters Jedi.”

You are Jedi?

“Well. Something like that.” Leaning the speeder around a curve in the canyon, you similarly bend the subject. “You’re going to join other kids like you. I can’t wait for you to meet Shiari and Grogu. They’re gonna be so happy to have a new friend.”

It would be easy to miss it over the whine of the speeder bike–a soft sigh. You keep forgetting that the comm is open. And any mention of Grogu is always bittersweet for Din.

He misses the little one so much. It’s evident that he’s happy that Grogu’s safe and learning, that he’s where things are best for him. But it still twists your heart. Din went from being alone to being a father at hyper warp–taking to it like a Gungan to water–and something about that makes you smile.

Grogu’s ability to charm the mighty warrior. Din’s sleeping heart opening for him, blooming like a hundred-year codaflower in Grogu’s warm spring. Except for the danger of his lifestyle, Din makes a good father. Any kid would be lucky to have him. Even beyond your feelings for him, his devotion makes it an honor to be serving the mission with him.

“Little Bird.”

Oops. “Sorry. Just wanna get there, I guess,” your excuse is accompanied  by the return to a manageable speed. Again.

“We’ll be hitting Mos Pelgo soon. Don’t tear up the town on your way in.”

“Telling me what not to do only tests my willful streak, Your Highness.”

“I’m aware.” There’s a low warning in his voice, but also a smirk. “I’m willing to make it an order if that’s the motivation you need.”

Slowly swiveling your visor in his direction, you watch as he does the same to you. A playful tease.

“You. Wouldn’t. Dare.”

And without turning away, you punch the throttle, defiantly taking the lead, Uli-ah roaring in excitement behind you even as he holds on for dear life. ________________

Mos Pelgo is a quiet settlement, barely big enough to be called anything other than an outpost. Moisture farms flicker in and out of the distance through the waves of heat in a constellation surrounding a one-street center, a short line of earthen structures topped in domes and rods, connected by a boardwalk lifted off the dusty path. The few dust-coated people out and about stop and stare as you coast by, involuntarily shrinking back away from the path. Not that you can blame them. They seem peaceful and it’s not surprising that they might be startled by a band of armored strangers coming in, a Tusken in their mix. Din mentioned that the townsfolk might be wary of Tuskens, but assured that his friend Cobb would vouch for the kid.

What he didn’t tell you is that once they saw his armor, they would lift their hands in a friendly wave. It seems they know him here.

Pulling up outside a cantina, the four of you peel yourselves from your seats with varying degrees of stretching and sighing, your spine aching to be upright and your feet thankful for a chance to be on solid ground. Din and Fennec head up the stairs and you start to follow, but there’s a tug at your elbow.

Is this the school?

“Not yet. We have to travel a long long way, but the Captain has to do a job first and he can’t protect us for the next couple of days. We’re going to stay here with a friend where it’s safe.”

If a Tusken mask can look baleful, Uli-ah achieves it with a long, slow look up and down the settlement path.

“Hey. I promised you a school and you’re going to get one. We might not get there for a while, but you’ll be with me the whole way and guess what.”

You’ll teach me?

“You bet I will. I told you you were smart. You wanna go inside and see if our new friend is there?”

Yes.

Steps are a new concept and Uli-ah takes a cautious step up, and up again, bringing one foot up to meet the other before continuing onto the next. At the top, he considers the short flight of two whole stairs, then steps back down and down. Then he takes the steps one at a time, up and down. Once he runs up a third time you catch him around the shoulders before he can give it another go and give him a playful jostle, guiding him inside as he squeezes his fists in victorious joy.

After the glare of the desert, it’s comparatively dark in the cantina, so you instinctively pull off your helmet.

This is your first mistake.

And sets off a chain of events.

Uli-ah, not accustomed to your helmetless face, stops behind you in the entryway.

Mother, you’re–

He shrieks.

It’s unsafe, mother!

Before you can course correct–calm him or apologize for shifting culture so quickly or even take the time to correct his default of name for you–the Weequay behind the counter reacts fiercely to the the child, pointing and shouting–

���Out! We don’t want trouble here! We have a pact! Out!”

“No, wait–” Din turns sharply to the barkeep, but the damage has been done and the child bolts awkwardly from the cantina out into the light, smashing his shoulder against the port frame as he goes and wailing his way down the boardwalk.

You make a quick gesture to Din as you follow–it’s okay, I’ll get him–and leave your Mandalorian to locating his friend.

By the time you get eyes on him, Uli-ah’s a couple of buildings away–poor boy must be so confused right now–when a tall, old man steps out from one of them, seemingly summoned by the commotion, and the two collide, the boy falling off the boardwalk into the dust, then trying to scramble backward, all heels and palms and elbows.

The man’s good natured, going after the boy and trying to help him up, but it only scares him more. “Whoa there. Hey. Hey there, kid, it’s alright. I’m not tryin’ to hurt you.” Once he gets the boy up and starts dusting him off, Uli-ah struggles to break free, but the man easily holds him, kneeling down to the kid’s level to keep from being a threat. “Hey hey hey. It’s okay. You lost son? Where’s your tribe?”

“I’m so sorry. He’s under my care.” As you converge with them and take Uli-ah’s hand, the child turns and slams into you, hiding his face in your side, holding on with shaking hands. “It’s okay, padawan. Nothing’s gonna happen to you if you stick with me, okay?”

Your second mistake was assuming the man is elderly on account of his grey hair and beard, but when you hold a hand out to help him up, you’re greeted by lively dark eyes and a particularly wry and charming grin. Oh yes, he takes your hand, but puts no weight on it as he stands, only holds it firmly, a handshake that is warm but…unending.

“Ma’am,” he says respectfully, but with a rather rakish sparkle to it, and you catch sight of the stripes on his belt. A Republic Ranger. A welcome sight out here for you, but might cause problems for Din. “You and your friend are new faces around here. I’m the marshal. How can I assist you?”

“I’m, ah, I’m,” stars, that’s some smile. ”I’m here with my partner and his associate. We’re looking for a friend of his. There was a misunderstanding at the cantina and my charge here got a little scared.”

“Well, let’s go see if we can sort this out. If I might escort you…” Instead of releasing your hand, he draws it smoothly under and around his forearm, and in your shock–a little bemused, a little offended–your final mistake is allowing it. And so in this manner, you arrive back at the Cantina, arm in arm with the marshal, pulling Uli-ah along by the hand.

“There he is,” the Weequay nods to your trio as two helmets turn.

“Heard there was a misunderstanding in here with this pretty lady and the young one, is that the way of things, Weequay?”

“Yes, Marshal, my misunderstanding. Won’t happen again.”

The marshal, nodding, turns his attention to Din and Fennec. “Welcome back, Mando. These two belong to you?”

Ah. So you’ve run into the man Din was looking for. All should be well, but something feels off. Din stands still, squared to the three of you, feet in a wide, stable stance. His answer is taking a long time to come. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was in confrontation mode, as if he was going to have to make a tactical move at any second. It’s easy to assume for a moment that perhaps these two aren’t as friendly as you were led to believe.

But the assumption and the tension break as the Mandalorian steps forward to the marshal, each clasping the others’ forearm in a brotherly handshake, “Vanth” and “Mando” exchanged with nods, and a bonus smile on Cobb’s part. Friends indeed then.

Stretching out with your feelings though, there’s an anomaly rolling around in Din, something faintly protective. Something that’s bitten off by his terse, “Yes. These two are mine.”

When the marshal drops your hand and swaggers loose and lanky over to a nearby table, it’s only then that Din’s muscles relax, that he shifts slowly to one hip, that his hand leaves off the habitual hover near his blaster and hooks itself into his belt.

It’s all you can do not to gape.

You’ve never seen Din jealous before.

But that seems to be melting swiftly as he takes a seat by his friend. Cobb Vanth orders a full round from the proprietor, and leans forward over the table, grinning a whole galaxy full of teeth in the mirror of Din’s visor and declares, “Sure would like to know what skugbunny you followed to find yourself all the way out here again.”

________________

Fennec stands in the light, her svelte figure like a knife stuck in the sand, finding less commotion outside where she can send a communique to her boss. You can hardly blame her; Cobb is a loud talker and Uli-ah has found distraction in a pair of sabacc dice which he throws over and over, clattering across the table as he plays a game he’s making up on the spot, cheating against himself every once in a while with a subtle force push of a die, although you’re the only one who notices.

After his economical explanation to Cobb, Din passes his glass to you, something he does often now in public places, allowing you to drink what he cannot. “What I’m looking for is shelter for my partner and her charge here. Refills on supplies. Fuel. I’m willing to pay.”

“So what’s the favor then?” The marshal squints, taking a swig of his spotchka.

“I want no harm to come to these two,” Din says, tilting his helmet in your direction. “I’m bound to protect them, but I need to go take care of something. Should be back within a day.”

“So you’re looking for a security detail,” he says, finishing the cup. “You got it. No problem. I’ll look after them personally.” A cheeky wink punctuates the offer.

That odd twinge rises in Din again, like smoke from a too hot fire, and you lay a hand on his knee under the table. “Uli-ah and I won’t cause you any trouble, marshal. This seems like a peaceful place you keep here. We should be able to manage alright.”

Cobb misinterprets your polite decline of babysitting as an act of humble courtesy. “It’s no trouble at all, ma’am. We don’t have any public lodgings here in Freetown, but I’ve got a room. It’s yours. Nowhere safer.”

There’s nothing to say that wouldn’t seem rude.

“That’s…very generous. The boy and I are grateful for a place to stay.”

“Right then,” Cobb slaps his hand on the table, using it to push him up off his chair. “I’ll go scare up some water reserves for your journey.”

There’s silence at the table when he leaves, broken only by the rattle of dice on its surface as Uli-ah tries over and over again to break his top score. Din stares off after the marshal, but hesitates to follow. Something’s on his mind.

You wager a guess.

“Din. We’ll be okay. There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“I’m not…jealous.”

You squeeze his knee. “This could all be avoided if you let us come with you–”

“No.” He finally draws in a long breath, exhales, and turns the visor to you. “I want you safe. You’ll stay here. That’s an order.”

“An…order?”

“We’re on the job and I call the shots when it comes to your safety.”

“Yes, but–”

There’s movement outside at the speeders, a woody thud and scrape as a water camtono is deposited and then picked up from the boardwalk.

He doesn’t let you finish, standing and holding out a hand to help you up. “I’ve got to get the supplies packed in.”

Something’s turned off in him. The courtesy’s there, but he’s doing his best to control his emotions....

To hide them from you.

“Come on, Uli-ah. We’ll see the Captain off and then we’re going to stay with Marshal Vanth for a couple of days, okay?” By the time you tear the youngling away from his new toys, the corner of Din’s cape is disappearing out the door.

Kriff. This is bad. Something’s wrong and he can’t leave like this. He can’t take this uncertainty with him.

Taking a seat on a crate while they prep Fennec’s speeder, you just stay out of the way and observe. Cobb chatters cheerfully at the assassin, bringing out supplies from the storehouse, exchanging old tarps for new, handing over a fuel hose. But Din keeps out of the conversation, silently busies himself with a last minute tune up of the vehicle.

He’s removed his packs from Fennec’s bike–both to facilitate a more strategic repack and to access a panel behind one of the side compartments–and they sit propped up against the boardwalk nearby.

That’s it.

There’s something you need to do.

Sidling over to his packs and reaching out with your feelings, you search for the thrum of kyber. There it is. It’s easy to locate the Darksaber and extract it from the pack. You place it in your lap, covering it with the end of your tunic.

Uli-ah’s found some whomp rats living under the boardwalk and you watch as he plays with them, running to one side when they do, and trying to beat them to the other side when they change course.

After a short while, Din closes up the hatches and reattaches the spanner to its flank seating. Then he makes his way over to you, silently retrieves his packs, and returns to the speeder, taking a long time tying them down.

It’s only when everything’s ready to go and there’s nothing more to keep him away, he comes back and lays a hand on your cheek. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

Leaning into his hand and trapping it with one of your own, you hold up the Darksaber with the other. “You need to concentrate, Din.” His short, frustrated sigh only pushes your resolve further. “You’re not the only one with a duty of care, mister. This blade is tricky and you need all the help you can get.”

“I’ll be okay, Little Bird.”

“Not if you leave in the state you’re in. I know you’re not angry at me, but you’re uncomfortable leaving me here and you can’t leave like that. This weapon,” you whisper urgently, pressing the hilt into his palm, “won't listen to you unless your feelings are sharp. You’ll need its emotional boost to tap its whole potential and gain mastery over it. I can’t send you off like this. I won’t. I need you to know you have nothing to worry about.”

He’s silent for a moment, choosing his words. “I’m not worried. Not about you.”

He means it, you can hear it, but he’s still not content with leaving you. It’s not just another man finding you attractive, there’s something in him that’s warring. Not quite fear, something closer to insecurity, confusion…

...and you realize that he hasn’t grappled with feelings like this before.

Then it’s time. Set him up for success.

You’ll do anything to help him, to protect him.

To ensure he uses this weapon with love.

This won’t be difficult.

On the contrary, it’s the easiest decision you’ve ever made.

Placing one hand over his on the saber, and the other on his breastplate right above his heart, you look him calm in the eye and pour all your confidence and affection into the words–

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.”

________________

PART 3: DIN

The way you bravely face challenges. How you deftly handle your weapon. The way you inject a sense of playfulness into his orbit, your entry into his world a lively ignition to what feels like a whole new epoch in his life.

Life before your arrival, and life after. Not many have affected him like this. Changed his mind and heart like this. He can only think of one other.

But this connection is different from the bond he shares with Grogu. This one is unique, it comforts and calms him, makes him feel worthy as a man and a Mandalorian, meets him as an equal and captures his wonder in ways he wouldn’t have anticipated.

You never cease to amaze him. Even now.

He has witnessed Mandalorian courtships out of the periphery of his everyday life, seemingly never taking much notice, believing it was never meant for him.

But he did take note. Secretly. Resigned. He noticed those who grew up together and took their time. He noticed couples that seemed to range from rivals to friends to bonded in the matter of days. There didn’t seem to be a pattern, no guidelines on the right way to find your partner, or how long it might take to declare a joining.

With you… he doesn’t know what you might expect from him. Din doesn’t quite understand your old creed–the rejection of attachments–how tightly you hold it and how much of it you’ve already broken for him.

Because he loves you. In a way that’s perplexing. Your love came to him, and his to you, meeting in the middle of the battlefield. But there was no skirmish, no treaties, just a foregoing of pretense, and open arms.

Simple. Beautiful. Like everything you do.

Perhaps he felt like he was betraying that simplicity–that openness, that trust–when Vanth rounded the doorway wearing you and your new foundling on his arm. It wasn’t as simple as jealousy and a twist of the heart, but the hot flash of possession that flamed behind the beskar, growling from deep within him.

Attachment.

Mine.

While he was grateful and happy to claim you as his own as far as you gave yourself, to protect you and serve you, to meet your affection with his own, he had no right to chain you to him, to claim you so thoroughly that you could not be free in order to flourish. He would never ask you to form an attachment that would fracture your faith.

He didn’t and doesn’t think for a moment that you have any interest in Vanth. Or anyone but himself.

But the flash of emotion was dangerous. Selfish. Not the kind of love you deserve.

And yet, you still accept it. You perceive it because you know him. And you accept it.

And now you’re speaking words that are not only true…they’ve been true from the beginning of this whole damn venture.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” You repeat the words, only a little worry sneaking into your voice now because he hasn’t answered you, hasn’t spoken…dank farrik, how long has he been standing here in shock?

How long has he believed he would never receive those words?

All that’s necessary is a repetition.

It’s only words.

But it’s everything.

Which is what he’s always wanted to give you.

So he makes the exchange. Quietly. Simply. Sincerely.

"We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors."

And he can feel it. He can feel the love and concern you have for him. He can feel your trust. It pushes into him like a warm wave, flowing through all the way back to the beginning. The throughline of that first night he walked you home–I’ll be your armor–to the moment when he outfitted you with some of your own, to now as you use your whole self to send him off with armor more resilient than beskar and a reminder when he wields the saber just who gave him that gift.

Clutching your hand at his chest, he squeezes tightly as the wave washes back through him, gritting his teeth behind the visor, the emotions silently taking their toll.

To everyone else, the armor says he is a stoic warrior, his silence is his strength.

But standing here, now, in front of you, he might as well be unmasked, might as well be naked and screaming; he knows your heart can sense the riot in his, even if you can’t see his face.

There’s quiet on the street. Uli-ah’s stopped playing with the womp rats and stands staring from a distance. Fennec and Vanth are waiting for him at the speeder. And yet, he can’t seem to move, can’t seem to leave you.

So you lay hands on his helmet and pull him closer, gently tapping your forehead against the cold metal. “Go. The sooner you go, the sooner you come back to me.” ________________

They’ve lost a little time, but by the position of the suns, they should still make the palace by nightfall.

“So Fett’s taken over the crime syndicate?”

“Not quite,” Fennec shouts over the roar of her speeder and the rush of the wind. “Boba’s interested in striking a deal with Madame Garza in Mos Espa. Going to set up protections. Territories. Wants to undo some wrongs he’s made in the past.”

That’s noble. He’s an odd man, Fett. Unpredictable. But there’s no reason Din can see for saying it out loud, and so he reserves his words, focuses instead on the shifting sands.

“That was a tense parting with your partner back there,” Fennec pokes, taking advantage of the silence.

“Yeah. Riduurok.”

“Is that serious?”

“From what I’ve been told, it can be.”

Fennec deftly maneuvers the speeder around a small minefield of rocky outcroppings before turning her head over her shoulder and side-eyeing him curiously through the slit in her helmet, “From what you’ve been told–?”

“I don’t know,” Din says, his vocoder barely audible over the slur of the world going by, not caring much who hears it other than himself, “I’ve never heard anyone else actually speak those words. There aren’t usually witnesses at a Mandalorian wedding.” ________________

To be continued.

[owlseeyoulaterpal]

Like Real People Do, Chapter 10

Gale Dekarios x Named! Tav x Astarion Ancunín

Chapter Synopsis: A familiar face reappears in the Shadow-cursed Lands and Seraphina has a long overdue discussion.

Chapter One. Chapter Two. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Four and a Half. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine. Chapter Nine and a Half.

Read on ao3.

Word Count: 4.8k

Notes: Ooof okay so this was one was getting pretty long and had to be split into two chapters, so Chapter 11 will be coming pretty soon. I really appreciate the support this fic has gotten so far :) Thank you to the folks that have been reading about my lil lucky sorcerer.

Learn more about my Tav, Seraphina.

"I had a thought, dear However scary About that night The bugs and the dirt Why were you digging? What did you bury Before those hands pulled me From the earth?"

Chapter Ten: What Did You Bury?

Seraphina wanted to create a storm.

Before, it was often her way of quelling her hottest of rages. A concentrated storm over the water or over a small patch of land. It soothed her to harness the power of a hurricane, the steady flow of immense power, all of it bending to her will. It helped her feel in control and ‘in control’ was what Seraphina desperately needed to feel in this moment. 

The aged wizard in front of her wasn’t responsible for the source of her anger, but his arrival and the dreadful message he had to deliver were making Seraphina spiral into despair. In the journey so far, there had been no luck finding a solution for the viciously hungry orb inside of Gale and now there was one presenting itself, but it was no cure. This solution was not one that gave Gale more time, freedom, or his life back. It promised only destruction and oblivion.

“And to you,” the wizard said, turning to Seraphina. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if he could feel the wrath radiating from her. “I commit into care Gale himself. I count on you to shepherd him well on this strangest of journeys.”

She had a million things she wanted to say. She wished desperately that she had some modicum of control or power to be able to heal Gale and she was close to cursing the gods. As much as the anger sat with her, so too did the feeling of submission. This wasn’t Elminster’s request. It wasn’t him asking Gale to sacrifice himself to destroy the Absolute. It was not a demand from a foe that they could strike down. It was from Mystra. This was a divine command.

What would she want Gale to say if Tymora had given her such a ghastly quest?

“We’ll find another way,” Seraphina responded.

“Or some other fortune altogether,” Gale murmured.

An eerie quiet hung over the camp as the elder wizard left. Seraphina stuck by Gale’s side, the two silently preparing dinner. They both kneeled at a tree stump next to the hearth, slicing vegetables, as a broth gently boiled over the campfire. Seraphina was praying in her mind, over and over, waiting for Gale to speak.

I have faith in our path and in our own luck. By your light and grace, Smiling Lady, we will find another way. A blessing of your luck will save Gale’s life.

“I’d have hoped to introduce you to Elminster in less dire circumstances, but those are hard to come by these days,” Gale said, finally breaking the silence.

Seraphina halted cutting a potato and looked up at him. He was staring at the carrots he was dicing. She gulped, going back to her task.

“He didn’t seem much a friend, showing up and demanding you kill yourself,” she said coolly. “It’s not a demand he wanted to make of me. As Mystra’s Chosen, he had no choice but to deliver her message, however much it pained him to do so,” Gale replied, turning and dropping the carrots into the pot.

Seraphina took a deep breath as she handed him the potatoes, her hands trembling. Words couldn’t quite make their way from her brain to her lips. She kept sending them back up to be revised, trying to grasp at the feelings she needed to articulate.

“For Mystra to have sent him…the severity of her bidding could not be clearer. Or weigh more heavily on me,” Gale continued. “Time seems so infinite when you are young…a month is an age, a year is a lifetime. It is a strange feeling, to realize how little of it one might have left.”

Seraphina froze as she dropped in the onions and stared at him bewilderment while he only met her with a rather calm expression. “You’re seriously considering what Elminster said?” she asked.

“Of course – he offered the clearest solution to our problem. All I have to do is find the right place and time, close my eyes, and let go. Then the slate will be clean, wrongs will be righted, the Absolute will be gone…and I along with it,” Gale said matter-of-factly.

Seraphina huffed a nervous laugh. “There’s surely another way. You don’t have to go through with this. There isn’t only one path.”

“If there was another, I’m sure the goddess of magic and the greatest wizard who ever lived would have identified it, but alas…only one solution is offered.”

“Your goddess offers only one solution. I think that you are far too eager to believe her,” Seraphina replied. “Is she always so demanding?”

“I doubt she’s asked many of her followers to blow themselves up. That’s a fate she’s bequeathed exclusively to me. She wouldn’t ask such a thing if it weren’t our only means of survival. However much she’s annoyed at me.”

“Please stop insisting that your death is our only way to destroy this plot. It’s not. I refuse to believe it.”

“Seraphina, the truth is, I was living on borrowed time already. Consuming those items would only have kept the orb sated for so long. If anything, I feel more at peace than I have in months. At least now I know my death will have purpose. It won’t be a distant ‘bang’ in the footnotes of history.”

“You’re not blowing yourself up, Gale. I won’t let you,” Seraphina declared as she stood. Gale rose and stood in front of her. She looked down at her feet.

“Let’s save such certainty for the moment such a decision is upon us. You may feel differently, once we know what we’re truly up against. But all that remains ahead of us for now. The Heart of the Absolute must be discovered before I can stop its beating.”

She rubbed her sweaty hands on her pants.

“I can’t believe you’re talking like this,” she uttered.

“Let’s be optimists, eh?” Gale put his hand on Seraphina’s shoulder. His hand moved from her shoulder to the nape of her neck, his fingers gathering in her hair. Softly, as if she were made of glass, he made her head tilt back, her orange eyes filled with tears as she took in his face. He was close enough that she could see the flames of the fire flickering in his deep brown eyes. Pink dusted across his cheeks as a gentle smile graced his lips.

“I’m trying to focus on the positives. Can you do that with me?” he whispered.

Seraphina grabbed the sides of Gale’s robes, pulling him closer. His other hand rubbed small circles on her arm, grounding her to this moment with him. He lowered his head as she rose to her toes, their foreheads resting against each other. She closed her eyes and they stood, breathing each other in. As friends do.

Slowly, Seraphina blocked out everything else. The bubbling of the cauldron. The taunting between Astarion and Wyll as they played lanceboard. The sharp clangs of Lae’zel and Karlach sparring. Soft chatter from Halsin and Shadowheart and the grinding sounds of their mortar and pestle sets as they created potions. 

All of it vanished until all that remained was the sound of her and Gale’s synchronized, deep breaths, and the overwhelming certainty that she was falling in love with a man that was determined to die. It hit her that this was truly the closest they had gotten physically in the time they’d known each other. They were close to crossing the line and permanently changing the rhythm of the careful tango they’d been dancing for weeks. And then she heard the melodic, boisterous laugh of a pale elf. Astarion’s smile entered her mind’s eye and her heart tore in two. She urged the image to leave, suppressed the thought of the inevitable choice she would have to make, and thought only of Gale, her friend, the incredible man that deserved to live. That deserved to believe on his own that he deserved to live.

We have defied death before. We can defy these odds too, she thought.

“Yes. I can focus on the positives,” she whispered.

Seraphina allowed optimism and trust in luck to guide her through the night. She laughed and joked over dinner. She challenged Karlach and Wyll to some Talis games with drinking penalties. She allowed her spirit to feel immense joy because she was positive that Gale was not going to die. Not at her hands or at Mystra’s command.

x x x

“Flagra!” Seraphina shouted.

The guiding bolt flew from her fingertips, eviscerating the shadow being in front of her. She hastily waved her torch, searching for more. The Shadow-cursed Lands was giving their party quite the welcoming. 

The cold, menacing environment of the shadows had everyone on edge – expect for Shadowheart, who was quite at home in the darkness. Their anticipation was quickly justified when, while mid-conversation with a group of Harpers they crossed paths with, the shadows attacked.

Wyll, with one torch in hand, used his other to blast a shadow off the nearby cliffside. Astarion’s arrows eliminated two of the beings. Karlach and Lae’zel were a blur of swinging blades as they huddled close to the light from Shadowheart’s spirit guardians. Seraphina stumbled backwards, bumping into Gale. The two carefully shuffled back-to-back as their heads pivoted, checking for more enemies.

“I hope I can trust you to watch my back,” Gale said with a laugh as he launched an ice knife at an approaching shadow.

“Always,” Seraphina winked as she cast a few magic missiles. She turned to see Gale staring at her. He smiled at her as he seemed to come back to himself and their present predicament, turning to throw a chromatic orb of fire. Her breath caught in her lungs as she watched Gale become illuminated by the flames, his rugged features and blazing eyes making her face hot. 

A group of shadows closed in on Karlach, Lae’zel, and Shadowheart. Seraphina quickly ran over. 

“Ardē!” Seraphina yelled. 

As quickly as the fireball left her hand, she felt the surge and her bones began to shrink. She yelped again, only for it come out as a meow. Frantically, Seraphina looked around to see that Lae’zel and Karlach had both been turned into dogs while Shadowheart was also a cat.

“Your leader is a wild mage?” Harper Lassandra commented, swinging her torch at a shadow. Shadowheart meowed as she ran to hide under Wyll’s feet. Karlach and Lae’zel barked incessantly, Lae’zel taking a swipe at Seraphina. Seraphina hissed in response.

“Gods, Seraphina, right now?” Astarion shouted, exasperated. 

“Just hit them out of it for bloody sake!” Wyll retorted.

Gale sprinted over, a pained expression on his face as he raised his quarterstaff. “Forgive me for this,” he said, swinging at her. 

She let out a squeak as the staff hit her back, the polymorph effect ending and sending her back to her natural form. As Seraphina stood, it seemed the dust was settling. Harper Lassandra marked the location of a ‘safe place’ on their map and the Harpers hurried on while the party trailed after them.

Gale slowed his gait, keeping pace with Seraphina, and he turned to her with a heated gaze that made Seraphina’s knees weak. His eyes seemed to glow, even in the gloom that surrounded them.

“It’s quite thrilling, to fight off such grim creatures as this region throws at us. Especially being at your side,” Gale said breathlessly. “I once read a book that explained in some detail the effect a brush with danger has on one’s desire for…other forms of stimulation. Have you ever read anything on that subject?”

Seraphina grinned. What a sweet, silly man. She became more smitten with him each day.

“Read it? I could’ve written the thing,” she laughed.

“I believe you,” Gale continued. “You never look so beautiful as at the end of a stirring battle, your cheeks flushed, gaze bright…you’re quite irresistible.” 

She wanted him with such fervor that her swirling thoughts would make a servant of Loviatar blush.

“I wish I had said it to you first. You look so…dominant and confident when you’re using the Weave to strike someone or something down,” she murmured seductively. Gale chuckled as he blushed.

“Perhaps it’s just the thrill of our near undead experience talking. But standing at your side through such darkness and disrepair, it only makes me want you more.”

Seraphina halted in her tracks and Gale stopped too. She walked closer to him, Gale’s half-lidded eyes staring at her lips. She looked out of the corner of her eye to see that the group had continued walking.

“And what are two people who want each other so desperately supposed to do with all their pent-up emotions?” she whispered. Gale carefully leaned forward, and their noses brushed, the brief contact igniting more arousal in her. He suddenly squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, slowly straightening his back as he took a step away.

“This is neither the time nor place to indulge such feelings, Seraphina. We must be patient and push all such thoughts aside. For now,” Gale sighed. “Let’s get to this ‘safe haven’ so that our…passion doesn’t lead to our untimely demise at the hands of the shadows. Lead the way.”

Seraphina nodded, pushing down her lust. They quickly picked up their pace and caught up with the others. She wasn’t going to let Gale brush this conversation off though.

x x x

Seraphina had hoped that she would be pinned beneath Gale tonight, but instead she was being held in place by magical vines, several fighters at the ready behind the druid threatening her life.

“Tymora, save me,” she whispered. 

“A pathetic deception – I know who you really worship, True Soul,” the druid, called Jaheira by the Harpers, spat. 

“Stop!” a small voice cried out. 

Mol, a tiefling child, appeared next to Jaheira. Seraphina sighed in relief, happiness filling her. The refugees were okay.

“What are you doing?” Mol yelled. “She’s the one who saved us!”

“She’s the one who protected the Emerald Grove?” Jaheira asked.

“Seraphina?” 

Seraphina felt her heart stop and any joy she felt vanished. The world was spinning incredibly quickly, or time had completely stopped. At that moment, she couldn’t tell what was happening, but she was certain that she wanted all of this to be a dream, some sick, forced hallucination from the Absolute. She looked past Jaheira and she prayed that she was wrong and that her ears had deceived her, but she knew what the reality was. He was here.

Behind Jaheira stood another Harper. An elf with ivory skin and bright blue eyes. His long, ash blonde hair was swept behind his pointed ears. His face hadn’t changed, except maybe that was a new scar on his jaw and his cheek was bruised. The elf was bulky and tall, his shoulders wide with his leather armor stretching over his muscular figure. A Tymoran pendant hung round his neck. He looked as shocked as she did. 

Seraphina would’ve preferred for the vines to put her out of her misery.

“You know this one, Vadan?” Jaheira said, turning to him. 

“Yes. Rather well. You can trust her,” Vadan stepped closer. Jaheira looked at him, back at Mol, who eagerly nodded, and she willed the vines away.

“Very well. Settle in, then come join me for a drink,” Jaheira instructed.

As everyone except Vadan and her party made themselves scarce, Seraphina remembered that she had thought on this moment for ages. What she would say to him. How she would say it. If she would say anything.

Vadan opened his arms and smiled meekly. “A hug for old times’ sake?” He asked.

Seraphina couldn’t move her feet. She knew her companions stood behind her, waiting to follow her lead. Astarion looked Vadan up and down with a scowl on his face. Gale looked back and forth between Seraphina and Vadan, barely concealing his apprehension and irritation.

Seraphina tried to keep her voice level. “Hello,” She stammered awkwardly. Vadan still had his arms open. 

“I think that we all just need a moment to rest after the chaos of the past few hours,” Gale interjected, stepping forward and placing a hand on the small of Seraphina’s back. 

“Oh, I can show you all – ” Vadan’s arms dropped.

“We’ll fetch you if we need anything,” Astarion interrupted, stepping in between him and Seraphina. 

Vadan looked at Seraphina, back to the wizard and the vampire, before his eyes returned to her. He nodded curtly and turned on his heels.

“Say the word and I’ll make that hunk’s handsome face unhandsome,” Karlach said.

“Darling, are you quite sure that Tymora is your goddess? It seems like she quite enjoys leaving you high and dry with a good dash of bad luck,” Astarion commented.

“Chk. You should’ve gutted him on sight,” Lae’zel huffed. 

“Tell me what you need, and I will see that it is done,” Gale murmured into her ear. 

Seraphina turned back and smiled brightly at her party.

“We’re finally somewhere safe. Why don’t we get a bottle of wine and cool our nerves?” she asked, dodging everyone’s remarks.

“Please. A glass would do wonders right about now,” Wyll said.

The group stumbled into Last Light Inn and huddled at a table while Seraphina acquired two bottles of spiced wine from the innkeeper. She glanced over and saw Vadan at a table on the other side of the room, playing a game of Three Dragon Ante with a few other Harpers. He looked up and their eyes met. He smiled nervously and she turned away, trying to focus on Gale’s lecture on shadow magic. Unfortunately, his words were not enough to drown out the fact that Vadan had stood up from his game and was now walking over to their table.

Seraphina took a huge gulp of wine as the distance between them lessened. As her heart pounded, she became convinced that it would burst. Astarion suddenly turned his eyes on her, an eyebrow raised.

Of course he knows, she thought. And then Vadan was standing before their table. Seraphina nearly laughed as she saw her companions glare at him.

“Seraphina, could I have a word?” Vadan asked.

“Can’t you see we’re busy?” Astarion snarled. 

“Astarion, cool it,” Seraphina snapped. Astarion gawked at her, seeming both embarrassed and offended at her scolding. She didn’t expect it to come out of her mouth either. She stood, draining her goblet.

“Make it quick,” Seraphina said. She followed Vadan out to the docks, and he gestured for her to sit sat on a crate. They both settled down and Seraphina waited for him to speak first.

“It’s good to see you,” Vadan started. He looked her up and down and Seraphina suddenly became self-conscious about every aspect of her appearance. She probably smelled horrible, and her armor was covered in viscera. The last time he’d seen her, she was well-fed, bathing regularly, and donning comfortable, pretty attire that accentuated her curves. Though Vadan had seen her both ways and declared that he found her beautiful regardless of everything else.

“I wish I could say the same,” Seraphina replied flatly. “Though it is certainly a surprise. Last I heard, you had taken a Cormyrian wife.”

This was a partial lie. She and the party she’d been traveling with just before the nautiloid had settled for the evening outside of Evereska when a group of Harpers passed by their camp. A few of them were good companions of Vadan’s and, though they seemed reluctant to pass on the news, told her that Vadan had become swept up in a romance with the daughter or niece of a Cormyrean noble. 

Vadan laughed bitterly. “There was someone, briefly, but Faena and I weren’t a good match. Things ended quite bitterly.”

“Seems that keeps happening to you.”

“It’s hard to find a better match when you’ve already met the soul that completes yours. I told her that I needed to find you.” Vadan said wistfully. He looked at her so tenderly that Seraphina had to turn to count the number of planks beneath her feet. 

“How did you end up out here? And infected with a mind flayer tadpole?” Vadan asked.

“Am I to assume that you suddenly care about me now?” Seraphina asked. She looked up at him. She wanted him to see the rage in her eyes. 

“I’ve always cared for you, Seraphina, and you know that. I regret every morning that I’ve woken up without you as my wife,” Vadan replied. He reached out and cupped her cheek and she didn’t stop him. Seraphina wanted to nuzzle his hand and for him to kiss her cheeks and forehead and nose before he kissed her lips as he used to before, but she wasn’t going to give him more than this.

“Well, if you must know, they are my…friends. We were all abducted by a nautiloid ship. We’re heading to Moonrise Towers to finally purge ourselves of these things in our heads,” Seraphina replied. Vadan’s eyes widened in horror. His other hand went up to her face and Seraphina’s breath caught in her throat. His thumb rubbed her cheek.

“This never should’ve happened. Wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t…if things happened differently between us. I’m so sorry, my flower,” Vadan murmured. 

“You’re too close, Vadan,” Seraphina choked out. She snatched her face away from his touch. 

“You know that I didn’t want to leave you, Seraphina. I feared for my life and yours. I’ve thought of you every day, wished that you were waiting at home for me.”

Her lip curled in disgust as his choice of words. It wasn’t just his language, but the fact that he had always wanted a demure wife.

“You doubted the Smiling Lady and me,” she spat.

“Perhaps I just selfishly wanted you and I to stay alive so that we could live our life together. Perhaps I wanted my wife and I to grow old together,” he replied, an edge in his tone to match hers. He straightened up and shook his head, his voice softening. “But how I handled things was foolish. Tell me, is your trial over? Are you her Chosen yet? Last I heard, it wasn’t.”

“No, it’s not. But what do you mean by ‘last you heard’?”

“I…I was in Baldur’s Gate not too long ago. I went by your home. Your family wasn’t exactly happy to see me, but they told me that…that you had just come back from Avernus. I asked them about your magic, and they told me that you were still a wild mage. Turns out, I had just missed you by a few days.”

“And what business do you have going to my home?” she asked sharply.

Vadan’s eyebrows lifted as he smiled sadly.

“I wanted to see you, Sera. I told you – I left Faena because it was impossible to forget you. I couldn’t move on from the hurt I caused you,” he whispered. Seraphina scoffed and crossed her arms. He sighed.

“Which one of them has stolen your heart away, eh? It’s hard to tell between the pale fellow and the wizard. They both seem hellbent on taking my head,” Vadan chuckled. 

Both of them, Seraphina thought. She wanted to rub in Vadan’s face that she had two handsome men vying for her affections, but the truth was that she had no idea what to make of her situations with Gale and Astarion.

Seraphina hadn’t answered yet, so Vadan kept going. “It’s not my business. But I want you to know that I’ve missed you. You’re not a mind flayer yet, so I take that as a good sign. If we survive all this, I…I hope that we find time to talk.”

“What is there to discuss? All that you’re interested in talking about so far is your own pain. You know nothing of the pain, embarrassment, and anguish I faced. You lied to me that morning instead of facing me and declaring the truth.”

“Tell me what I must do to make up for what I did, and I will follow through. Tell me, so that I can make you my wife when we cure you and leave this cursed land.”

She stared at him. For a moment, all she could hear was the muffled sounds of the Inn and the sloshing of the waves.

“You’re serious?” she breathed.

“We will get this tadpole out of you. If Tymora doesn’t think that saving a city from the Hells was worthy enough, then forget the trial. And then, we can get that townhouse we always talked about near Heapside Strand.”

Her heart thumped wildly against her chest. They had discussed the life they wanted together ceaselessly. Their home would partially operate as a Harper safehouse, Vadan continuing to travel and work as a spy while Seraphina worked at The Lady’s Hall in the Upper City. When the time was right, they would grow their family. 

Her stomach flipped. That kind of calm wasn’t in the cards for her. She wasn’t even sure that it was what she wanted. She honestly hadn’t given much thought to what she wanted for her life after her trial was over. Vadan came along and painted their future in his vision, and it seemed pretty enough, but it still wasn’t a future she chose. Then the cryptic warnings from Gale crept into her mind. She wouldn’t exactly be able to choose what kind of life she wanted after becoming Tymora’s Chosen.

“I can see through you, you know,” she replied. He blinked at her in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re a coward who couldn’t handle his wife surpassing him.”

Vadan recoiled.

“What in the Hells would make you think that?”

“You aspire to be a High Harper. You want to go off on your adventures and come home to a wife who doesn’t leave the city because she knows her place,” Seraphina snapped.

“I only wanted to protect you. You shouldn’t have ended up in Avernus or in the middle of this shadow curse. Is it so unreasonable that I would’ve liked for my wife to be kept from danger?” Vadan barked.

Seraphina’s blood boiled beneath her skin as she clenched her fists.

“Danger is where I thrive. I thought you knew that. I thought you respected that.”

“Seraphina, if you wanted for anything else, I would not stop you. You’ve had your family and that damned temple in your ear for far too long. They’ve convinced you that your life is a worthy sacrifice in the pursuit of some so-called redemption,” Vadan replied. “You want to have children and a permanent place to come home to at the end of the day, and I promise you that day will never come when you walk as Tymora’s Chosen and must spend your life fighting a holy war against Beshaba. You don’t even know if your storm sorcery will be restored after this! You could be a wild mage forever.”

“Hellwhispers refuse to be shamed anymore. My family name will said with reverence in every Tymoran temple in Faerûn and – ” Seraphina started before suddenly stopping. She shook her head and jumped to her feet. “There is little purpose to another repeat of the same argument. There is no future between us, and I do not owe you my time.”

She moved to walk away, her eyes burning as she held back her tears, her feet itching to be as far away from Vadan as possible. 

“You do not need to be Tymora’s Chosen for that. You are a hero, Seraphina. You’ve already transformed the Hellwhisper reputation,” Vadan whispered. She halted in her tracks. She slowly turned to look at him.

“You deserve to be content. You deserve the future that you want. I may not have been worth giving up the honor of being our lady’s Chosen, but I hope that, one day, someone is. Or maybe there’s someone who makes the sacrifice of being a Chosen worth it. And, well, either way, Faerûn is deeply lucky to have you as a force of good,” Vadan smiled, but his lower lip wobbled.

“Vadan…” she whispered.

“Seraphina, darling.” Astarion.

He meandered over from the stairs and Seraphina’s legs carried her to meet him halfway. She wanted him to whisk her away from this hell. She wanted to flee as far as she could. But it didn’t matter how far she went or where – she couldn’t escape the nugget of truth in Vadan’s words. The truth that had been haunting her and that was becoming as inescapable as the shadows in this cursed land.

[slicedmayonnaise]

Okay, Slice n Dice, I'm gonna rant, enjoy :3 (good luck)

When I first started reading WTE I was in an, "I'm not too big a fan of modern aus" mindset, and decided not to read it when I first saw it (Ford's top ten biggest mistakes).

One day, I was sitting on the floor, my third cup of iced coffee in my hand and Markiplier's rdr2 playthrough on my laptop and I thought to myself, "I wonder what WTEs about.." So I went back to good ol' ao3 and took a deeper look, aka read the first few chapters, oh my god did I regret not reading it sooner. I have a hard time immersing myself in stories because I get distracted so easily, but I was so immersed in the entire thing, that I could finally see in my tiny brain what was happening and it made me love the story even more.

After WTE I read BAE....hhhh I loved BAE....I ACTUALLY CRIED AT POINTS IN THOSE STORIES </3

Anyway, after WTE I didn't stop thinking about it, kinda just stared at my wall for half an hour looking confused, ik I'm going to do that exact thing once Washed Up is done, and I ain't complaining.

It actually took me a bit to read Washed Up too, after WTE I needed a break because I couldn't find any stories that matched how good it was, and for some reason, I didn't look at Washed Up which was literally created by the same person </333333 (I'm a little dumb)

When I'm hyperfixated on smth I get hyperfixated on things in that smth (like Javier) and I got hyperfixated on WTE (but I didn't draw fanart, which disappoints me) so that's another reason I didn't read Washed Up right away, I actually read WTE twice.

So I FINALLY started Washed Up and yeah that was the best thing I've ever done. Actually, this story might be one of the best fics I've ever read, I just absolutely love the slow burn that wasn't too short to be like, "What just happened?" and wasn't too long to make me get bored of the story, but in every chapter, I might've asked, "are they gonna kiss?"...

And the characters, omg, I actually didn't expect Vincente to turn out how he did, I love this version of him. and Eddie.......hhhhhhh Eddie.......I love Eddie...AND FLACO, WHEN I WAS READING THE TAGS I GOT SO SURPRISED THAT BRO WAS IN IT THAT EVERY TIME A NEW CHARACTER WAS INTRODUCED (without knowing their name ofc) I WAS LIKE, "Flaco?"

My reaction to when he showed up was priceless.

Okay, this rant went really off track-

I love how you sort of mixed like rdr canon into the story, but with your own like twist, yk, which is pretty much what the whole story is but you get what I mean (I hope-)

And Javier..oh poor Javier, he really won't like water now, or boats...sigh poor Javier </3

THE GIRLS TOO, I AM SO GLAD THEY WERE SAVED!!!!

Okay, this is getting really long I don't want to overwhelm you.

But just know, I love your story so much, I wish I had given it a chance right away because now it is one of my favorite things ever, and I hope you will write more in the future, speaking of the future I'm so excited for that spinoff with Flaco and Eddie.....so excited...

But thank you, for opening my eyes to a surfing au that I never expected to like so much, it didn't make me want to start surfing but that's okay cause I'm afraid of oceans.

AND I SWEAR I WILL DRAW WASHED UP FANART, I NEED IT IN MY LIFE, I JUST NEED AN IDEA, AND THEN WE'RE LOCKED IN!!!!!!

Okay, this was so long, oopsies-

THANK YOU <33333333

I was literally smiling like an idiot the entire time reading this oh my god. My cheeks hurt from smiling. I may or may not have also cried a little. Thank you thank you so so much oh my god 😭😭😭 <3<3<3<3<3<3 like idek what to say

I'm so so glad you like my fics and the way I write and like just thank you so much for all the feedback like idk what to say just thank you so so much. You have just made my entire year if not my entire life <3<3<3<3<3<3 thank you thank you!!!

[ainsi-soit-il]

I can't stress enough that we, as Christians, need to recognize Jesus as the center and focus of everything about Christian theology.

We believe in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, fully God and fully man, who really lived and really died. We preach Christ crucified, resurrected, and coming again. If none of that is real, then we are to be pitied above all men. That's not exaggeration. That's not just my opinion. Paul himself says as much in 1 Corinthians 15:19.

Heck, however else you may slice or dice the passage as a whole, Jesus Himself makes it clear in Matthew 16:15 that the most imperative question of Christianity as a whole is, "Who do you say I am?" It is how we answer that question, ultimately, that separates us out from any other religion. It should be the question that dictates so many others, from "Who is God?" to "Who am I?"

As much as I argue with Catholic Christians, or Orthodox Christians, or even other Protestant Christians, any theological dispute I may have with any of them absolutely pales in comparison to the question of who Jesus is.

Why should I care to argue about the presence of Jesus in Lord's supper if He didn't actually die? Why should I care how reverential I should or shouldn't be towards Mary if her Son wasn't the eternal God Himself? Why should I care about what verbiage I use to talk about faith and works if my faith is in anyone whose life was of no consequence and whose death did nothing to save me?

This is not me saying we shouldn't talk about these issues amongst each other. We should talk about these issues. I'd argue that biblically we are commanded to have honest, loving conversations with each other about what we believe and how we are meant to live. If nothing else, we should be asking each other, "What do you mean by that?" because more often than not I find we are all talking past each other.

But we need to keep every issue in perspective, because we wouldn't be having these conversations at all if it were not for the life, death, and resurrection Jesus of Nazareth. He is where we will find our peace and our unity.

[christiansorrell]

Play-By-Blog #6: The Isle by Luke Gearing

Welcome to my ongoing play-by-blog of The Isle by Luke Gearing! We are playing this adventure with its original system, The Vanilla Game (adjusted somewhat to fit the format). You can check out the Play-By-Blog Repository to get all caught up if you wish.

How Play-By-Blog works:

I write up the situation, NPCs, and more, just like a DM.

You vote in the poll to help decide the character's course of action.

I roll the dice, resolve actions, and write them up next week.

So on and so forth for the rest of the adventure!

Notation:

[Text in brackets is out-of-character/GM text!] "Non-italicized quotes denote text from the original adventure!" "Italicized quotations denotes NPC dialogue."

Our character: Medon Girou - Magic Cutpurse

Our map: The Isle

[You can use the link's above to find Medon's Character Sheet and map of the Isle. On the map, you are currently at B.]

Now, back to the adventure!

[Our first tie vote! To adjudicate this, I went through and found that the majority of folks wanted to take a violent approach focused on attacking the monk (there will be options to not necessarily kill him, if the fight goes that well) so we'll be going with Option #3: Strike Now with your Katana, cast Sticks to Snakes when you are able]

This was not the reaction you were expecting, not from a supposed man of god anyway. You look down at the slash the monk drew across your side. Its not a flesh wound... yet. For a split second, your mind is torn between two courses of action, fleeing or fighting. No, you need to fight. There's no future where fleeing gets you inside that monastery.

You draw your katana and strike out at the monk, now at the top of the stairs between you and gently rolling waves of the cove below. You slash out, slicing easily through is robes, revealing an aging set of heavy sailor clothing beneath. He barely avoids a wound, but he's on the back foot now. Even just one well-placed slash could take him down [Attack Roll: 6 - Success, below AV of 11 and above enemy AC of 2] [Damage Roll: 5 - Monk has 5 Flesh, 0 Grit remaining].

You turn and run further up the raising path leading back up towards the isle proper and the monastery beyond, hoping to position yourself for casting Sticks to Snakes, if you are able. He may not allow you that luxury. He slashes at you as you go, but misses [Free Attack Roll: 19, Failure - over AV of 10].

[Next round begins! Initiative: 2 - Even, player goes first!]

Now's your chance. You look down at the monk, still standing near the top of the stairs overlooking the cove. Small shrubs, grown in the rough patches of dirt between the rocky outcroppings, have been torn away with the recent transport of cargo. Branches and small sticks litter the path.

With your offhand, you cast Sticks to Snakes, muttering a hurried incantation and gesturing with crooked fingers at the ground below the monk. You feel the arcane power welling up inside you and traveling down your arm and off towards the monk, but something's wrong. It's too much and it's not right, not focused in the form you needed. There's just too much [Spell Roll: 10 - Failure, over ST of 8. The spell is now Corrupted.] [Miscast Roll: 3 - "You cast a random spell on your original target, in addition to your original spell."] [Random Spell: Wizard Eye].

The energy leaves you. An ethereal floating eye, visible only to you, appears immediately to the side of the man's head [Wizard Eye miscast]. In the same moment at the monk's feet, five sticks [2d6 roll of 5, 2 of which are venomous] wriggle to life, turning into living snakes. They surround the monk, following your command - to attack! Four of the snakes strike out and land their bites along his calves and ankles [Attack Rolls: 6, 2, 3, 6, 6 - 4 successes (including 2 venomous)] [Damage: 1 each for 4 total] [Saving throw versus Death (due to venom): 4 - Success, 13 - Failure]

The monk cries out in pain, beginning to kick down at the snakes before his body quickly weakens and a bloody foam forms at the side of his lips as he coughs. He yells out once more towards the monastery, weaker than before. The knife falls from his hands and he looks to flee, his dying mind panicking, but loses his strength as he goes, falling down the stairs and lying still in a dead still heap at the bottom [XP Granted: 50].

There is just the sound of the waves against the rocks and the soft slithering of snakes at your feet.

After a moment, the snakes revert back to sticks and the Wizard Eye fizzles. You head down the stairs to check the body. Other than the fishing pole, sack of worms, and fish in the bucket, the monk has little of value on him. Around his neck is a piece of twine holding an unusual iron seal, you take it. It doesn't look valuable but it looks esoteric, specific - the kind of thing the right person may want very badly or that could get you into places you would normally be barred from. Lots of stories you could cook up around why you have this seal, why you should be let into the monastery.

Beneath his robes, you find his arms and chest to be covered in tattoos, the kind commonly seen on lifelong sailors. What brought this man to this monastery and to this god? Well, perhaps he's in his heaven now, after attempting to defend this holy place.

You find some old rope along the jetty and roll down a large stone from above the cove. You tie the rock to the monk's torso, after carrying both to the furthest end of the jetty, and push the rock over the edge. With a deep crack, the monk's body whips off of the wooden slats at your feet and out and down into the sea.

You rest for some time [Grit healed: 1d6 roll of 5 - fully healed] before venturing forth. The midday sun hangs high overhead.

[This was a fun one! I lot of interesting roll results leading to some unexpected outcomes, for sure. I was going to have options to keep the monk alive and question him which would have worked when he had 1 Flesh remaining but those venomous snakes back a big, deadly bite! See y'all next week! - Christian]

[PBB #7 is up now!]

[asknarashikari]

Michinaga: *about to do the biggest mistake of his life, about to stab one Sara Sakurai*

Sara: Keiwa... I’ll be joining you soon with mom and dad.

Keiwa: *untransformed using the ninja dueler to block the strike*

Keiwa: If it's a fight you want, Buffa, then its a fight you'll get.

Michinaga: How.,.. You're supposed to be dead.

Keiwa: So are you, but here you are.

Michinaga: I'll make sure I'll bury you myself.

Keiwa: Let's see you try.

-level 2 tactical slash-

Michinaga was blown to the wall as Keiwa helped his sister up

Sara: Keiwa... is it really you.

Keiwa: It's me nee-chan, now you need to run away, how do you like your beef nee-chan?

Sara: Beef.. Keiwa, no.

Keiwa: I kinda want to make some gyudon with a salad as my side.

Sara: Keiwa, no you can't... you'll be no better than him.

Keiwa: Nee-chan, you have to understand, if we don't have that dish now, then something even more bad is going to happen.

Sara: But...

Keiwa: just trust me on this, nee-chan.

Sara: okay, you better return home this time okay.

Keiwa: I will

Sara: *runs away*

Michinaga: saying promises you can't keep. laughable.

Keiwa: At least I have promises I need to keep, what about you?

Keiwa: Has being a bull really dulled your mental faculties?

Michinaga: Ha?

Keiwa: no matter, henshin

----

Michinaga: *out of suit and slammed to the wall by an untransformed Keiwa*

Keiwa: I'm letting you live.

Keiwa: Call it my gratitude for helping me out in the first few rounds of the DGP.

Keiwa: But the next time we meet.

Keiwa: And you point a weapon at my sister?

Keiwa: I don't think that zombie buckle is going to let you cling to life.

Keiwa: And if it does, we'll they've got an unlimited supply for fertilizer right from you.

Michinaga: W-who are you?

Keiwa: I'm still the Tycoon you killed, Buffa.

Keiwa: I just returned throwing away my inhibitions and stopped suppressing my anger against you and your group.

Michinaga: W-wh-what about the DGP.

Keiwa: They, at the very least, pretend to save the world

Keiwa: But if they pull the same actions you did…

Keiwa: They’ll suffer, like you are now.

I'm normally against unfettered violence, but in this case I'm all for it. This guy has been asking to get his ass beat to kingdom come from the get-go and I'm not opposed to Keiwa dishing it out to him. Azuma deserves to get sliced and diced and turned into a smashburger.

(Also, he should really KO him before leaving, just to not give the guy an opportunity to strike back)

[kiri-cuts]

Gordon’s good boy getaway in Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter

“Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter” is a film stacked with true star power. There’s the scenery buffet feast that a sublimely jittery Crispin Glover chews on throughout his performance as an unfuckable nerd who is able to victoriously prove himself otherwise. Not to mention Corey Feldman’s spectacular turn as Crystal Lake’s returning champion, Tommy Jarvis –- a concupiscent adolescent who hits the puberty jackpot in the form of nubile, naked women undressing in the windows right opposite his bedroom. Well, until one Mr. Jason Voorhees inconveniently cockblocks him, that is. But such is life. 

But all horny, disposable humans aside, there is another star in this movie, and he just so happens to be a rare survivor –- that good boy is Gordon, the beloved golden retriever of the Jarvis family. Historically, dogs don’t fare well in any horror movie. In the “Halloween” franchise, they’re a tasty protein hit for hulking boilersuit enthusiast Michael Myers. The Farber’s dog in “Funny Games” is the first of the family to be sacrificed for Beavis and Butthead’s entertainment. And let's not forget the little terrier who gets turned into a mushy microwave-ready meal in “Urban Legend.”

For whatever reason, Jason Voorhees –- or J-Vo, as the kids call him –- is seemingly not as keen on killing dogs as he is on destroying those damn pot-smoking, freewheelin’ youths who keep fucking too close to his mom’s grave (Manhattan included, I guess). Either that or the dogs of “Friday the 13th” simply have a good nose for trouble and know how to get out of a bad situation. Forget your final girls –- this franchise is all about final canines. 

In “Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan,” for instance, a poor border collie named Toby gets dragged onto the world’s weirdest school cruise where it knows better than to stick around to be sliced and diced by the water-logged brick shithouse on deck. Upon arriving in Manhattan, Toby wastes no time with heroics and gets the fuck out of there while the humans he’s kicking it with get preyed upon by the horrors of New York City … and, to a surprisingly lesser extent, by Jason. Toby makes a brave return to his owner right at the end of the film, presumably after taking in a Broadway show and a few slices of $1 pizza. 

In “Friday the 13th: Part 2,” a goofy Shih Tzu named Muffin likewise takes a convenient stroll away from the scene murder-thon long enough that she may or may not evade Jason’s butchering. Whether or not she’s successful is a source of heated debate. On the one hand, what looks to be the mutilated remains of a fluffster are discovered in the woods, along with her fave boss bitch accessories –- an adorable hair ribbon and a jingle-bell collar so she can announce herself everywhere she goes (a terrible choice for surviving a slasher, honestly). It’s nice to see her shuffling back onto the screen at the end of the movie –- I cheer every time –- but most fans argue this entire end sequence is little more than a dream sequence. But real or imagined, my girl Muffin returns, okay? And that’s that.

In “Friday the 13th: The Final Chapter,” Gordon also knows what's up. While he sticks around long enough to earn his loyalty badge over at dog camp (I imagine), once the bodies start piling up in his family home, ol’ Gordon doesn’t fuck around. Like many of the final girls that have come before and since this smart golden retriever launches himself through the top-floor window of his family home and to safety. Some say if you close your eyes in New Jersey during a crisp Summer’s night, you can still hear the high-speed gallop of his paws as he bets against humanity to instead save himself (good call).

Smashing through a window as an escape is a legit final girl move –- one beloved by the likes of Sidney Prescott in “Scream” and Sally Hardesty in “The Texas Chainsaw Massacre” (in fact, that grand slam of a survivor does it twice in one movie). So, it’s no surprise to see Gordon holding his own in “Friday the 13th: Part 2” as the film’s true final girl. Move over, Tommy Jarvis! Gordon Vs. Jason is coming. 

The “Friday the 13th” wiki page –- a website I have no reason to believe is anything but 1000% reliable on all matters of fictional canon –- states that Gordon definitely survived the movie. At least, that’s apparently the case according to the “Friday the 13th” game which suggests that authorities found the survivor pooch and returned him to the Jarvis family afterward (or what was left of them, at least). However, Tommy never mentions his bestie again in the two other films that the character shows up in. Nor does he join him on a single on-screen adventure. Maybe Gordon was old? Maybe he had worms and wasn’t up to the journey? Who knows. 

What I do know is that the dog’s savvy in jumping through that window and getting to safety is maybe the greatest and smartest move of any character in the “Friday the 13th” franchise. In my heart, I envisioned Gordon running for days, train-hopping between states, and finding nice countryside retreats to live out his best days in after jumping into the back of some arl’fella’s truck. If you keep moving, he’d say to himself between giant bowls of free kibble, then the psychos can’t get you. If you keep running, then the poochie-PTSD can’t find you, either. Smart boy. Good boy. Woof.

Every few months, Tommy would receive a crusty postcard depicting a vague scene of Americana bliss. Vegas, Texas, Ohio –- all reduced to something sepia and burnt-looking. On the back would be the illegible scrawl of the golden retriever who got away –- “Dear Tommy,” it would read. “Another new town. Luckily, no shortage of lonely women here and so the kibble keeps flowing heh. Staying clear of hockey masks. The papers say it might rain this Summer. Here’s hoping. Look after yourself - Gordon.” Leaving his paw print as his sign-off, Tommy’s long-lost best friend would live to bark another day. The true star of the show, and the franchise’s greatest survivor.

ki-ki-ki-ma-ma-ma...

[mlobsters]

supernatural s5e17 99 problems (w. julie siege)

thought this guy looked familiar but i think i'm thinking of joaquim de almeida in clear and present danger

similar eye shape, dark eyes with lighter eyebrows... eehhhh.

oh and sidenote it just now clicked that the lisa and ben i see mentioned in fic all the time is that lisa and ben. flew right over my head.

i'm still not really over the last episode. dean saying the night sam left for stanford was one of the worst nights of his life keeps banging around my head.

DEAN We’re all gonna die, Sam. In like a month—maybe two. I mean it. This is the end of the world, but these people aren’t freaking out. In fact they’re running to the exit in an orderly fashion. I don’t know that that’s such a bad thing.

SAM Who says they’re all gonna die? What ever happened to us saving them?

sigh.

these people seem to have some extra fast exorcism spiel. boys coulda used that. meanwhile sam's just slicing and dicing with his demon killing knife.

so i'm looking at this dude's imdb and i just can't wrap my head around how this guy

is also this guy

stargate: sg-1 michael shanks as dr daniel jackson

i didn't watch a ton of sg1, but enough to remember the character's name and was kind of stunned seeing it listed in that dude's page. maybe it's the clark kent effect and all i really remember is the floppy hair and glasses.

okay so dean is all hopeless and defeated already and now he's gonna feel responsible for getting the kid killed. great.

this guy is all smiles and charm for sam. think they got drunk and made out?

supposedly he was in two episodes of the killing but my half-assed searching came up empty

SAM And all you’ve got’s a “hmm?” What’s wrong with you?

DEAN I get it. I just don’t care.

--

SAM So what? You wanna, you wanna just want to stop fighting, roll over?

DEAN I don’t know, maybe.

SAM Don’t say that. DEAN Why not? SAM Cause you can’t do this. DEAN Actually, I can. SAM No you can’t. You can’t do this to me. I got one thing, one thing, keeping me going. You think you’re the only one white-knuckling it here, Dean? I can’t count on anyone else. I can’t do this alone.

this sounds like dean.

CASTIEL I got your message. It was long, your message. And I find the sound of your voice grating.

CASTIEL Don’t ask stupid questions.

grumpy drunk cas is amusing.

sideburns going to be mutton chops by the end of the year at this rate

DEAN And the Enochian exorcism?

CASTIEL Fake. It actually means, “you, um, breed with the mouth of a goat.” It’s funnier in Enochian.

--

DEAN Yeah, don’t mention it. Yeah, I’ve been there. I’m a big expert on deadbeat dads. So…Yeah, I get it. I know how you feel.

CASTIEL How do you manage it?

DEAN On a good day, you get to kill a whore.

classy, dean. classy.

well. great. drive off alone to do something stupid.

DEAN Look, I have no illusions, okay? I know the life that I live, I know how that’s gonna end for me. Whatever. I’m okay with that. But I wanted you to know…that when I do picture myself happy…it’s with you. And the kid.

i have vague ideas of where this is going but even with all the fic i've read, i'm still fuzzy on order of events so i don't really know. but i do know what you can count on: death, taxes, and depressing plotlines from spn. and with 5 still to go in the season, ugh.

[luckyrave]

Chainsaw Man Chapter 109 Thoughts

I knew it!  I just knew it was all about patience and waiting this entire time. A perfect allegory to describe this feeling when it comes to Chainsaw Man Part 2.  Tatsuki Fujimoto is really quite an anomaly when it comes the current generation of anime and manga. A lot of people I believe can attest to this especially after watching season 1.  He just knows full well what his readers want to see in storytelling, but instead of giving them what they want off the gate. He likes to make sure proper time and care is placed before certain things occur within the story, and this is definitely one of those situations.

 Yuko’s onslaught continued like it never even stopped despite what Asa attempted to do when “that student” offered to save her life. It got significantly worse when a few members from The Devil Hunters Club attempted to land a mark on Yuko, but she repeats the same thing as before. Instant death before they even got a chance to escape with their lives in tact. Once that was taken care of,  she notices Asa unconscious on the ground with much concern as to how her best friend ended up in this condition.  At least, before she notices “The student” that hid behind one of the broken infrastructure of The Academy  and grabs hold off of her believing that’s the reason Asa is knocked out. Thus, a single person steps in before Yuko could kill “The Student she has in her clutches”.  Somebody many people have been anticipating for quite a long while. Denji. 

He swoops in like a hero stepping in at the last second when all hope is lost against a villain causing havoc and chaos. Yuko doesn’t view him as much of a threat while using the same evasive action she took against the other students who stood in her way. There was only thing that didn’t cross her mind which was a simple fact that Denji was Chainsaw Man. The mere sight of his presence caused her to instantly freak out and wanted to stay away by using her tentacles, but nothing really worked as he slices and dices everything that comes his way. 

What left Yuko in confusion was being unable to read any of Denji’s movement.  All she could really do was read his mind and be puzzled by the thoughts going on through his mind. ALL HE’S THINKING ABOUT IS HOW TO EXPOSE HIS SECRET IDENTITY  WHILE MAKING IT SEEM NATURAL.   No lie that had me laughing because it was just classic Denji! A simple concept of relying on sheer instinct which was something I think we all knew Denji’s done before.  Moments later,  Asa regained conscious while feeling some pain as she gets back up on her feet to witness Chainsaw Man standing before her. Not even a second passes for Yoru to regain control of Asa with an ounce of disgust towards Chainsaw Man as both look towards one another bringing a close to the chapter. 

All in all, This chapter of Chainsaw Man gets an Amazing+ rating. It was a huge adrenaline ride from start to finish seeing how things escalated within this small section of Yuko’s attack on the school. I absolutely loved Denji’s entrance into the story again looking completely unfazed and confident to take on The Devil that’s attacking his school. There was no holding back just the amount of sheer will and strength as he took on Yuko was done amazingly. The only minor nitpick I have with this chapter is that we don’t exactly know what happened with “The Student” after Denji took out the Justice Devil, but I definitely feel like we’re gonna find that out in the next chapter.  Not just that, but Tatsuki Fujimoto just knows how to leave his readers wanting more by having Chainsaw Man and Yoru stare off in the final two pages. You could also add in the fact that it went by really quick as a minor nitpick, but damn Fujimoto knows his writing and it’s incredible. So far I’ve posted each chapter thought day after day and I think given my current pace I should be caught up before the latest chapter drops her shortly, but that’s just only gonna add more for what’s to come with Chainsaw Man.Until then, I hope you all take care of yourselves out there.                    

[theshampyon]

Lots of great tips in the notes. My two cents:

Leftover baby spinach can be frozen off and mixed straight into curries or pasta bakes, no need to defrost.

Frozen capsicum (bell peppers) can't be used in a recipe that calls for fresh, but if you dice and slice them they can still be used in any dish where they'd be fried. Again, no need to defrost, just throw them in the pan.

Discounted ginger root can be frozen whole, then you can peel and grate what you need directly from frozen (e.g. for curries) and put the rest back in the freezer.

You can freeze tomatoes too. Use them in any recipe that calls for canned. Great if you're like me and have neighbours who bring you buckets of unsellable farm-seconds. Otherwise, just save the leftovers from any bunch until you have enough.

And it's not just veg. There's plenty of stuff you can freeze if it's about to go off or go to waste. You can't always use it in the same way as you did fresh, but you can still make something delicious.

For example: Defrosted plain/natural Greek yoghurt doesn't taste great on your muesli, but it's perfect for making:

2-ingredient naan (mix 270g yoghurt with 350g self-raising flour, divide into 8 balls, flatten, lightly oil a pan and fry each side for about 2 minutes)

Butter chicken (use where some recipes ask for cream)

Tikka masala (same)

The drippings from a beef or chicken roast might get poured into a tin and thrown away... or you can sieve out any chunks and freeze it off to make gravy later. (Break off two tablespoons worth and melt it, combine with 1/4 cup flour and stir out the lumps, slowly add 2 cups of stock while stirring, heat until thickened.)

This, along with bulk-buying meat and poultry when it's on near half-price quick sale discount* is why my family has always, always had a stand-alone freezer. Even when we were struggling (which to be blunt was most of my life until recently), the long-term savings made it worthwhile.

* (If it would have been okay tomorrow, it'll be okay when you defrost it in six months.)

I don't know who needs to hear this but you've probably got vegetables in your fridge that are starting to go a little off so you should probably plan on making a frittata or a pot of soup in the next couple days.

[nancypullen]

Thursday

A thunderstorm moved through late last night and it was good for my soul. I felt like a farm wife from the 1800's - hallelujah, the crops are saved and the cattle can graze!

If we could just get one gullywasher a week, I might stop complaining.

I don't have much to share, I've been dabbling with paints today and ignoring my responsibilities. It's truly a lovely way to spend a day, acting like you don't have a care in the world. If a meteor had hit our house today and ended everything, my last hours would have been delightful. Kind of a morbid thought, and I'd be really ticked off that my stained t-shirt and faded yoga pants would be my ghost clothes. Not a single person would fear being haunted by a chubby ghost in a Life is Good tee. Anywayyyyyy, the reason for this post is that I received a few (okay, two) queries regarding the quick pickled red onions that I mentioned in yesterday's post. Couldn't be easier, and they really enhance your tacos, carnitas, or whatever you're having. Any that are leftover from the initial meal will keep nicely in the frig and usually get used up pretty quickly on sandwiches and in salads. Here's what you'll need:

1 large red onion

3/4 cup apple cider vinegar

1/4 cup water

1 tsp fine sea salt

1 to 2 tbsp sugar (your call, you can also use honey or maple syrup)

Assuming that I'm not the only one who saves jars, you'll need a spaghetti sauce jar, or one of a similar size. You could absolutely do this in a deep bowl, a jar just makes it a bit easier. Heat your vinegar mixture. In a small sauce pan heat the vinegar, water, salt, and sugar to a simmer. You could heat the mixture in a microwave, but why would you?

While your vinegar mixture starts to heat, thinly slice the red onion and stuff it all into the jar. If you have a mandolin, that works great. I just slice it with a knife. The thinner the slices, the quicker the pickle. Once you've you've stuffed all of your onion into the jar, just pour that hot vinegar mixture over the top. I use a funnel because I know I'd end up with hot vinegar all over my counter.

Use a spoon press the onions down and make sure they're all covered in liquid. You're done! Wait at least 30 minutes, but I usually do this a couple of hours ahead of meal time, maybe even a day if I'm really on the ball. The end result is always tasty.

In about 30 minutes I'll shred the pork carnitas, warm a few tortillas, and then these onions will accompany diced tomatoes, avocado, and all of the usual suspects. I'll take a scoop of sour cream and add a squirt of hot sauce and just enough water to make it drizzling consistency. It's a super easy meal with BIG flavor. So that's that. Nothing interesting to share, so you get a recipe for quick pickled onions. Let's all hope something exciting happens soon or I may resort to showing you my favorite dusting cloths. Stay tuned for more riveting content.

If no one has told you yet today - you're wonderful. You're the best you that's ever been. There's no one else in the world like you. Stay safe, stay well, stay fabulous. XOXO, Nancy

[abominationvault]

Session 38: Sat 8 Jun 2024

"I never wash my lucky scalpel."

~ Sprocket

Skabb and Jorg’ath have got chocolate chip shortbread and scones; Nadia is well jel. Baby Wee Jock 1 is not well so Luna, Sprocket and Hartvig (who has gone to their house) are a bit late. Baby Skabb has been demanding macarons - and getting them, this kid’s really got life figured out.

We were in the middle of a fight, and half of us are dead - let’s go!

Top of the round - Skabb. She announces that we’re all ready, then is told it’s her turn. “Ah, bollocks. I’m not that ready.” Can she stop to scoop Sprocket up as we make a tactical retreat? The DM lets her make an athletics check to wallop him out of the room with her wand on her way past. She realises that the hands and the wisps are not reacting as she legs it. Wielding her wand like a hockey stick, she takes aim and - 19! I think?

One of the hands moves to claw at Jorg’ath. 27 to hit, for 7 slashing. Then a ten - miss. Another does the same - ten, then a 16, both miss. Last one goes for Hartvig. He wants to cast Nope but he doesn’t have that spell. 28 to hit, and it takes 8 of his remaining 1 hit point. “I don’t do maths. I’m down.”

Jorg’ath swings his greatsword at the hand? wisp? I can’t see. He wants to grab the ones either side of him in his fists athletics versus their Fortitude saves. Jorg’ath Hero Points his 15 for a 12. “Ohhh… Fuckadoo.” He still has an attempt for the other one though so fingers crossed - 16? No, unfortunately. “How about, meets it beats it?” He is denied.

Luna makes a death save - she is changing BWJ2 so Sprocket rolls for her - 17 and she’s stable.

Nadia takes a potshot and misses, and retreats back down the corridor.

Sprocket makes a death save - natural 20! “I’M ALIIIIIIIIIIIIIVE!” he screams, popping back on his feet with no Wounded condition, and 8hp back! (The DM lets him roll, as a Nat 20 is pretty fuckin cool.)

Hartvig emits gas as a free action, then makes a death save - 6. He is now Dying 2.

A wisp Shocks Jorg’ath but misses. The next one takes three tries - 32, (“Ow!”), 10, and a 7. 9 damage total. The next can only shock him twice. 30, 20 (a miss) for 8 more damage, and the last tries as well but 19 misses.

Is Skabb Frightened? She checks her sheet. No, she’s not. She whips out her wand of magic missile and shoots at a wisp for 12 damage. Nice.

Jorg’ath is flanked, so he has a -2 to his AC. 20 hits now, so he takes some more damage. I miss the exact details, but then it’s his turn. Can he step over a hand to move to the other side of it? Yes, he can. He makes his way to Hartvig to give him a potion and pick him up. 5hp back for Hartvig. For his last action he hurls a javelin at something. 10 misses.

Luna is stable, so she makes no death saves. Nadia runs up and jams a potion down her neck - 7hp back.

Sprocket is up, and he uses an action to stand up. “Well, this is a how-do-you-do.” He flips through his spell cards, looking for something useful. He casts Summon Construct at Level 2, Swarm of Cutlery! He finds its character sheet in his journal, and starts cackling.

There is something amiss; “Did you do this on purpose to punish me, DM?” Neither of them say aloud what the problem is. Ah; the sheet doesn’t seem to be working properly. A short pause. “Try it again,” the DM says. “… Yaaaaay!” Sprocket reads through the information. It has two actions this turn, so it will approach the wisps and do a nice and simple slice and dice. 1d6 piercing or slashing damage to anything in the area that doesn’t make the reflex save, DC17. 22 for the wisp, and again for the hand, and 16 for the second hand. That one takes all 5. Sprocket, proudly: “I have an Area of Effect weapon.”

Hartvig stands up, and Jorg’ath points out a door that will go back to his sexy torture lady, so if he wants to go straight through there he can just crack on. Hartvig declines and makes a run for it instead, squeezing past Nadia, Luna, and the cloud of fists and dust that is the Swarm of Cutlery and the wisps and hands. One breaks off to go and attack Jorg’ath.

23 hits him for 10 Electricity damage. 22 also hits for 10 more. “Spicy! It tingles.” 32 hits for 12 and he’s down.

One remains in the cutlery swarm and goes to shock it. Does 20 hit it? (Luna: “I feel like electrocuting it would just make it worse.”) Its AC is 16 so yes. It has Construct Armour. Sprocket reads out its immunities, but Electricity doesn’t seem to be on it. It has a Hardness of 3, though, so it can reduce the 5 damage to 2.

It gets shocked a bunch more, however, and disappears.

Skabb shoots her Missile Wand again, and is dismayed to see the light in it start to dim. She considers sending Grabbins on a little mission, and does some measuring. Could she do a little recce? That would be an action, yes? Yes. She could drop a potion on Jorg’ath though, right? Yes, dropping something is a free action. Grabby takes the potion in her little hands and flies off around the corner to drop it on the lizard. 8sies back for Jorg’ath!

There is stinky raccoon piss, but I (fortunately) miss the context. Skabb is told to find a piece of paper - for future reference, she can strap a backpack to Grabby as she can carry 1 Bulk (or 10 negligible) of items.

Grabby becomes Frightened 2, from the flicker wisps (or ‘fuckerwisps’).

A hand turns to Nadia and claws at her, then tries to grab her throat - 6 slashing damage. Athletics check versus her Reflex DC - meets it beats it. It is hanging off her throat. “I do not like this.”

(Jorg’ath: “I think Hartvig would probably like it, though.”)

One of the hands claws at Jorg’ath but misses. “When will it end?”

Another scuttles over and goes for Nadia again and misses. In his excitement the DM announces the damage, thinking that 20 hits her, but it doesn’t. Ha!

Jorg’ath slams a potion, and makes a break for it. he takes a swing on his way and hits with a 27 for 5 slashing. “That is me.”

Luna gets up, and immediately wants to stick her rapier through the hand attaching itself to Nadia’s throat. 26 hits! Does it release its grasp? The DM rules that it does. Nadia: “Yay!” Luna wants to skewer all of the hands and kebab them for Skabb. (Skabb imagines they’d still be twitching. Delicious.) She attacks again, but 15 misses. The DM lets her retcon that if she wants to run instead, as she missed the pre-game scheming. She accepts and makes good her escape.

Nadia runs for it, her two parting shots miss, however. (I can’t wait to be able to do trick shots.)

Sprocket is next, and he runs forward and casts Phase Bolt on a hand. “Die, fool!” (Danny Glover.) Howdydoodis! Confidently, to go with his quippy line. He would do finger guns, but he doesn’t have fingers. He drinks a potion with his last action.

Hartvig clarifies that the wisps are immune to spells but not physical effects; would his needle darts spell work, as he’s hurling chunks of metal? The DM rules that it would hit, for the same reason that magical weapons would hit. Hartvig goes for it and misses, spends a Hero Point but gets even less. “… Okay. Well. I tried. Run away!” he finishes, as he legs it.

Jorg’ath gets shocked again for 8 damage. The other attacks miss. A wisp wafts up to the rafters and shocks Grabby Cat. Skabb, horrified: “NO!” It hits, however, with a 32 which is a critical for 31 damage total and she goes ‘poof’. As she disappears, she writes Jorg’ath’s name in her little book of grudges.

It’s Skabbalina’s go. She points her Wand of Missiles again. 4 more damage to the same flickerwisp as before. Are there any hands nearby…? She scans the map. Jorg’ath is looking poorly. She busts out a 2-actioner for him, begrudgingly shuffling forward so she can get him. Even though he just killed Grabby. 14 hp back for the lizard. “Ya nasty, scaly prick.”

A hand scuttles up to try to remove his fresh hit points. 6 slashing. He’s still hanging on! It’s his turn. Can he overcome the innate urge to Barbarian? No, he cannot! He swings at the hand that attacked him, and crits something! Howdydoodis! He turns it to paste and gets the fuck out of there. Skabb asks if there might be any delicious påté on his sword.

Luna takes aim at a scuttling hand. 14 misses. 25 hits! 15 misses. Nadia misses, hits, backs up.

Sprocket shoots a Phase Bolt at a hand but misses. “Smile, you sonofabitch!” And again. “I said smile, you sonofabitch!!… Sprocket sits down.”

Hartvig checks to make sure we’re all within 30 feet, and does a 3-actioner. We all get 9 hp back, but the undead hand makes its save and doesn’t take damage. Skabb pushes an organ or two back in.

The wisps, flickering next to the altar, go dark.

Skabb also does a 3-actioner, and her wand goes off for 5 more damage to the hand - now the only thing in range. The hand fails this time. “Haha! Up your ass, hand.” She rolls 6 on the dice for healing.

The DM starts counting distance; the hand scuttles off into a hole and we leave initiative. The altar is pulsing with strange blue light, as before, but there are no creatures. Skabb splats some mud on herself.

Sprocket wants to know if Horizon Thunder Sphere would do anything on the altar. It’s made of stone, so…? While attuned to its deity, it’s effectively immune to damage. What if we desecrated it? Skabb offers up her copious amounts of piss.

Skabb crits her mud check for healing. Is she an Expert at Nature? Yes - so she regains 4d8+10 hp, and is very pleased with herself. “She’s head to toe in mud and having a lovely time.” We sit and heal up for a bit, and Sprocket does some Risky Surgery on Hartvig, while standing on his chest. “Don’t worry. I’m a expert.” 25 is a critical success at Expert level, so that’s 4d8 plus 10! Sprocket, pleased: “When it works it works. I never wash my lucky scalpel.”

Skabb splats some more mud on Luna for 19 hp back, and she’s back to full.

Jorg’ath, immediately upon being healed, and not even back to full: “Right, let’s go kill ‘em.” Wait, wait wait. We’re missing Augustus and Grabby, should we hold off until tomorrow? Sprocket Summons Augustus back, and Skabb splats some mud on him for himself and Sprocket.

We send Augustus and Jorg’ath ahead first, learning as we have to put our tanks to good use and keep our mages and ranged fighters out of it. Look at us, doins learnins!

We plan. The tanks are going to draw the creatures out towards us and bring them in range of the ranged ones. Augustus has a great plan but he can’t tell Jorg’ath about it because he only speaks Gnomish and doesn’t like his own speaking voice. The two of them shimmy forward square by square, until the DM yells at them to “Stop right there!”

The wisps and the hands reappear. Jorg’ath and Augustus get to make Will saves. Jorg’ath: “Irrelevant, because Jorg’ath fears no one.” DM: “Wrong.” He talks to himself for a minute while we await our fate. They don’t have to roll after all, but we do all roll initiative.

Luna goes first, and clears her throat. “Right.” (Some shit is about to go down.) She hides. DM: “You’re confident that you’re hidden.” Luna: “Are you confident that I’m hidden?” 20 hits, 17 doesn’t.

(Skabb and Jorg’ath both object to the term organ grinder, which the DM used to describe Sprocket versus Augustus. DM “I acknowledge and disregard your complaints.”)

The hand recognises Jorg’ath, and goes scuttling up to him, excited. Claw attacks, one hits. Another goes for Augustus and hits. 6 slashing, and goes again but misses.

Hartvig shoots a Needle Dart right through Jorg’ath to the one in front of him, but misses.

Nadia misses with a Tanglefoot bag in her crossbow, even with a hero point, and ducks into an alcove.

Jorg’ath gets a howdydoodis, and eats one of the hands!

Sprocket thought the plan was for the tanks to draw them out this way; he forgot to account for the barbarian getting excited and forgetting the plan. Well, there were a lot of hands being eaten. (To emphasise his point, Jorg'ath uses a finger to pick the rest of the hand out of his teeth.)

Augustus does a Fist Slam, 24 hits for 5 damage. 22 misses but only just. DM: “It pops out the way on its nasty fingers.” Augustus casts Shield on himself, and that’s them done.

Skabber. What’s the range on a sling, she wants to know? She can’t find it on her sheet. 50 feet, she is told. “Well that’s bollocks innit.” Jorg’ath tells her to do a little shimmy. She shimmies up to Hartvig and elbows him in the shin. “‘Iya!” 28 hits for 6 damage, nice. She does it again, but crit fails.

A flickerwisp flickers at Jorg’ath forcing a save - 16, and he is Confused. Jorg’ath: “That’s not unusual.” It consumes his confusion and gets some hp back for itself. Another does the same to Augustus, who also fails his save.

Top of the round, Luna. She Hides and shoots again and crits the fuck out of all of it, critting her crit damage as well for MAXIMUM DAMAGE and a howdy doodis! The wisp slumps against the shrine, and Jorg’ath thinks he somehow did that. Luna gets a Hero Point for being amazing!

A hand claws at Jorg’ath and misses.

Hartvig is next, and he does some measuring before critting his Needle Darts attack! Howdy Doodis! It is pinned to the rock behind it. (Jorg’ath thinks he’s doing all this, and he’s loving it.) Hartvig gets a Hero Point as well.

Nadia has a terrible round and wastes her last Tanglefoot bag, and her last Hero Point, in spite of Guidance from Hartvig.

It’s all down to Jorg’ath. 15 is a miss. 30 hits - 15 damage with his additional acid. The light has dimmed substantially but it's still up. 10 misses, and that’s him.

Sprocket is next, and all Augustus’ attacks miss. Luna and Hartvig have used up all the crits.

Skabb is next. She bites something with her Grill and gets the howdy doodis! Excited to desecrate the altar, she clambers up onto it only to discover that she’s run out of goblin wee.

Sprocket thinks that this altar will spawn a new wisp at dawn, every day until there are four. There might be a way to shut it down, but he doesn’t know what. Some manner of occult magic is involved. Hartvig cracks his knuckles and steps up.

He thinks perhaps an idol of an opposing deity might do it, or some other symbol antithetical to Nimboloth. (Nadia asks for a Hero Point for being the only one who remembered the god’s name, and gets one! If there's one thing to be learned from Baby Skabb and her macarons, it's that if you don't ask, you don't get.) Nimboloth is an outer god. She is Chaotic Evil, and can see into this realm through the eyes of will o wisps and the like.

Skabb gets bored and wants to listen at a door - not the one that leads back to Hartvig’s torture girlfriend. She hears absolutely nothing… She opens it, to see a corridor. She goes in to see stairs in both directions. She comes back out and announces what she’s discovered, before sitting down to eat some grubs she’s found.

Hartvig has already experienced the torture of rejection so he doesn’t want to go back and see the lady. DM: “Well, you’re back up to full, so you could probably survive one or two lines of dialogue with her.”

With that we wrap up, after our weekly prayer of thanks to the DM for not killing us. “Well, I do try.”