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no-droids · 4 years ago

Text

Kar’taylir

gif credit @sersi

Part Thirteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 11.8K

Warnings: language, angst and fluff, descriptions of a dead body, no real smut in this one but there is some nudity and touching, uhhh i think thats it tbh

A/N: Omg hi hi hello this was written in a week and a half so please be gentle, also I’m back on my linguistics bullshit and I can absolutely guarantee a vast majority of it is inaccurate

***

Everybody is asleep and you’re just a complete mess.

Truly. And it fucking sucks, because this should be enjoyable. This is home. You’re in hyperspace, the hull is pitch black, the baby is asleep, and Din’s breathing is slow and quiet through the darkness. Your cheek presses to his chest as it rises and falls hypnotically, you’re comfortable and safe and this would normally be a dream. But your eyes are wide open right now and you are just going through it. Spiraling in the midst of the most stable surroundings you could possibly conceive.

You suppose that this is partially your fault. You don’t know why literally any part of you expected Din would explain himself without prompting from you, but you still couldn’t work up nearly the nerve necessary to ask. Every potential question you came up with contradicted your intent, every way you tried to mentally phrase it gave off the wrong impression. How do you ask somebody if they were being serious about something without revealing anything about your own intentions? You can’t—that’s a downside of staying silent.

Din hasn’t said a single word since he urged you to leave the shooting range earlier, and he didn’t really seem like the quiet didn’t suit him, if that makes sense. Yours was awkward, it fit you wrong. You struggled for words while he easily ignored their existence altogether, able to navigate the Crest into hyperspace and exist comfortably around you without ever addressing the giant bantha in the room. Maybe that’s part of the reason you floundered so hard—he didn’t avoid you, he held the kid while you took a shower in the small fresher, and even though he was quieter around you than he’d been in awhile, he gave no indication that anything was wrong at all.

You spent that time getting clean but also formulating some sort of plan. As you bathed in actual water for the first time in a week and scrubbed your body clean, you tried to figure out at least why you were having so much trouble coming up with something to say, but even then, words evaded you. You spent the entire time staring blankly at the metal wall, at a complete fucking loss.

When you came out of the fresher with wet hair and comfortable clothing to sleep in, Din was armorless and resting in your makeshift bed on the floor, the baby tucked soundly in his crib next to him. You turned off the lights and carefully found your way under the blankets next to him in the pitch blackness, feeling him lazily reach around you and pull you to rest against his chest. His fingers gently drew circles along your arm for maybe the first few minutes while you worked up the nerve to speak. You needed to say something, this was your chance—

But then his hand soon fell to rest in one place on your shoulder and he passed out. Helmet on, not even a few minutes of your quiet breathing next to him.

So now, you’re here, just… a little ball of stress in the middle of paradise. Hours have passed, you need sleep after such a physically exhausting week but it’s like you haven’t even processed the fucking proposition he presented to you yet. You’re having trouble even thinking the words, that’s how much he’s got you fucked up.

He said… hit the target and I’ll ma…. hit the target and I’ll marrrrr…

Fuck. You stay on that loop for ages until your eyes begin to grow heavy, until you just settle on thinking about it with them closed. Slow breaths from Din under one ear, the silence of hyperspace all around you—how are you supposed to contemplate when his body is so warm? No, you can ask tomorrow, you’ll ask him tomorrow.

Eventually, you’re able to drift off into a troubled slumber, dreaming of bells made of beskar that deafen anyone who rings them.

***

You wake up what feels like two minutes later.

It’s not, but you don’t know that. You’re so warm and the second your eyes open, they start stinging and burning and tearing up like your body just wants to cry for even being awake right now. You finally got to sleep—you moan pitifully and start to turn your head further into the warm blankets, but then a gloved hand smooths your hair back and a voice whispers quiet through the darkness.

“I have to go.”

And oh, his touch is just the gentlest thing, but what he says makes your already fragile mental state want to shatter. The first words he gives you in hours and they’re the ones you loathe to hear the most.

“W-Wha? No,” you whimper and automatically reach for him, your throat starting to close up. Maker, you’re so tired, you’re so tired, you feel so fucking emotional and vulnerable right now and you’re not even awake enough to realize it. “Why?”

Din just catches your hands and brings both of them together in front of him, slowly pressing your knuckles to the cold beskar on the face of his helmet.

“I meet with Karga in three days,” he murmurs back, voice pillow-soft and barely loud enough to come through the steel under your fingers. It’s gentle and lulling and it makes you want to sleep again, but you can’t and you feel like you could burst into tears for that reason alone. “He gave me four pucks, I need four bodies.”

You can’t argue with it, the logic is perfectly sound. But you still want to, and everything inside you revolts at the thought of allowing him leave like this without fighting for more. Which means you have absolutely nothing reasonable or compelling to say to appeal to him; all you’re left with the glaring truth.

“But I don’t want you to leave,” you whisper, tightening your fingers.

And, perhaps if you were even half-conscious, you’d wince. You’d cringe at the shake in your voice, you’d remind yourself that he has to make a living, he’s said it over and over again. If you were completely awake, you’d scold yourself for being such a needy mess, but right now, all you can think about is how much you want him to stay, just this once.

After a moment, you feel the gloves carefully collect both of your hands into just one of his, and then he slowly reaches out with his free hand to cradle your jaw.

“I won’t be gone long,” Din murmurs. “I can’t be.”

Your head turns slowly in his palm, and you’re just so, so sleepy. Your voice is small and your words slur. “Stay with me.”

Quiet, and though you can’t see him, the leather continues to press so warm to your cheek. Your eyes slowly drift shut, needing him to stay exactly like this, stay right here just like this. Karga can wait, the quarry can wait, the galaxy can wait—everything else can wait when things are like this, when he’s looking down at you breathing slow into his palm.

You’re almost asleep again when you hear him say something.

But… you have no idea what he says. You hear it. You hear his voice come through the pitch black, quiet enough to sit just on top of the silence and let the mysterious words simply become a part of it, but it’s strange. Like his cadence lilts in a different way, the vowels are longer than what you’re used to, and your comprehension abruptly falters like it would if he was speaking another language altogether.

Maybe it’s just because it’s the first thing to pull you back from the edges of sleep, that has to be right. It doesn’t sound like Basic because your mind is stupid and slow right now. You need to ask him to repeat himself, but all that you can muster is the soft sound of confusion, not even able to open your eyes anymore.

His hands pull away from you and once again, you suddenly can’t decide between sleep and crying, quickly lifting and trying to reach out for him in the darkness. You can’t feel anything, it’s like he’s completely disappeared from where you assumed he’d be, except then something tiny is placed into your hands instead and it makes an unhappy little sound at being disturbed. You automatically hold the baby close to your chest and strong hands touch your shoulders, urging you to lay back down again.

“Leave the engine running, you’ll freeze if you don’t,” he mutters, quickly tucking the blankets up under your body while you close your eyes and feel the tears wet your lashes. Fuck, you’re so exhausted, you just need to sleep. “If I’m not back in sixteen hours, I’ll use my e-comm and you’ll have to fly out to me.”

He steps away from you, walks quickly and with purpose to the side of the hull, and a blast of frigid air fills the room before the door is slammed shut behind him.

***

Your head hurts.

Sparks and wires give your fingers mean, zapping reminders to pay attention every time your focus slips, but you still feel like you’re in a daze.

“Come on,” you drone, trying to use your voice to snap yourself back into the present, but the sound of it isn’t even interesting enough to pull you away. “Come on.”

Maker, you’re going fucking crazy. Is this just all an elaborate scheme to make you experience the same kind of insanity he told you he struggles with in your absence? Because you don’t like this—you hate feeling like this, you can’t concentrate on anything and even if he hadn’t instructed you to do so, you’d likely still be counting the hours of his absence.

Fourteen have passed so far, not the sixteen you’re waiting for but getting close. It’s one thing you’ve been able to accomplish. Counting. You can still count right now, so at least there’s that.

Oh, and another hoop you’ve jumped through. Understanding words. You can listen and repeat, even if you still can’t fully comprehend, but you’re getting there.

Din said… hit the target and I’ll marry you.

He said that. Yep. You’ve accepted it, you’ve accepted the words that were said. Indeed.

Okay, but now… like…

What did he mean by that? Why did he say that?

No matter how much you tell yourself he was just messing around—no matter how many times you offer up that perfectly logical answer to the burning question you’ve been sitting on, you still aren’t satisfied with it. Something keeps tugging your mind back to it, a tether constantly pulling you away from the work that’s designed to be your distraction.

You frown down at the box of machinery. Whelp, if he was serious, he’d probably immediately take the offer back after witnessing your behavior this morning. You embarrassed yourself terribly, you acted like a clingy baby in the looming shadow of unconsciousness and what’s worse, you can’t even remember what he said after you begged him to stay. It could’ve been a quiet, “Stars, pull yourself together,” for all you know.

And honestly, just… fuck these electronics. You’re at the point where you’d probably cheer on whatever brutal impact damaged them so atrociously if you weren’t also well aware that this box was very likely attached to Din’s chest when it was crushed. The magnetics are a complete mess, and you’re mostly just attempting to see how the individual components of each piece are supposed to communicate. Turning the switch on doesn’t do much at all besides make the capacitors put out heat. Not enough to shut it down or be a hazard to the housing when you close it, but enough to know that it’s going to present a problem for you at some point.

What’s more, you’re so lost in your own thoughts and busywork that you don’t see two green ears poking out over the top of the pile of armor on your temporary workstation (literally just the floor) until one of the thigh braces comes clattering down and the whole thing collapses with a ruckus.

You suddenly shove the metal box away from you in frustration and you reach for the little troublemaker with a sigh, scooping him up and getting to your feet.

“This isn’t going to work,” you grunt to him, hearing your words better for some reason when you direct them at the baby instead of talking to yourself, and his eh? allows the thoughts to come clearer and easier. No, you can’t be distracted when your distraction is just another part of your status quo, you can’t use fixing mechanics to occupy yourself because it’s what you’ve done to occupy yourself your entire life, it’s worn off at this point. You need something newer. Something that takes your entire focus to do.

Eventually, your eyes drift over to the one metal panel on the wall that you’ve rarely ever opened. One that takes up a comparatively enormous amount of space in the hull considering what you know it holds. You eye the kid in your arm, who suddenly has sneaky painted all over his expression. “You thinking what I’m thinking, demon?”

He squeaks his affirmative and you move over to the armory, pressing a few buttons before the doors slide open by themselves. Because of course Mando invested in hydraulics for the gun closet but not for the hidden cot he used to sleep on, of course.

“Maker above,” you groan as the metal slides open, needing to lift your chin to eye the enormous collection. How many fucking…? All this for just one person? What does that big one in the middle do that the others stacked strategically around it don’t? They all kill whatever you point and shoot at, you’re assuming? Are you missing something?

The baby makes a tiny sound of awe as you carefully look over your choices, not expecting nearly this many to be offered, before settling on one that looks the simplest. A sleek silver one that’s still too big for your hand but smaller than anything else on the rack.

Grabby fingers reach out for the shiny metal as soon as you remove it from the shelf and you very purposefully set it down out of his pitiful wingspan. “Nope. Now come on, gotta bundle up.”

You make your way back over to the bed and pull one of the thickest blankets up, settling it over the open shield and then situating your partner in crime in his usual spot inside. You strategically stuff and stack the fabric around him to make sure he’ll be warm enough in what you know has to be far below freezing temperatures, lifting it up over his ears and wrapping it around his neck in a loose hood. He blinks up at you with gigantic eyes and an open mouth, clearly thrilled about your willingness to go on an adventure with him this time instead of being the tall nuisance that consistently holds him back from one, and you scoff down at him as you partially close the lid on his levitating nest of blankets for extra protection. He should be warm enough, you’re not going to be outside long.

And then you pull out nearly half the amount of clothes you own and suit up in what feels like ten layers before grabbing the blaster. The swirling wind nearly shoves the heavy hull door into you as soon as you open it and—Maker.

You look back at the kid behind you for a second, wondering if it’s too late to change your mind. His expression narrows and he makes a triumphant ha! while pointing three fingers at the grey blizzard through the small open space in his crib. Try as you might, you can’t ignore a call to arms when delivered with such ferocity.

Both of you step outside and take in the view after you wrestle with the door to haul it shut. You don’t know the name of this planet but from what you can see, it’s one giant ice ball, mountainous and cold as fuck. Though, to be honest, your only indication that it’s truly cold as fuck is the continuously accumulating snow blanketing the landscape and the flurries dancing in the whipping wind. You’re too warm-blooded for climates like these—anything below room temperature and you’re freezing, you have absolutely no tolerance for cold whatsoever.

Keeping that in mind, you don’t travel far at all. Just a few steps beyond the entrance to your shelter before eyeing what appears to be a large white boulder in the distance. There’s a solid target, you figure—you’ll be able to see chunks splintering off when you hit it and the ice isn’t strong enough to bounce plasma back, you won’t have any ricochets.

Okay. Okay—safety, where’s the safety on this one? Ah, yes, okay—safety, off. Stance, find your stance. There it is. Alright, now lift. Lift, get that stupid frozen ball right in your sights, line it up. Hold. Hold. Hold.

Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale—

Fire.

You watch with bated breath as the bright red bolt launches from the end of the barrel and travels across the distance before melting a hole in the snow just to the right of your target.

“Mother fucker!” You yell into the frigid landscape without warning, suddenly infuriated. What’s the point of even having a sight if every gun is just gonna say fuck you no matter what? Could there be some sort of mathematical reason why you seem to be fucking atrocious at this, you wonder? Are you fucking up the angle somehow while trying to read the scope? Should you just ignore it and try to aim without thinking too hard?

Admittedly, you spend the next five minutes shooting at that stupid fucking thing, not making a single shot. It’s not been long at all, but your entire body is already trembling uncontrollably and it is just too fucking cold out here. Freezing your fucking ass off isn’t going to help your aim of course, but it’s almost just tragic at this point. Either you’ve got to accept that you’re just absolutely hopeless at this, or you’ve got to… blame the little womprat behind you for messing up your shots, yeah. It wouldn't surprise you.

As a last ditch effort, you consider trying something a bit ridiculous to see if he really is fucking with you.

“I’m firing one last shot,” you call out loudly over the sound of the bristling wind and flurries, making sure he can hear your narration from his little blanket cave behind you. “If I hit the target… I will present our demon overlord with a chunk of raw meat later for dinner.”

You give the offer a moment to sink in before raising the blaster, and then you jerk it up at the very last second while pulling the trigger. The arc of plasma quickly disappears into the gloomy skies over the top of the ice boulder, completely straight.

You switch the safety on and turn around to say something smart to him, but… well. Uh. That’s an empty crib.

Sudden panic rips through you at the sight of the wide open shield, the blanket left abandoned inside. Your head whips around in horror, wondering where the fuck he could’ve gone—but then you’re able to spot tiny footprints in the snow. Your eyes quickly follow them up and see the baby wading his way up a large hill, slow against the terrain and trying in vain to get to something at the very top.

You drop the blaster and bolt through the blizzard to get to him while calling out through the freezing air and wishing, not for the first time, that you had a name to roar and strike fear into his tiny little heart. In this case, you prefer a middle name as well.

Finally reaching him and yanking him up from the snow, you tuck him under the warmest part of your arm and open your mouth to start venting the terror from your body, but he makes a distressed noise and starts climbing. You fumble with him on your way back down, not expecting that response, but he’s so distraught and preoccupied that he’s unable to stay still, trying to find different ways of escaping your grasp and making more and more sounds to indicate something is wrong.

“What the fuck are you—” you stuff him into the shield and at least get the blankets wrapped around him before looking back and trying to spot whatever he’s still wiggling and attempting to get to. Frustrated cries start filling the icy air and… okay. “Okay,” you tell him, your breath puffing like smoke in front of you, “okay okay, we can go look, but you need to stay warm.”

You clutch the edge of his metal shield and urge it to follow you back up the snowy hill, feeling the crunch of your feet disappear further and further into it as you climb. Your outer two layers are probably soaked by now—stars, it’s so fucking cold. You know you’re not exactly the best judge, but you’ve been outside less than five minutes and you’re already worried about getting sick or frostbite, already jumpy and wanting to go back to the warmth of the hull.

But as you reach the top and look out in the distance, you can just barely make out a familiar metallic glint on the horizon.

Your heart picks up, but the baby makes another distressed sound. Not… happy, not thrilled that his dad is coming back. Some strange sort of dread begins to fill you, carefully holding the kid in his shield with one hand and looking at the bright reflection of light a little ways away just to make sure it’s…

No, it’s not moving. Not disappearing and reappearing, not catching the sunlight differently. Completely stationary in this absolutely horrendous weather.

You immediately make your way in that direction, your body deciding to outright abandon its trembling in the wake of this newfound worry. You’re suddenly sweating, way too warm. That’s Din, you recognize the glint of his armor anywhere, but why isn’t he moving?

The closer you get, the faster you move and the more you’re able to see. He’s laying facedown in the snow. There’s quite a bit of it covering the back of his cape, maybe a few inches, and… there’s also someone laying equally as lifeless behind him. Your heart is slamming now, you’re doing your best to run in the unforgiving terrain, and you finally see that it’s… a corpse, a frozen corpse is behind him with a rope tied around its ankles, clutched tight in Din’s unmoving fist as it lays against the pure white backdrop.

“Mando?” You call out, dropping to your knees as soon as you reach him. “Hey—hey, can you hear me?”

The beskar strapped to him is frozen over and feels colder than ice when you try to shake him. He doesn’t respond. He’s dead weight; you do your best to turn him over on his back, but you still get nothing from him. You shove your trembling fingers up under the helmet, and the only reassurance you have that he’s even alive comes from the petrifyingly slow pulse beating underneath. His skin is ice cold.

Shit, he’s still breathing but he’s hypothermic, you have to get him back to the Crest right fucking now.

You fumble to get in position above his head while hooking both your arms under his, before leaning everything you have into it—but fuck, he’s so heavy. You can barely lift him even just a few inches off the ground—the snow is deep, his armor makes him weigh a ton and the fabric wrapped around him is sopping wet. You try again, making a tight sound in your throat while you haul, but it’s no use.

“Fuck,” you curse, starting to panic even fucking harder. You’re gasping and breathless and getting dizzy and scared, continuing to try and find different angles to heave—

—until suddenly the burden is lifted.

You nearly fall backwards on your ass at the abrupt removal of tension, playing tug-of-war with a team that decided to give up with no warning. But it’s like it almost doesn’t even phase you; you don’t even look behind you to see the baby’s eyes closed tight in concentration, you just recover and pull with both arms, feeling Din’s body gliding easily along the snow now and leading him all the way back down the hill.

Once you get inside the Crest and shut the door to the raging blizzard behind the three of you, there’s an extended moment where you just… you don’t know what to do. You know all about how to deal with heatstroke, but this is the opposite—he either spent too long in the cold, or he exhausted himself trying to get back too quickly and then spent too long in the cold. He said he’d use his e-comm if he wasn’t back in sixteen hours—was that the cutoff? The point where the temperature outside would shut his body down and he’d need you to come get him?

Regardless, you need to warm him up. Yes, that’s your priority, and you figure the quickest and safest way to accomplish it has to be the shower in slow increments. The kid helps you move Din into the tiny fresher in the hull and then you sit on the floor with him, holding his limp body to your chest while reaching up to turn the faucet on.

Cold water sprays down and then suddenly—oof, he’s heavier than fuck again. Air leaves your lungs and your neck cranes back under the unexpected increase in pressure on top of you to see the kid climbing down from his shield, no longer focused on mentally bearing most of his father’s weight or directing his own hovering form of transportation along behind you. The baby disappears out of sight and you huff, completely trapped under Din as freezing water rains down on you.

Fuck, it’s so cold. It’s way too fucking cold for you, but your core body temperature is also mostly normal right now. Din’s isn’t, you’ll probably shock his system if you try to warm him up too quickly. So you reach up and twist the knob, keeping it at a temperature he’d probably find just the slightest bit warm while inspiring violent shudders from you.

“H-Hey, I’m gonna t-t-take this off, o-okay—” you stutter down at him, knowing damn well he isn’t conscious to hear you but giving him that reassurance on the small chance he is, and then reach with trembling fingers to work at his armor. You worry that the beskar is keeping the cold trapped the same way his clothes are, like having solid pieces of ice strapped to his body and nothing to protect him besides a few layers of soaking wet fabric.

The chestpiece comes off and you throw it blindly over your shoulder into the hull with a clang—admittedly, without thinking about where the baby is at all anymore. The pauldrons come off next, but not before you reach up and turn the heat up just the slightest bit. Your jerky limbs just want to blast it and remove the rest of his clothes in steamy hot water, but you can’t. Even though your mind is hurtling at a thousand lightyears an hour, whatever reason you have left reminds you that you have to be patient or risk losing him entirely.

Eventually you’re able to get all the armor off but you hate the way he’s breathing right now. Slow and shallow, like he just doesn’t really need the air at all but his body is still fighting for it on instinct. His chest barely moves with it even when it’s got nothing weighing it down.

“You’ll b-be okay,” you say aloud, talking to the both of you even though only one is capable of responding. “Y-Y-You’ll be o-okay—”

You reach up to inch the temperature a little higher, shivering terribly now. His body feels slightly warmer under the shower than it did with the beskar, but you know you need to keep going and take the fabric off now. Maker, it’s nearly impossible—the black clothing clings to his skin and its such a small space to maneuver, but it gives your mind and hands a clear goal to focus on while the water incrementally heats up.

Strangely, your adrenaline has been rocketing for so long that you almost lose track of time. You just keep deadly focused on your task of undressing him and slowly heating the shower, trying not to think, trying not to get in your head and bring about disaster in such a crucial set of moments.

At some point, the water is warm. Comfortably warm, and Din’s body isn’t ice cold anymore. It’s warm, too, laying back into your chest and naked besides the helmet, but he’s still not moving. No response, no matter how much mindless drabble you supply, no matter how steamy and hot the shower has become, no matter how much your own body has heated up. Your fingers have found their home under his jaw, pressed right to his pulse point and feeling it continue to beat slow and faint, but you’re starting to feel the terror set in. Real terror, the kind that makes you stupid and emotional, the kind that turns you back into a child again.

“I don’t know if it’s working,” you suddenly choke out, close to tears. He’s warm, what else can you do for him? Why is he not waking up? “I-I don’t know what to do, Din, I…”

No—no, you cannot lose your shit, not yet. You will exhaust every fucking option before you let that fear set in. He’s not waking up because he needs to recover, his body needs time to work things out in a warm, comfortable environment. He’s breathing, his heart is beating, he’s warm, and he’s still with you, so… you need to still be with him.

You turn the water off and clumsily get up, grabbing him under the arms and hauling him back into the hull. He’s still heavy but it’s so much easier than before to move him; there’s no armor weighing him down anymore besides the helmet, no cape or snow or friction to catch him, no cold to lock your muscles up. It’s slow going but you’re finally able to settle him in the warmth of your shared bed and then cover his body in the collection of blankets you’ve amassed. You stand up and peel off all your wet layers of clothing, letting them plop to the metal floor while glancing around for the kid—

—who is currently swinging from the ladder to the cockpit with one hand.

It startles you for just a moment, just long enough for you to wonder what the fuck he thinks he’s doing up there, but then you figure that if he found some way to get up there then he can surely find his way back down again.

As you quickly drop to the bed and scoot up next to Din’s limp body under the blankets, the Crest’s engine suddenly gives a low rumble below the floor and heat starts blowing through the hull vents. Again, you’re too preoccupied to even notice the gift much. You’re tugging and tucking blankets around him and up under the metallic edge of his helmet when...

Maker, you need to take this off. If the inside is wet, it’s probably keeping his head cold while the rest of him is warm from the shower. You know it’s not a light thing—you know… you know at least a fraction of what this means. You won’t look, you won’t look unless something absolutely drastic happens and it’s completely unavoidable, but you need to take his helmet off.

You catch the shoulder furthest from you and tug at his heavy body until he’s on his side, facing you on the bed.

“Din, I have to take your helmet off,” you warn him, saying it slowly and clearly. Again, just in case. “I’m not gonna look. Nobody is gonna look—” your gaze flicks behind him to eye the baby, who is now somehow on the metal ground and waddling up to you both. He blinks enormous black eyes at you, looking between you and his father huddled together under the blankets.

“Close your eyes,” you tell him very seriously, no room for negotiating. “I know you understand me.”

It takes just a few seconds before he lifts his hands up and does exactly what you say, placing his fingers over his closed eyelids and then even so much as toddling around to face the wall. You gasp in relief, clenching your eyes firmly shut and then pulling the helmet up, making sure you catch his head before it falls with one hand while tossing the beskar somewhere in the hull with the other.

Cold. His hair is soaking wet and so cold, and his head rolls slightly as you guide it to rest in the warmest part of your neck. Your hand stays attached to the back of it, wanting to transfer every single bit of warmth from your palm to him, and your eyes open to the kid’s back as your other arm wraps around Din’s bare spine.

And then all at once, you just feel… helpless. He’s in your arms but Maker, you don’t know what else you can do. The heat is blasting, you’re warm and pressed against him under multiple blankets, the engine is slowly heating the metal floor, but his breathing. Slow. Shallow. Barely able to be felt against your neck. He’s here but he’s not. And you have no way of knowing if he’s getting closer or further away from you.

Tears start coming before you even realize. But you have nothing to say. After spending the entire time talking out loud, providing reassurances, narrating, distracting yourself—you don’t have anything anymore. The silence twists you tighter, the nothing becomes inescapable, and the sudden sob that leaves you echoes hauntingly throughout the hull. You pull his limp body as close to you as possible for comfort. Wake up. Wake up.

Your vision is watery—you don’t see it. You don’t see the kid slowly turn around and take a few steps forward. You only notice he’s there when green catches in the abstract blur, but you sniff and blink quickly to clear it. It only takes a second to see the baby’s hand, extending and pressing against the blanket covering Din’s back, and you watch with wide eyes as he closes his.

And then there’s a second. A second where you dare to hope. Where you wonder if it’s even something that can be done.

The kid lowers his hand just a moment later and stumbles back a few steps, before plopping down on the ground and slowly falling backwards. You have just enough time to see his little body inhale and exhale a few times as he sleeps, and then—

—and then Din suddenly jolts in your arms, bursting with too much life after spending too many heart wrenching moments without it.

“Shhh,” you breathe, instantly tightening your grip on the back of his head so he doesn’t pull away from you in a panic and keeping it tucked into the warmest part of your neck, right where your pulse thrums fast and present. Your eyes clench tightly shut just in case and your heart bursts with pure, blinding, heavenly relief. “Shhh sh sh, stay right here, just stay right here…”

As soon as he seems to recognize your voice and figure out that he’s not dead, his body immediately starts wreaking with shivers. You squeeze him tight to you, feeling his large, quaking frame curl inwards into you for warmth, burying his own face into your neck even further and breathing shallow but quickly now, like his body actually wants the air again. You do your best to will your blood to pump faster and provide him that relief, stretching and opening your body as much as possible to give him warmth.

And then you spend the next few hours like that. Holding him, murmuring gently to him, providing him with your body heat and stars, he fucking clings to you. He presses tight to you and trembles, and you don’t even know if he’s listening, but you keep talking. Finding words for hours, and while some of them are just different ways of saying the same thing, you say them anyway.

He’s okay. The kid is okay. Everyone is okay.

Eventually, the shivering dies down until it stops altogether. Din stays in one place and goes completely limp again, but this time he continues to breathe you in, slow and deep into the crook of your neck. Fast asleep in your arms, and you thank the good fucking Maker above for the little angel passed out on the floor behind him.

***

He has to meet with Karga in two days.

After a few more hours of holding him and making absolutely sure he’s going to be alright, that’s all you can stupidly think about.

A deadline. A very quickly approaching one.

You don’t know why. But it might have something to do with the fact that you want nothing more than to climb up into the cockpit and navigate the ship off this horrid planet, and you can’t. You’re confident that the hull and blankets are warm enough by themselves to keep Din comfortable as he recovers, and you’ve also had quite a while to regroup and get your mind thinking logically again, so you’re not worried about getting up and leaving him right now, no. That’s not the problem.

The problem is that there’s a corpse outside. You know this. You know it’s there, and you know he needs it. Nobody’s gonna take his word for just saying they’re dead, much less pay him for his services; no body, no bounty. You also know it’s probably being covered with fresh snow right now, or maybe some sort of wild animal has already gotten their teeth into it, if anything can even survive out there. And you’re the only one awake. The only one capable of going to get it.

You’ve been arguing with yourself. For about an hour, you’ve been struggling with the thought. Din is soft and warm and every breath makes you focus less on the terrifying moments that occurred and more on the need to step up once again.

In the end, it’s the kid who gives you the final push. You’re not going to leave him laying on the floor like that for any longer. Not after what he did.

You take a second, grabbing the blanket and pulling it up all the way over Din’s head as it rests warm and comfortable in your neck. You’re incredibly careful to cover his face, and even while climbing out of the warm cocoon of the bed, you keep your eyes firmly shut and continue to pull the fabric even higher, making absolutely sure you’re not going to see his face on accident. You shouldn’t, you don’t think, as long as he doesn’t jerk awake and pull it down himself, but you want to take extra precaution regardless.

After quickly yanking on some clothes, you immediately make your way over to the kid and pick him up, seeing his little mouth open as he snores—and oh, you just have to. You pull him to your chest and give him the most heartfelt, thankful embrace you can while not squishing him, before setting him down in his much more comfortable hovering blanket palace and closing the lid on it.

You know you have a very clear task now, but for just a few moments longer, you do your best to stall despite the ticking clock. You start to pick up the mess in the hull—you close the fresher door, pick up Din’s discarded armor and set it in a neat pile close to the bed, place the helmet under the vent to encourage the padding inside to dry faster, and then you collect his old armor and stuff it back into one of the storage cubbies with your toolbox.

Only, an idea suddenly occurs to you as you’re putting away the chestpiece. When you open the door to the hull, you know that a blast of cold air is going to flood the ship. The engine is still heating everything inside and making sure you don’t get trapped in the snow by continuously melting it on the outside, but you don’t want Din to start shivering again.

So you grab the dented piece of electronics you were working on and flip the power switch, feeling the capacitors slowly start to heat up inside the housing. You go back over and lift the blanket near his feet just enough to tuck the metal under it, close enough to Din that he’ll feel the same amount of warmth your body was providing him but not enough to overheat.

And then you make your way over to your bag and pull on the rest of your clothes, now exhausting almost every single clean thing you own just to make another trek through the snow. You’re in the middle of pulling on your fifth pair of pants when the thought truly sinks in.

A corpse. A dead body. That you’re actually considering going out into the worst fucking weather in the galaxy to search for, haul back to the ship, and put into carbonite. Because of a fucking deadline for an occupation very much not your own, very much not chosen by you.

You quickly walk over and leave through the door on the side of the hull before you can change your mind, slamming it shut behind you.

***

Well, it’s… It’s not too terrible, you guess.

It’s been frozen out here for hours, that’s why. It’s not bloody, not gory, not demented or malformed in any way. Tranquil almost, like the creature died in its sleep in this nightmarish landscape, perfectly at peace.

You still don’t want to get anywhere close to it, but you have to. You pull a face and slowly reach out, absolutely not thinking about the literal impossibility of it playing dead and just waiting for the moment to strike, but even still… Even if there was nothing more sinister hiding underneath the surface of this scene, it’s still… existentially fucked up. The last time you were confronted with a dead body, Din had to be the one to dispose of it—you couldn’t even think about it without threatening another wave of shock to your system.

And now you’re voluntarily grabbing the rope around one’s ankles and dragging it back down the pure white slope to the Razor Crest.

It doesn’t weigh that much and its icy exterior seems to work in your favor; it slides easily along the snow as soon as you get it moving. As the ship comes back into view, you hurry to the door and you’re just about to open it when you suddenly get the feeling that you’re forgetting something…

Oh—

It takes a few moments of searching around in the freshly fallen snow, but eventually your fingers brush metal underneath and you stand, reaching behind you to tuck the blaster into your waistband. When you’re positive you’re not going to accidentally shoot a chunk of your ass off on accident, you shove open the door and pull the body inside, before locking it tight behind you and keeping the frigid winter from touching this warm, quiet safe-haven.

There. Halfway done. You almost don’t want to look in case he wakes up unexpectedly, but then you find yourself peeking over your shoulder at the silhouette of Din’s body still passed out under the blankets and you’re thankful the squeaks and slams didn’t disturb him.

And then you take just a second to wonder if this is what it must be like for him. Minus your obvious discomfort and ickiness at beginning to haul the corpse over to the carbonite chamber, it seems like it’d be reminiscent of any other time he’s brought back a dead quarry while you and the baby slept soundly. Trying to be quiet, wanting it done and over with just to get back in bed that much faster, doing everything you can to prevent anything out there from so much as breathing on anything in here.

You do your best to hold on to the loveliness of the thought, because this part is the part you’re most anxious about.

The body needs to go into this slanted upright space so you can freeze it in carbonite. And in order to do that, you have to grab it and put it there. With your hands, you have to grab it. With your hands.

You look down at its face, calm and at peace, frozen and forever etched into that expression, and something twists in your heart. If it weren’t for the kid, that could’ve been Din. If it weren’t for the kid walking barefoot through snow, fighting an uphill battle to make sure you get to him, helping you drag him back here and then overexerting himself to make sure he’d be okay, that could’ve been Din. He drives you crazy on a consistent basis, but he came through today.

Know what? If that little squirt can save a grown man’s life twice in a few hours, then the least you can do is finish this job for all three of you and fly your asses out of here.

Weirdly enough, being frozen solid allows for way better handling than the alternative. It means you don’t actually have to touch it too much; you don’t have to deal with the limpness of death, it doesn’t seem as much like a person as it does a rigid board you’re simply moving from one place to another. You can just grab the shoulders and yank and the entire fucking thing goes with it, solid and upright, naturally wanting to lean back into the chamber so you don’t even have to hold it in place. The perfect quarry for you basically, day one stuff, as easy as it could get.

Almost done, almost done—you study the key panel on the upper-right frame before eventually pressing a few buttons, and then you step back as gas freezes and solidifies the corpse in its carbonite prison.

Yes. You’re done. You already want to take another shower just from touching it for a few seconds, but that can wait. Quickly making your way up the ladder and into the cockpit, you fire up the thrusters and then navigate the ship through and beyond the swirling white atmosphere of this dreadful fucking planet, before punching in familiar coordinates to Nevarro.

***

“Din,” you murmur, making sure you have your eyes completely covered with one hand before gently easing the blanket down from his face with the other. “Din, I want you to drink some wat—”

He jerks awake so suddenly that you hear the metal canteen fall over on the floor next to you, thank the Maker its lid is on tight. You automatically reach out to steady him, pressing your free hand to his bare chest and continuing to speak calmly and gently to reassure him, but he still scrambles to take in his surroundings after sleeping longer than he probably has in weeks.

You know what he’s seeing, even though you’re blind right now. You took time to make sure everything was settled before waking him. The hull is clean with only a single light to illuminate it, the baby is still snoozing in his closed crib, his armor is stacked in a neat pile, the blaster is put away, and you retired your makeshift blanket heater box so the only thing left is you. Freshly showered, hair dripping, offering him water, and dressed in just a thin shirt with nothing else (you ran out of things to wear).

“Wh-Where’s my h-h-helmet—” is the first thing he asks, voice broken and raspy. Stars, he needs water.

“The padding inside is wet,” you quickly supply, keeping your hand tight over the bridge of your eyes to make sure his freshly conscious mind immediately understands that you have no bad intentions. “I swear I didn’t look, and I made sure the kid didn’t either. He’s sleeping now, it’s just me—I swear nobody looked, I swear.”

You might just be saying the exact same thing over and over again and admittedly, that might be putting some weird kind of suspicion on you, but you just want to make sure he knows. Beyond a shadow of a doubt. It’s important that he knows he’s safe and that everything is okay now, even if he collapsed and spent an unknown amount of time in a purgatory where nothing was.

His body trembles under your palm, waves of shudders attacking him even after hours of keeping him as warm as possible. “Are—Are we st-still on H-Ho—H-Hoth—”

“No,” you answer. “We’re in hyperspace. Everything’s okay now, I took care of it. We’ll get to Nevarro on time.”

It’s like he takes just a few extra moments, as if he’s trying extra hard to remember before responding. “But—I d-didn’t—”

“You have four bodies for Karga,” you tell him, not letting him get too lost trying to recall something that no longer poses an issue. “I took care of it. You need rest, I only woke you up to make sure you drink some water, so please—” you blindly reach your hand out for the canteen you know has to be around here somewhere, but all you feel is…

His. Catching yours.

“Y-You took c-c-care of…” His hands are trembling harder than his voice. “Sh-shit, I’m freezing, I—”

“Drink some water,” you tell him, squeezing his fingers. “I’ll go turn off the light so you can sleep more, but you need water.”

His hand feels like it doesn’t quite want to let go of yours yet, but eventually it does and you hear the sloshing of water as the metal flask is picked up with an unsteady grip. Purposefully turning your back to him and making sure he’s not in your line of sight whatsoever, you finally let your hand drop and blink your eyes open at the wall across the hull. You hear Din shakily unscrew the lid while you stand up and find the light switch, before turning around in the pitch blackness and using his loud gulps as your guide back.

Your hands and knees are barely on the blanket when you hear him toss the empty canteen to the side and grab you, pulling you down to him.

Fuck, you’re not expecting it. You fumble in the dark but he doesn’t really give your clumsiness much of a choice—Din pulls you under the blankets like he needs you, his body craving that warmth even though his skin doesn’t feel cold at all. He hooks a strong forearm around your tummy, keeping your back pressed tight to his chest while the rest of him curls to fit every part of you, and you have to adjust the blankets yourself.

It’s not even a few seconds after you settle into position when his trembling hands jerk down to grab your shirt and yank it up. You quickly scramble to help him get you as naked as he is, feeling his palms drag greedily across the heat of your tummy and breasts before you’ve even finished wiggling the fabric over your head. The shirt lands somewhere in the darkness and you’re squeezed back against him, your hands landing on his forearms as they wrap around your waist and he clings shamelessly to you.

“You…” Din’s body still shivers every once in a while but the heat and closeness allows his voice to even out just a bit. He clears his throat and swallows, tucking his head and burying his face in your hair before trying again. “You brought back the qu-quarry?”

“Yes,” you confirm, confident in your reassurance but gentle at the same time. “It’s in carbonite.”

All you can feel or hear in response is his breathing. His heart beating steady and strong against your back.

And then Din’s arms suddenly squeeze you tight—tight. He lets out a low shaky exhale against the back of your shoulder and presses his lips to your skin. “Sweet girl.”

And he says just… so much with those two words. Slow and purposeful, the steadiest thing you’ve heard from him in hours. But the two biggest competing emotions you hear tugging at his vocal cords are gratitude and apprehension. Like he already knows that it couldn’t have been easy for you. Like he’s not taking it lightly.

You don’t want to talk about it. You don’t want to talk about anything that happened in the past few hours, not right now. “It’s okay. Please.”

This time his silence seems to be on the brink, as if he wants to say more but the extra plea you put on the end makes him hold onto his words, at least for now.

“How d-did you find me?” He asks instead, scooting his legs up enough that yours actually go with him. Cradled in his naked body, radiating heat so he can recover, pressed so close to him that you feel like gravity itself would be pushing you into his lap if the world weren’t sideways.

“The kid,” you tell him. “We were goofing around outside and he dragged me ov—”

It’s like he’s still so cold that even just the surprise of hearing you say that makes his whole body lock down and convulse a few times against your back. “You were wh-what?”

“I was practicing,” you openly admit to him, feeling like the earlier events already occurred a lifetime ago and you have no reason for being shy about it anymore. In fact, you’re glad you were there, being terrible at shooting. The alternative is unthinkable. Though, something tells you also improbable, having a little supernatural sidekick who cares so deeply for him. “I raided your armory. We weren’t outside for more than five minutes before I wanted to go back in, but then he found you.”

And you think he’s going to get after you, for some reason. Seems about on par, you figure—going outside for even just a few minutes on a planet whose name you now remember is colloquial slang for hell, even if it’s the only reason he’s not an icicle right now.

But he’s just quiet. Breathing. So you just relax into him, thinking that’s the end of it. You take a few deep breaths in through your nose and just… rest. In the near perfect silence of hyperspace you used to find haunting, but now only find comfort in. It reminds you of him.

“Did you hit the target?” He asks you quietly, and at first you scoff, about to ask if he’s kidding. No, of course you didn’t hit the…

Only, after a remarkable delay, hearing him phrase it that way suddenly makes your stomach decide to drop and do a fucking somersault on the ground out of absolutely nowhere.

Everything comes flooding back. The conflict you used to think was the most pressing thing, the one that kept you awake and your thoughts scrambled for hours. It feels like it was ages ago. An entire lifetime has passed since that happened, you might’ve forgotten it altogether if he didn’t decide to ask that very simple question in a very specific way.

“I…” you mumble in response, your heart suddenly pounding. “Not… not yet.”

Okay, that’s a good answer. It’s the truth and you’re giving nothing away by saying that. So now what is he going to say? What is he going to say? You spoke your piece, it’s his turn now, that’s how conversations work. Well typically, that’s how conversations work—but with Din… you probably should’ve known.

He falls back into silence almost immediately, appearing to accept your answer just the way it is without anything else to add. You feel his heart continue to beat strong against your back, but there’s something too tense about his stillness that doesn’t imply he’s relaxing anymore. His body goes slightly taut, but not from the lingering chill in his bones.

He’s going to make you ask him, you realize. He’s waiting until you confront him about his choice in words at the shooting range. Which means he wasn’t just joking around. He wasn’t just messing with you.

“Din…” you whisper uncertainly, and his face suddenly finds its way into the crook of your neck as soon as the word leaves your mouth, arms tightening up around you. You spent forever trying to find the words to even bring this up, and here he is, already knowing exactly what you’re asking just by the tone of your voice. Still, you ask anyway, sounding small and so unsure of yourself in the darkness. “Why did you say that? On Tatooine, why did you…”

Din’s chest expands against your back with a long, slow breath, and then he lets it out against your neck, hot enough to raise goosebumps all over your body.

“I… don’t know,” he admits, voice muffled and quiet, but it’s not… casual. Not like he’s brushing you off or indicating he doesn’t want to talk about it, but like it’s actually a complete fucking mystery to him, just as much as it is to you. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know…” you repeat slowly.

“You had said something,” he mutters, shifting just a bit behind you. His palm slides up your bare tummy, stopping in the warm spot just under the swell of your breast. “Earlier that day. I thought about it, and then I just… s-said it.”

You? Said something that made him ask that?

“What?” You blurt out, genuinely startled and having no fucking clue. “What did I say?”

“Something about…” He gives the smallest shudder from behind you, and you don’t actually know if this one is from the cold. “Not wanting anyone else to know me the way you do.”

Your heart rapidly kicks up and you flush, hating how unbelievably possessive your own words sound coming out of his mouth. “Oh shit, I… I didn’t mean for that to be… that sounds so bad, Din, I swear I didn’t mean for it to—”

He cuts you off by clutching you tighter, burying his face deeper into your neck and breathing out shakily. “Tell me you meant every word.”

You blink a couple of times in the pitch black before sighing, letting go of any charade or front you think about putting up for him to save some dignity. “I meant it.”

Because it’s the truth. You said it when you were caught off guard, throwing it out to him along with other mindless drabble that came from a place that was very real. You don’t like the way you phrased it, but you meant it. You do mean it. Every word.

If there weren't so many things still left unsaid right now, you might actually worry he fell asleep on you. Din loosens up considerably after you admit it, letting go of more tightness you didn’t even know was inside him. His head slowly drops from the crook of your neck to the back of it and he breathes hot air on your nape, quiet for a long time.

And, you suppose you’d actually be okay with it if that was the end of the conversation. There are, of course, millions of things left to ask. But he doesn’t know the answers, just as much as you’re left clueless about the questions. You’re not expecting him to elaborate anymore, and if he’s waiting for you to ask, he’ll be waiting a long time. Soon your eyes close and you almost feel yourself beginning to drift. It’s been such a rough day today and to just be here in his arms, it’s more than enough for you.

But then his low baritone comes through the darkness.

“In Mando’a,” Din’s voice suddenly whispers against your skin, “the verb, kar’taylir… it means to know. Su kar’tayli, you know, kaysh kar’tayli, they know. Ni ke kar’tayl nu… I don’t know.”

Your eyes pop open and you immediately forget all about sleep, wide awake and suddenly hanging onto every word as it rolls so gently off his tongue. You’ve never heard the language spoken aloud, you’ve never heard anything about the Mandalorians directly from one before. All of the stories seem sensationalized, passed down by word of mouth and chipping away at the kernel of truth until it disappears completely.

“The language is dying,” Din continues, murmuring soft and gentle along your nape. “By the time I learned it, too many words had been lost. The ones left were the ones that were needed.”

“What do you mean?” You whisper, almost afraid of breaking the quiet. Not wanting him to feel distracted or pressed, but needing to express your curiosity lest you somehow overflow with it.

“There are only three pronouns,” he answers slowly, and you’re already fucking fascinated. “Ni, for I or we. Su is you or you all, and kaysh is third person. Subjective, objective, possessive, singular, plural—doesn’t matter. Three words, for every individual or collective in the entire galaxy.”

You blink in the darkness, your logic telling you that it sounds so simple it’d become confusing and then your logic also telling you that doesn’t actually make any fucking sense at all. If that’s true, it’s unbelievable. How do they differentiate? Just context?

“How do you distinguish?” You ask him. Admittedly, you don’t know much about linguistics—not anywhere near the extent he does, but it seems so counterintuitive. I can’t be the same word for we, the amount of misunderstandings would be a nightmare.

“We… don’t need to,” he explains to you, slowly, like nobody has ever asked him these things before and so he’s unsure how to phrase it. “Individuality isn’t valued, it’s not a concept.”

And… you almost can’t wrap your head around it. “What do you mean?” You ask again, knowing you’re sounding like a broken record without specifying more, but trying with your whole heart to understand.

“I mean… we swear oaths to never reveal our faces,” Din tells you, something you shouldn’t need to be reminded of. “We abandon our names. We become… whispers, of the same voice. There’s not many words in Mando’a with a unique meaning, almost all of them are homonyms. Interchangeable. Transient.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, suddenly blown away by the implication. Almost all of them are homonyms? How in Maker’s name are you even supposed to communicate at that point? That’s… unthinkable.

“Most words have two meanings?” You clarify, wanting to be absolutely sure you’re getting it right.

“Most have five or six,” he returns, and you’re downright shocked now. “Everything just depends.”

“Stars…” You breathe, moving a palm up the length of his forearm and holding the back of his hand with it. Fuck, you hope this is the direction he’s intending instead of veering him off course, but you’re incredibly invested. “What else does, uh… kay—er, kar… kar’taylir mean?”

Din lets out a slow breath from behind you, and you can… you can feel his own heart beating faster when it presses up against your spine at the apex of his inhale. “It’s… a rare word, it only has two meanings.”

You bite your lip and start to feel butterflies in your stomach for some reason. Slowly, his hand begins to travel up your breast and then to your sternum before heading just the slightest bit left, and your own hand moves with him.

“To know,” Din says quietly, “but also… to care very deeply for.” He doesn’t stop until his palm presses right above the rapidly pounding organ in your chest. “To hold in the heart.”

“To know,” you swallow thickly, curling your fingers around his hand and praying he’s saying what you think he is, “or… to love?”

“When Mandalorian’s take vows, there’s no ceremony,” he whispers into the back of your neck. “No witnesses, no celebrations. We just take our helmets off in front of the other and look. It doesn’t sound like much, but… our secrecy is our survival. Letting someone see our face and swearing lifelong devotion to them, it’s the same thing. To know is to love.”

Your eyes close tight and your lungs empty themselves, too full of emotion to even fit oxygen inside you anymore. Din’s lips press feather soft behind your neck, and now you’re the one shivering uncontrollably. The move up and trail along your neck in the darkness.

“Ni kar'tayl su,” he murmurs, shifting back just slightly and pulling at your shoulder. “I know you.”

You go with him, facing the ceiling as he fits his head under your throat and places slow, open mouth kisses down the curve of it.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum,” he goes on quietly, his voice starting to sound raspy again, dragging his hand down your torso while his lips brush your collarbone. “For an eternity, I’ll know you.”

Water wets the corners of your lashes and you inhale three or four times before exhaling, shallow hiccups and desperate for air.

“Ni ke vaabi nu kaysh ke kar’taylir su te ni kar’tayl su.” Din says, slowly moving his mouth back up when your fingers tangle in his hair and beg him to come that way. The words dance along your skin as he whispers them, forever searing themselves into your memory. You can’t see them, you’ll never have a visual to reminisce upon, but you’ll know how they felt. Right under your ear, brimming with quiet devotion. “I don’t want anyone else to know you… the way I know you.”

Your face goes blazing hot at the sound of him translating your own rushed and half-assed sentence into something gorgeous and flowing, something that sounds so much more beautiful than when you blurted it out earlier. You told him you loved him in that hangar, right to his face. Unashamed and stupid about it, but meaning it with every part of your body.

“I knew you’d say no,” he finally admits, staying in this one spot. Unmoving. Telling you the truth, allowing you to know it. “I just wanted to… say it.”

That… that makes sense to you. The last part does, at least, it makes so much sense to you. The first time you said you loved him, you said it just to say it. You wanted to feel the words, sound them out even if neither one of you could hear them. It felt freeing, like coming to accept a universal truth.

The first part, though. You’re still behind. “You knew I’d say no?” You ask him, feeling him ease back just slightly. Staring down at you through the pitch black, even if he can’t see either. Keeping his palm over your heart as the ship hurdles through nowhere and everywhere at once.

“You wouldn’t take my first name without convincing,” he reasons quietly, and then moves back to lay in the blankets once more, leaving the rest unspoken.

But he’s… oh stars, he’s so right. If he’s going to take his helmet off and let you see his face—if he’s going to commit to you that way, it is not going to be because you shoot a blaster correctly. Not after today, not after what he’s told you.

So you move up to your elbow and turn to face him, trying to let him know why even if he’s already guessed the what correctly.

“I want it to mean something,” you say after a moment. “I want it to… have the meaning it’s supposed to have.”

Your palm finds its way to his chest in the silence following. Right over the beating of his heart, feeling it thrum hard and rhythmic while he considers his response.

“This is The Way,” Din finally murmurs, settling his hand over yours, and you repeat the words back to him. Respecting them. Feeling like, for the very first time, they now apply to you in some way instead of belonging to some mysterious creed you’ll never know anything about.

But when a shudder subtly rockets up and down his body, you realize the blankets have been pulled down with the changing positions and his whole torso is bare and exposed to the hull. So you pull them up until you’re both covered again, before you lean down and press a soft kiss to his shoulder.

Din shudders again when your mouth opens and the hot glide of your tongue catches his skin, but you know it’s not from the cold this time. His breathing deepens while you slowly move over him. You ease him further on his back and let him keep feeling the warmth of your mouth on his body, alleviate the lingering chill by sucking gentle hickeys into his skin and feeling the goosebumps raise under your tongue. He moves with you; he stretches his neck when you want to nibble his collarbone, arches when you mouth down his chest, shifts his elbow to let you drag your tongue along his ribcage.

And… and it’s as if all the stars and systems hold even more still for you than the relative physics of faster-than-light travel can explain away by themselves. You’ve always felt timeless in here, living from one fleeting eternity to the next, suspended in perpetuity while the rest of the galaxy ages without you. But when you’re with him and it’s pitch black and there’s no light to streak across your vision, no evidence that time and space have all but disconnected from each other just to let your insignificant little bodies through… it’s like you’re meant to be here. In some strange, unexplainable way, you feel like you could’ve died out there with him in the frozen wasteland today and this is exactly where you’d still end up, no matter what.

To know is to love.

“Do you have brown eyes?” You hear yourself whisper under his jaw, and you feel Din’s fingers thread in your hair and ease you up enough to brush his lips against your chin.

“Yes,” he whispers back, and then his mouth is on yours.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #fanfic #star wars fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin #no-droids #reader insert

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blue-mood-blue · 3 years ago

Text

It shouldn’t be this hard.

When he stacks it up against the past month, Juno doesn’t think this moment, standing in front of Mick Mercury, even ranks. Finding Mick was hard. Working up the nerve to ask for the help he needed was hard. Getting to Puck, getting to Io, getting past every minute that meant another minute farther away from his family with no idea what he was doing - that was hard. How could he get through all of that, stand in front of his best friend since they were both kids in Oldtown, and feel afraid?

Maybe it’s because when he says the words and watches for the change in Mick’s face - disbelief or anger or whatever is coming next, whatever is about to be drawn out of Mick Mercury by force in the next few seconds - there isn’t anything. It’s almost like Juno didn’t say a thing, and Juno can half-believe that’s true - that he just didn’t work up the nerve yet, that he thought the words and didn’t spit them out - except for the awkward, stuttering stumble of a sentence that’s still ringing in his ears. And then Mick smiles, laughs a little, and that’s worse. That’s so much worse.

“Shot you? What’d you say to her, Jayjay? Hope she wasn’t too close, I know I don’t have to tell you the kinda nasty burns those things can leave.”

Mick says it like it’s a joke. Like of course Sasha Wire shot Juno Steel, because Sasha Wire and Juno Steel were at each other’s throats from the minute they met, in a way that was mostly friendly and a little bit not. Like it was just the two of them at it again, Mick’s friends acting the way they always did, and it was a matter of time before one or the other brushed close enough by an apology that the whole thing was thrown out like yesterday’s news. And Juno knows, with a sudden and lurching instinct, that he could leave it at that - he could step back from the cliff. He could chuckle with Mick, blow the whole thing off, live for just a little bit longer in the space his friend inhabits where certain laws of the universe are immutable. He wants to.

He doesn’t want to be the one to stand in front of Mick Mercury and take a bat to his trust. That’s the hard part.

Juno glances at Puck. He doesn’t know what he’s looking for in their face - guidance, maybe, or permission. All he gets is an expectant expression and the memory of what Puck told him before Juno retraced the steps of his story and made it completely clear what Sasha had almost done - whatever you’re holding onto, you don’t have to hold onto it alone. And Puck understood, maybe better than a lot of people would have understood, but they didn’t know Sasha the way Juno and Mick knew Sasha. There was only one person in any universe who could hold onto that moment the same way Juno did - with all of the weight, and regret, and bewildering pain.

Juno could spare him. Puck wouldn’t say a word. But Juno isn’t sure Mick would thank him for the mercy.

He doesn’t say anything, at first. He can’t find the words - it was hard enough the first time, and elaborating means thinking about it. Juno has been trying very hard not to think about it. He poked at the wound more than he poked at the wounded place in his memory, and he doesn’t know what will happen if he pushes himself too far now, out in the open with Mick and Puck watching him. Instead, Juno unbuttons his jacket and pulls at the loose collar of his sweater, down over his shoulder as far as he can stretch it.

There’s no bandage in the way anymore. The injury has healed as much as it’s going to, scarred over and puckered like the site of some natural disaster carved into Juno’s skin. Juno is used to scars, used to the look of scars on himself, has seen this one bleeding and fresh and so much worse than it is now - but he can admit that it still makes a terrible image. It still looks horrifying in the light of day, an uncomfortable truth laid bare while everyone carefully and politely looks away.

Mick doesn’t look away, though. Mick stares at it mutely for long, long seconds. He leans closer, and leans back just as quickly. “Juno… are you… I mean, are you okay? That looks…” The King of the Highway who could always spin a story runs out of words, and Juno feels the weight of what happened all over again in the silence.

“She shot me.”

It comes out hoarse. It comes out like a child would say it, like the first time he locked the bedroom door and told Benten she hit me. Like he doesn’t quite believe it yet. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe Juno will always be wondering if it really happened.

“That’s not… that’s not a stun setting, Jay. That’s pretty serious for a warning shot.” Mick’s voice sounds hoarse, too. Mick’s voice sounds cautious, like he’s suddenly on uncertain ground and he’s feeling his way around the shape of the truth. Or like he’s not ready to look at it yet.

“It wasn’t a warning shot.” Mick’s focus flickers up from Juno’s shoulder to look him in the eye. “She was aiming for my heart.”

Juno waits for the denial. He waits for the “she couldn’t have” and “she wouldn’t do that” and “Sasha, our Sasha, who helped me cram for tests and dragged you to her apartment so her dads could teach you to cook” and all of the other arguments he’d made against his own memory in the past month. Juno watches while Mick looks at his shoulder again and then his heart, mapping out the inches of space between a close call and gone, and he waits for Mick to tell him he must be wrong. This must be wrong, because it couldn’t happen this way.

And when Mick reaches out and Juno braces himself for a prodding touch at a barely-healed wound still too tender and new, he’s surprised when a hand clasps his other shoulder and pulls him in tight. Every ungainly, too tall, awkward inch of Mick Mercury wraps around him. “I’m sorry, Jay,” he whispers, maybe, somewhere outside of the hug - Juno isn’t sure, and Juno doesn’t care.

Juno holds on to one last immutable law of the universe and trusts that Mick can carry the weight, too.

168 notes · View notes

jemch · 3 years ago

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How It’s Made Index（S01~S10）

How It’s Made是由 Discovery Channel 制作一款王牌节目，又被翻译为制造的原理或造物小百科，本片从2001年推出至今，涵盖了几乎所有的制造技术，非常适合机械专业和对此感兴趣的同学。希望大家享受这趟制造的艺术之旅！

第一季推出时间为2001-01-06至2001-03-31

S01E01 Aluminum foil, Snow Boards, Contact lenses, Bread. 铝箔，雪橇板，隐形眼镜，面包

本集看点：铝锭是如何一步步用轧制工艺压制成像纸一样薄的铝箔的；

S01E02 Compact Discs; Mozzarella Cheese; Pantyhose; Fluorescent Tubes. 光碟，奶酪，女式连袜裤，荧光灯管

本集看点：CD光盘是怎么从模具注塑出来的；玻璃管的热弯，以及荧光灯复杂的自动化制程；

S01E03 Toothpicks; Acrylic Bathtubs; Helicopters; Beer. 牙签，玻璃纤维增强塑料浴缸，直升机，啤酒

本集看点：牙签的制作，是类似于螺钉，是先用木材做成木板再切割而成；塑料的吸塑制程，玻璃纤维+树脂强化制程；碳纤维制作的飞机支架；

S01E04 Hearing Aids; 3-D Puzzles; Rubber Mats; Toilets 助听器，三维拼图，胶垫，抽水马桶

本集看点：用模具制作陶瓷的加工制程；

S01E05 Copy Paper; Jeans; Computers; Plate Glass 复印纸，牛仔裤，电脑，平板玻璃

本集看点：浮法平板玻璃的制作过程；

S01E06 Nails and Staples; Safety Glasses; Fabrics; Bicycles 钉子，护目镜，布匹，自行车

本集看点：一卷钢丝的艺术之旅；透明塑胶模具的高亮抛光；线全自动编制成布；自行车架的焊接与喷涂工艺；

S01E07 Kayaks; Safety Boots; Electronic Signs; Cereals 皮划艇，安全靴，电子招牌，麦片粥

本集看点：热塑性塑料的成型方法加工，不需要压力，只需要加热和摇晃即可；LED制成的大型广告或体育比赛显示屏

S01E08 Trucks; Adhesive Bandages; Computer Circuit Boards; Liquors 卡车，创口贴，计算机电路（PCB），酿酒（威士忌）

本集看点：SMT和波峰焊制程（单面器件），目前手机等产品已经主要使用回流焊制程；

S01E09 Steel; Apple Juice; Aircraft Landing Gear; Cosmetics 钢铁，苹果汁，起落架，化妆品

本集看点：钢铁是怎样练成的；车削和铣削加工，喷砂工艺，外观电镀处理；

S01E10 Holograms; Package Printing; Skin Culture; Canned Corn 全息摄影，包装盒，皮肤培植，罐装玉米

本集看点：还是不懂的全息摄影和底片冲洗；

S01E11 Plastic Bags; Solar Panels; Plastic Gasoline Containers; Hockey Sticks 塑料袋，太阳能电池板，塑料汽油桶，曲棍球棍

本集看点：塑料袋通过聚乙烯吹膜制程制作；吹塑制作塑料桶；

S01E12 Aluminum Screw Caps; Chocolate; Pills; Pasta 铝瓶盖，巧克力，药丸，面食

本集看点：铝合金的拉伸制程；

S01E13 Bicycle Helmets; Aluminum; Car Brakes; Lithium Batteries 自行车头盔，铝，汽车刹车，锂电池

本集看点：聚苯乙烯发泡注塑；电解铝制程，制作成铝锭；电池是怎么卷出来的；

本季资源链接：

magnet:?xt=urn:btih:e1ec692441019f65979f29e09bc9f84b3bdf563e&dn

第二季推出时间为2002-09-07至2002-12-07

S02E01 Eyeglass Lenses; Granite; Potato Chips; Microprocessors 眼睛镜片，花岗石板，薯片，微处理器

本集看点：塑胶镜片的抛光和AR镀膜；芯片的封装制程；

S02E02 Honey; Fiber-Optics; Bricks; Pipe Organs 蜂蜜，光纤，砖块，管风琴

本集看点：玻璃管拉丝成为光纤；

S02E03 Personal Watercraft; Wine; Office Furniture; Ice Skates 水上摩托，葡萄酒，办公家具，溜冰鞋

S02E04 Winter Jackets; Animation; Mushrooms; Gold Rings 冬季夹克衫，动画片，蘑菇，金戒指

本集看点：用熔模铸造工艺制作魔戒；

S02E05 Hydroponic Lettuce; Construction Wood; Recycling; Fishing Flies 水培莴苣，建筑木材，垃圾回收，假蝇饵

本集看点：完全工业化种菜；

S02E06 Diamond Cuttings; Wood Doors; Paintballs; Newspapers 切割钻石，木门，彩色球，报纸

S02E07 Carpets; Drinking Water; Laser Eye Surgery; Acoustic Guitars 地毯，饮用水，激光眼科手术，吉他

S02E08 Fiberglass Boats; Clothes Dryers; Bubble Gum; Fireworks 玻璃纤维艇，干衣机，泡泡糖，焰火

本集看点：玻璃纤维+树脂制作的船体上盖；钢板制作圆筒；

S02E09 Steel Safes; False Teeth; Airplanes; Maple Syrup 保险箱，假牙，轻型飞机，枫糖浆

本集看点：来了，玻璃纤维+树脂制作的飞机机身；

S02E10 Gummies; Aluminum Cans; Fish Farming; Bronze Sculptures 花色软糖，易拉罐，养鱼，青铜雕塑

本集看点：可口可乐，来一罐！

S02E11 Aluminum Pots and Pans; Artificial Limbs; Peanut Butter; High Intensity Light Bulbs 旋压铝制品，假肢，花生酱，高光灯泡

本集看点：用旋压而非拉伸制作的铝合金罐子和盖子，两种方式各有优势；

S02E12 Cars; Grocery Carts; Rapid Tooling and Prototyping; Collectible Coins 小汽车，购物车，快速模具成型，纪念币

本集看点：钣金的加工制程，电阻焊；3D打印树脂零件，浇铸工艺及其模具制作；银币复杂的图案转移过程；

S02E13 Ball Bearings; Electrical Wires; Lost Wax Process Casting; Automated Machines 轴承，电线，熔模铸造��自动化机器

本集看点：钢球的制造过程（冲压+研磨）；熔模铸造的金属铸造件，熔模本身也是通过模具制造的；极其舒适的全自动化制造过程合集；

本季资源链接：

magnet:?xt=urn:btih:543050ad51e44c744d235680efec5db2693724f7&dn

第三季推出时间为2003-10-01至2003-12-30

S03E01 Pre-inked Stamps; Cranberries; Cotton Yarn; Road Signs 原子章，酸果，棉纱，交通标志

本集看点：丝印网板的制作过程；

S03E02 Combination Locks; Pottery; Recreational Vehicles; Erasers 字码锁，陶器，休闲拖车，橡皮擦

本集看点：如何用模具制作陶罐；

S03E03 Wheel Loaders; Vegetable Oil; Hand Tools; Cotton Swabs 轮式装运机，植物油，手动工具，棉签

S03E04 Temporary Metal Fences; Asphalt Shingles; Polystyrene Products; Hard Candies 金属栅栏，沥青屋面板，泡沫板，花式硬糖

本集看点：泡沫发泡制程；

S03E05 Horse-drawn Carriages; Artificial Eyes; Dog and Cat Food; Mirrors 老式马车，假眼，猫粮和狗粮，镜子

S03E06 Yogurt; Candles; Neon Signs; Bookbindings 酸奶，蜡烛，霓虹灯，装订

S03E07 Prepared Mustard; Violins; Nuts and Bolts; Toilet Paper 芥末，小提琴，螺母螺帽，卫生纸

本集看点：螺杆的滚丝螺纹制程，螺母是钢丝在高温下压制而成的，螺母的螺纹后加工CNC制成；

S03E08 Fresh Cut Flowers; Adhesive Tape; Tofu; Lottery Tickets 鲜花，胶带，豆腐，彩票

S03E09 Inflatable Watercraft; Couscous; Modelling Dough; Wicker Products 充气筏，蒸粗麦粉，玩具胶泥，柳条编织

S03E10 Wind Generators; PVC Gloves; Thermo-Formed Glass; Fire Trucks 风力发电机，塑胶手套，热塑玻璃，消防车

本集看点：手工让平板玻璃热成型成精美盘子；

S03E11 Radiators; Hatchery Chicks; Filo Pastry; Cross-Country Skis 汽车散热器，孵蛋机，薄生面片，滑雪撬

S03E12 Electric Baseboard Heaters; Moulded Pulp Containers; Chicken; Video Games 电加热器，纸浆（鸡蛋）托盘，鸡肉，电脑游戏

本集看点：钣金连续冲压过程；

S03E13 Fire Fighter Boots; Garden Tools; Automated Machines; Gypsum Board 防火靴，园艺工具，自动化机械，石膏板

本集看点：新一期极其舒适的自动化流水线；

本季资源链接：

magnet:?xt=urn:btih:724f7b0bbf3278e4eec84db6c0373551017fb874&dn

第四季推出时间为2005-01-04至2005-03-29

S04E01 Plastic Bottles & Jars; Mail; Eggs; Handcrafted Wooden Pens 塑料瓶，邮件分拣，鸡蛋，木柄定制钢笔

本集看点：塑料瓶的吹塑制程（舒适）；鸡蛋是怎么生产的；

S04E02 Plastic Injection Moulds; Automotive Oil Filters; Filing Cabinets; Blown Glass 塑料注塑模具，汽车滤油器，档案柜，吹塑玻璃

本集看点：塑料注塑模具的加工制程：CNC加工、EDM电极加工，以及双色注塑过程；钣金柜子的加工制程；美女是如何吹玻璃的；

S04E03 High-Precision Cutting Tools; Stained Glass; Semi-Trailers; Recorders 钻头，拼花玻璃，拖车，木直笛

本集看点：涡流加热，通过热处理后软化或硬化金属；

S04E04 Conga Drums; Metal Plating; Buttons; 康茄鼓，金属电镀，纽扣

本集看点：金属电镀制程；

S04E05 Grinding Wheels; Compost; Window Blinds; Milk 砂轮，堆肥，百叶窗，牛奶

S04E06 Brushes & Push Brooms; Blackboards; Smoked Salmon; Zippers 木刷子，黑板，熏鲑鱼片，拉链

本集看点：毛刷组装时的金属U型倒扣固定住刷毛；

S04E07 3D Commercial Signs; Hardwood Floors; Corrugated Polyethylene Pipe; Mattresses 立体标牌，硬木地板，聚乙烯管，床垫

本集看点：大型塑胶型材的成型过程；弹簧的制作过程；

S04E08 Ceramic Tiles; Nuts; Steel Forgings; Skateboards 瓷砖，果仁，炼钢，滑板

本集看点：炼钢和轧钢；

S04E09 Car Engines; Flour; Recliners; Envelopes 轿车引擎，面粉，活动躺椅，信封

S04E10 Plastic Cups & Cutlery; Special Effects Makeup; Gold; Harps 塑料杯和餐具，特技化妆，黄金，竖琴

本集看点：热成型一次性塑料杯；简单一些的塑料管型材制作过程；金锭的制作过程；

S04E11 Countertop Laminate; Frozen Treats; Children's Building Blocks; Detergents 表面压片，雪糕，儿童积木，清洁剂

S04E12 Architectural Moldings; Pulleys; Industrial Rubber Hose; Sheet Vinyl Flooring 装饰嵌条，滑轮，橡皮管，树脂地板

S04E13 Putty Knives; Garage Doors; Electric Motors; Wool 油灰刀，车库活动门，电动机，毛料衣物

本季资源链接：

magnet:?xt=urn:btih:0e69c6104b7c64173fa6ef64df6d7a801dd95f6f&dn

第五季推出时间为2005-09-07至2005-11-29

S05E01 Paving Asphalt; Marshmallow Cookies; Loudspeakers; Electronic Door Locks 沥青石料，葵糖饼干，高音喇叭，电子门锁

S05E02 Wood Burning Stoves; Orthoses; Ballet Slippers; Buses 木炭火炉，矫正鞋具，芭��舞鞋，公共汽车

S05E03 Robotic Arms; Tattoos; Sanitary Napkins; Concrete Pipes 机械手，纹身，卫生巾，水泥管

S05E04 Hockey Gloves; Snack Cakes; Remoulded Tires; Wastewater Treatment 曲棍球手套，点心蛋糕，轮胎翻新，污水处理

S05E05 Ambulances; Dining Room Tables; Diatonic Accordians; Acrylic Awards 救护车，餐桌，手风琴，有机玻璃工艺品

S05E06 Alkaline Batteries; Wheelchairs; Flutes; Cowboy Boots 碱性电池，轮椅，长笛，牛仔靴

本集看点：学习一下最常见类型电池的制作原理；

S05E07 Golf Balls; Furniture Handles; Parking Meters; Room Dividers 高尔夫球，门扣，停车计时器，房间屏风

S05E08 Suits of Armour; Street Light Poles; Bent Hardwood; Membrane Switches 铁盔甲，电灯杆，弯曲硬木，薄膜开关

本集看点：可以看到锅仔片的结构原理；

S05E09 Sulkies; Bagpipes; Yule Logs; Fishing Lures 单座两轮马车，风笛，圣诞节原木形大蛋糕，假鱼饵

S05E10 Goalie Pads; Lapel Pins; Cardboard Boxes; Crystal Wine Glasses 守门员护具，衣襟徽章，纸盒，水晶杯

S05E11 Cement; Caskets; Soft Drinks; Glider Rockers 水泥，棺材，饮料，摆动式摇椅

S05E12 Kitchen Knives; Mannequins; Socks; Hypodermic Needles 厨刀，人体模型，纱袜，针头

S05E13 Electrical Panels; Kites; Eyeglass Frames; Toothbrushes 配电板，风筝，眼镜架，牙刷

本季资源链接：

magnet:?xt=urn:btih:997cae2b195f96293de6b35858cc50fdc73431f3&dn

第六季推出时间为2006-01-04至2006-03-29

S06E01 Three-Wheeled Vehicles; Baseball Bats; Artificial Bonsais; Trombones 三轮摩托，棒球棍，盆景，长号

S06E02 Springs; Pavers; Pianos; 弹簧，路砖，钢琴

本集看点：各种弹簧的全自动制作过程；

S06E03 Ropes; Billiard Tables; Sailboards; Cymbals 绳索，台球桌，帆板，铙钹

S06E04 Seatbelts; Windows; Wax Figurines; Hot Air Balloons 安全带，塑钢窗，小蜡像，热气球

S06E05 Air Filters; Billiard Cues; Ice Sculptures; Suits 空气过滤器，台球杆，冰雕，西服

S06E06 Escalator Handrails; Highlighters; Guitar Strings; Wigs 自动扶梯扶手，荧光记号笔，吉他弦，假发

S06E07 Traditional Bows; Coffee Machines; Mascots; Hammocks 传统的弓，咖啡机，吉祥物，吊床

S06E08 Fiberglass Insulation; Wooden Ducks; Gumball Machines; Exhaust Systems 玻璃纤维隔层，木鸭子，口香糖球售卖机，排气管

S06E09 Chains; Bagels; Vinyl Records; 链条，硬面包圈，唱片

S06E10 Windshields; English Saddles; Butter; Post Clocks 挡风玻璃，英式马鞍，黄油，柱钟

本集看点：夹层玻璃的制作过程；

S06E11 Individual Transporters; Canoes; Electric Guitars 双轮代步车，雪松独木舟，电吉它

S06E12 Residential Water Heaters; Air Bags; Jelly Beans; Ice Resurfacers 宅用热水器，气囊，胶质软糖，冰面修整器

S06E13 Amphibious Vehicles; Putters; Model Ships; Drumheads 水陆两用车，高尔夫球杆，轮船模型，鼓面

本季资源链接：

magnet:?xt=urn:btih:2575f1794b6554ba85b38125e673a95ecb7bb668&dn

第七季推出时间为2006-09-05至2007-03-30

S07E01 Footballs; Electric Guitar Amplifiers; Marbles; Airplane Propellers 橄榄球，吉它扩音器，玻璃球，飞机螺旋桨

本集看点：精美的艺术品玻璃球；先锻造再CNC成型的结构件；

S07E02 Engine Blocks; Jawbreakers; Drum Shells; Drums 引擎铸模，硬球糖，爵士鼓

本集看点：引擎的模具制造和浇铸过程；

S07E03 Lighters; Fossils; Hockey Pucks; High-Pressure Cylinders 打火机，化石，冰球，高压钢瓶

本集看点：铝合金的多次拉伸成型过程；

S07E04 Balloons; Wallpaper; Frozen French Fries; Incandescent Light Bulbs 气球，墙纸，炸薯条，白炽灯泡

S07E05 Matches; Carousel Horses; Fine Porcelain; Fuel Tanks 火柴，旋转木马，细瓷，汽油箱

S07E06 Glass Cookware; Soap Bars; Steel Drums; Firefighter Uniforms 玻璃炊具，肥皂，铁皮鼓，防火服

S07E07 Crayons; Wooden Kayaks; Lawnmowers; Gold Chains 蜡笔，木伐子，割草机，金项链

S07E08 Inflatable Safety Devices; Braille Typewriters; Carbon-Fibre Cellos 安全气囊，盲人打字机，碳纤维大提琴

S07E09 Carbon-Fibre Masts; Fortune Cookies; IMAX Projectors; Roller Chains 碳纤维桅杆，好运饼干，IMAX 放映机，滚子链

S07E10 Firefighter Helmets; Nautical Compasses; Packaging Tubes; Hand Saws 消防员头盔，罗盘，包装软管，手锯

S07E11 Halogen Bulbs; Cellulose Insulation; Aluminum Ladders; Bamboo Fly Rods 卤素灯，纤维绝缘层，铝梯，竹制飞蝇钓竿

S07E12 Drill Bits; Photo Booths; Stamps 钻头，照相亭，邮票

S07E13 Yacht Wheels; Braided Rugs; Automobile Thermostats; Chisels 游艇方向盘，编织毯，汽车调温器，凿子

本季资源链接：

magnet:?xt=urn:btih:06d33183a0f6ea98b8a64257d73ae0ce870082c6&dn

第八季推出时间为2007-01-02至2007-04-03

S08E01 Motorcycles; Clay Pipes; Drumsticks; Whistles 摩托车，水泥管，鼓槌，哨子

S08E02 Glass Bottles; Hacksaws; Goalie Masks 玻璃瓶，钢锯，守门员面具

本集看点：极其舒适的玻璃瓶模具制造和吹制成型制程；

S08E03 Lacrosse Sticks; Frozen Fish Products; Flashlights; Paintbrushes 长柄曲棍球杆，油炸冻鱼肉，手电筒，油漆刷

S08E04 Deep Cycle Batteries; Tins; Optical Lenses 蓄电池，白铁罐，光学镜头

本集看点：镜头的打磨抛光制程，以及多层镜片结构；

S08E05 Pistons; Paint Rollers; Parachutes; Chimneys 活塞，油漆滚筒，降落伞，烟筒

本集看点：先锻压成型再CNC的典型结构件；由钢板卷成圆筒的典型制程，提前制作倒钩结构进行预固定，自动化制程不需要；

S08E06 Fishing Reels; Miniature Houses; Kitchen Mixers 渔线轮，迷你房屋，厨房搅拌器

S08E07 Photographs; Fur Tanning; Welding Electrodes; Electric Violins 照片，毛皮制革，电焊条，电子小提琴

S08E08 Horseshoes; Dishwashers; Graphite Fly Rods; Pizza 马蹄铁，洗碗机，石墨飞蝇钓竿，比萨饼

S08E09 CO2 Cartridges; Pretzels; Scissor Lifts; Skating Rinks 二氧化碳弹药筒，椒盐卷饼，剪式提升机，滑冰场

S08E10 Pro Hockey Sticks; Bronzed Shoes; Treadmills; Computers 职业曲棍球棍，古铜色婴儿鞋，跑步机，掌上电脑

S08E11 Handcuffs; Caulking Compound; Propane Tanks; Forensics 手铐，堵缝剂，丙烷罐，法医学面部再造

本集看点：上下焊接的冲压铝罐制程；

S08E12 Fur Coats; Hearses; Outdoor Lighting Fixtures; Golf Tees 毛皮大衣，灵车，室外照明器材，高尔夫球座

S08E13 Manhole Covers; Range Hoods; Artificial Logs; Snowmobiles 下水道井盖，抽油烟机，人造原木，雪地摩��

本集看点：简单一些的金属铸造制程；

本季资源链接：

magnet:?xt=urn:btih:c04d9b7696663c9326761cf99038907f5db5f089&dn

第九季推出时间为2007-09-21至2008-04-06

S09E01 Solid Tires; Cheesecake; Canoe Paddles; Globes 实心轮胎，奶酪蛋糕，独木舟短桨，地球仪

S09E02 Boomerangs; Barbeques; Pinball Machines; Strobe Lights 回力镖，烧烤炉具，弹球机，闪光灯

S09E03 Wooden Bowls; Chainsaws; Stackable Potato Chips; Jet Compressor Blades 木圆盆，链锯，马铃薯片，喷气压缩机叶片

S09E04 Steel Wool; Ranges; Carved Candles; Slot Machines 钢丝棉，炊具系列，雕刻蜡烛，老虎机

S09E05 CCD Semiconductors; Airline Meals; Paper Cups; Trumpets CCD半导体，航空餐，纸杯，小号

本集看点：先进制程之相机CCD感应芯片制作过程；

S09E06 Padlocks; Hair Clippers; Wooden Shoes; Synthetic Leather 挂锁，电推剪，木鞋，人造革

S09E07 Racing Shells; Stainless Steel Sinks; Leather; Pedal Steel Guitar 划艇，不锈钢水池，皮革，踏板钢铁吉他

S09E08 Swords; Pontoons; Grandfather Clocks; Fuses 剑，浮船，落地大摆钟，保险丝

S09E09 Bumpers; Lighting Gels and Camera Filters; Steam-Powered Models; Candy Canes 保险杠，滤色片，蒸汽模型，苔杖糖

S09E10 Umbrellas; Outboard Motors; Silver Cutlery; Tape Measures 雨伞，舷外马达，银制餐具，卷尺

S09E11 Scalpels; Oil Paints; British Police Helmets; Ice Axes 手术刀，油画颜料，英国警察头盔，冰斧

S09E12 Bacon; Snowblowers; Luxury Cars 熏肉，扬雪车，豪华轿车

S09E13 Automatic Transmissions; Silver Miniatures; Hot Air Balloon Baskets; Darts 自动变速器，银制微型复制品，热气球吊篮，飞镖

本季资源链接：

magnet:?xt=urn:btih:a9aa449eda3eeaa8d9e9d91996dde5510940630f&dn

第十季推出时间为2008-06-11至2008-09-03

S10E01 Magnets; Cooked Ham; Silver Teapots; Crash Test Dummies 磁铁，火腿，银制茶壶，撞击测试人体模型

本集看点：用线圈磁化的磁铁；对于收口的茶壶，内芯位置冲压模具应该是用可变形的橡胶；

S10E02 Curling Stones; Refrigerators; Aluminum Baseball Bats; Opalescent Glass 冰壶，冰箱，铝制棒球棍，乳白玻璃

S10E03 Levels; Hot Dogs; Abrasive Grains; Sandpaper 水平尺，热狗，抛光粉，砂纸

S10E04 Ice Cream Treats; Wooden Golf Clubs; Aircraft Wings; Car Battery 冰淇淋，木制高尔夫球杆头，飞机机翼，车用蓄电池回收

S10E05 Automotive Fuel Pumps; Cricket Bats; Change Machines; Ductile Iron Pipe 汽车燃油泵，板球，纸币找换机，球墨铸铁管

S10E06 Wooden Barrels; Fire Hydrants; Automotive Seats; Cathode Ray Tubes 木桶，消防栓，汽车座椅，阴极射线管

本集看点：老式CRT电视是如何制作的；

S10E07 Stainless Steel; Football Helmets; Resin Figurines; Laboratory Glassware 不锈钢，橄榄球头盔，树脂小塑像，实验室玻璃器具

本集看点：不锈钢轧制制程；玻璃管的热切割制程；

S10E08 Fire Extinguishers; Doughnuts; Shock Absorbers; Banjos 灭火器，甜甜圈，减震器，班卓琴

S10E09 Dress Forms; Boat Propellers; Duvets; Faucets 女装人体模型，小艇螺旋桨，羽绒被，水龙头

本集看点：注塑的融模，再进行浇铸；

S10E10 Bronze Bells; Wooden Airplane Propellers; Charcoal Briquettes; Gas Log Fireplaces 铜钟, 木制螺旋桨, 木炭和煤气炉

S10E11 Ice Cream Cones; Tent Trailers; Shoe Polish; Pliers 折叠刀, 皂石, 变压器和传统雪鞋

S10E12 Steel Shipping Drums; Police Whistles; Miniature Train Wagons; Glass Blocks 油桶, 警笛, 微型车厢和玻璃垫块

S10E13 Pocket Knives; Soapstone Products; Electric Pole Transformers; Snowshoes 蛋筒, 篷式挂车, 鞋油和钳子

本季资源链接：

magnet:?xt=urn:btih:3e5cd2ae716c8363111416709f962ae68ec36a60&dn

#how it's made

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hypnoticwinter · 4 years ago

Text

Down the Rabbit Hole part 31

Fumi hauls me to my feet and I cry out as I put my leg wrong. He glares back at me as I cling onto him. The boot’s come loose and I kneel down quickly and tug at the straps.

“Goddam it!” he cries. “We have to go,” he tells me, tugging again at my shoulder, and I bat at him.

“Give me a fucking second!”

“We don’t have a second!”

The metal groans again and there are more screams from outside in the main control room. The man I’ve clobbered is trying to get to his feet but he seems terribly dazed. There’s blood all down his front from where I’ve hit him and his nose is crooked now. He glares at me with watery eyes full of fear.

“You broke my nose,” he moans. I ignore him, ignore the pang of guilt and fear wealing my stomach, force my hands to stop shaking and grab the tabs of the Velcro straps and pull them tight. Snap, snap. There. I wiggle my foot experimentally before Fumi yanks at me again and tugs me out into the control room.

“Watch it!” I tell him, but he shakes his head brusquely. His eyes are very dark. “Wait,” I say, glancing backwards. “The guy…”

The ceiling of the control room is crunched inwards like an enormous tooth has dug against it. There’s a tear in the metal and past the sparking wires and torn, serrated edges, I can see the wet, glistening throat of the Pit staring back at me.

Everyone has rushed outside, left the door hanging open. I can hear yells and cries from the stairs leading back the way we came. There’s the sound of movement in the conference room and then the man I punched comes rushing out and sprints past us, heading for the door. He slams into it and then flings it open and vanishes downwards, rushing like the devil were chasing him.

“Do you have the key?” Fumi asks me, and I shut my mouth and nod.

“Yes, right here.”

He tugs me away from the control room and down the staircase on the other side. We go down three flights, Fumi waiting impatiently at each landing, glaring back up at me as I hobble down as quickly as I can, and then we come to a door marked ‘Armory’ that my key fits into. Fumi pushes past me roughly and I smack him.

“What the fuck is your problem –“ I start, but Fumi rounds on me. Although he isn’t tall he’s still taller than I am and when he puts his finger in my face I feel a little tremble of fear rumble somewhere deep down inside me. I can’t piss him off, I can’t ruin this, I can’t do this on my own…

“Merriweather,” he says, and my mouth drops open. I never told him, I realize, I never told him I wasn’t from Admin, he doesn’t know…

“I’m warning you,” he continues, “the only reason I agreed to do this was because nobody else was going to go down and get Elena out, and no matter what my personal opinion of her is, I’m not about to leave her behind down there. I don’t know who you are or where you came from or what the hell they were teaching you in Admin, but if you’re going to pretend to be a fucking commando down here and deck people whenever the hell you feel like it you’re going to be walking home, because I am not about to get any more people hurt because of a goddam loose cannon like you.”

While he was chewing me out my emotions had shifted from shame and embarrassment to something approaching rage. I clench my fist hard enough that I can feel my nails dig into the soft part of my palm. “Fumi,” I hiss, “how the fuck did you want to get that key? You asking politely didn’t work. Makado wouldn’t give you permission, especially if she knew you were with me. What were we supposed to do?”

“Did you ever think I don’t want to be in trouble?” he snarls, shoving a bulky shotgun into my hands. “Did you ever think that maybe I was putting my own neck on the line getting you out of those cuffs? And now if they think I’m helping a fucking criminal escape from FBI custody -” I pull the pump back and peer into the chamber and then notice that he’s giving me an appraising frown.

“What?” I ask. “I’m listening.”

“How come you know so much about guns?” he asks me, and I roll my eyes.

“What, just because I’m a girl means I can’t know anything about firearms?”

“I saw your qualifications at the pistol range,” he tells me. “You were shit, you couldn’t hit a damn thing.”

“I’m not good with pistols,” I tell him primly. “Pass the .45 ammo, please.”

Before I can grab it from him there’s another groan of metal and the Control Center lurches below us. I fall against a rack of slug rifles and the little .45 cartridges rain down on me like marbles. “Ow, fuck.”

“Sorry,” he says, grabbing another box and tossing it to me.

“Did you see any magazines? I’ve only got two,” I say, patting my belt.

“Just grab all the shit you can carry and scram,” he tells me. “We’ve only got so much time before –“

I don’t get to hear the end of the sentence. There is another sickening lurch and then my stomach drifts up into my throat. We’re in freefall. I have just enough time to throw myself over to Fumi and grab onto the equipment rack behind him before the metal puck of the Control Center lands hard enough to force the breath out of me, to force a scream from between my lips, to force the light out of my eyes.

* * *

I wake quickly, or at least it seems like I do. I push myself up off of Fumi and glare around at the inside of the armory, pitch black now that the lights have gone out, even the red emergency lights, flickering ominously in the dingy stairwell before. I open my mouth, lick my lips.

“Fumi?” I whisper.

We seem to have come to a stop at this point. I recall a sensation of sliding or slipping, like my insides were moving and sort of dragging the rest of me along behind them, but now it’s stopped. I feel a little scared to stand up and start moving around, like if I do I’ll untip some sort of delicate balance the Control Center has struck with whatever it’s resting on and send it careening off into the abyss. What’s even below here, anyway? What have we landed on? I guess I sort of assumed the Pit’s gullet was an analogue for a throat and that if you go down far enough there’s some kind of stomach or something, but if that’s true then what the hell have we landed on…

Fumi grunts next to me and I reach down and after some fumbling unclip the flashlight from my belt and click it on.”Fumi,” I whisper again. “Fumi, wake up.”

“Fuck,” he groans, sitting up slowly, and I feel the relief pour into me.

“Oh, thank god,” I murmur. I feel a sudden urge to hug him but stuff it back down. “Are you okay?” I ask instead. “We landed pretty hard, but I’m not sure what on…”

“I don’t know either,” he says. “Maybe the wreck of the old Lower Visitor Center, bits of it are still lodged deeper in the gullet, it’s possible the Control Center could have landed on top of it, but I don’t know if that might knock the LVC loose itself.”

I get to my feet. It seems like we’ve leveled out again, one way or another, but the feeling makes me uneasy now, like we might slip off of whatever ledge we’re resting on. “Well, we seem stable enough,” I say, hoping that by saying it it’ll make it true. “How can we get out of here?”

Fumi sighs heavily, taking my proffered hand. The man is heavy in his suit – hell, he’d be heavy without the suit – but I manage to get him to his feet and he nods to the door.

I follow Fumi wordlessly down the stairs, the few utility pockets on my suit filled with pistol rounds and a couple of spare magazines I managed to grab. I’ll load them later, we’ll have time later. Right now just being in this – in this tomb is making me feel antsy.

“I hope everyone got out,” I murmur. Fumi snorts.

“What do you care?” he asks. My mouth drops open in shock but I bite back the angry reply rising to my lips.

“Look,” I tell him as he motions me forward to help him with a particularly recalcitrant door, “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t break my nose,” he points out, and I roll my eyes. I yank again at the door but it refuses to budge.

“I’m not apologizing for that,” I tell him. “I’m apologizing for dragging you into this.”

Fumi leans up against the door, inclines his head my way. His eyes are dark but less so than before, I think. “I could make excuses,” I continue, gesturing. “I could tell you that I didn’t have any place left to go, I didn’t know what else to do, that I was terrified that I’d lose Elena…shit, that I still am terrified that I will lose Elena. I told you that Makado was setting me up but there’s a lot that you still don’t know, and I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you everything back up on the surface before letting you decide if you wanted to help me out on my damn-fool errand down here. I was scared and I made a stupid decision and I’m sorry. If you want to leave me down here I won’t blame you. I don’t know if I have time to help you get back to the surface but I’ll –“

“I’m not going anywhere,” he tells me. “And you don’t have to be sorry. I got angry back there because I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, that’s all. I’m glad we got the armory key. Now let’s just keep moving.”

I can sense that there’s more lurking beneath the surface but I don’t press it. After five minutes or so of strenuous pulling we finally unstick the door and stumble outside onto a torn gantry leading to nowhere and there just below is the stained and pitted remains of the Lower Visitor Center, dented and scraped and masticated but still mostly intact, lodged sideways in the Pit’s throat. Fumi gives me a significant glance.

“I think we just found our way out of here,” he says, pointing to a shattered window up ahead. Something about it makes me shudder, the fact that it’s still here, the fact that even though all this happened four years ago nothing’s been done to clean it up, nothing’s changed, it’s just lodged here slowly slipping down and down and down…

Fumi helps me through the window, carefully and slowly so that I don’t catch my suit and tear it on any of the jagged edges of the reinforced glass still lodged in the windowframe. It’s a short drop and I take it hard, but only because I try to land on my good left leg, keeping the right tucked up beneath me. I wobble but don’t fall. There’s all kinds of crap on the floor – dirt, debris, glass, cracked tiles, papers, everything. I don’t have time to take a good look around before I turn back around and help Fumi through the window as well, and then once we’ve inspected each other’s suits for tears I finally get a chance to inspect the scenery, my horribly inadequate flashlight playing over the surfaces of the ruined concourse, giving me tiny snapshots of long-faded glory days. I see posters showing smiling people eating and shopping, I see rows and rows of merchandise still in shelves, flipped over and disheveled but perfectly good. Everything is stained and dirty and covered in what I think is rust but upon closer inspection is a kind of filmy dried ichor.

I look out over the balcony which I can see now opens over a yawning hole in the floor, the ropy flesh of the Pit’s gullet clenching together beneath it, pale and sluglike and sickening, and try to imagine what it must have looked like back in its heyday.

“This must really have been something,” I murmur, glancing over at Fumi. Even he looks a little awed at our surroundings. “Did you ever come here while it was still up and running?”

“When I was a kid,” he says. “I only joined after the disaster. 2008, to be specific.”

I offer a grunted acknowledgement but I’m too busy gawking to give him anything more substantial than that.

A horrible thought occurs to me as I edge a little closer to the bannister, lean out over it and glare down at the murky darkness below, swallowing up the light like it were hungry for it. “Fumi, are we…trapped in here now?”

He shrugs. “Probably not. I mean, it was easy enough to get in, wasn’t it? If we felt like it we could go right back out again the same way and walk around up on the roof of this place for a while and see if there was somewhere we could climb to.”

“But there isn’t, I don’t know, a passageway that leads down here? Something they put in after 2007?”

“No, there’s nothing like that. They haven’t done any major construction in the Pit after the disaster. Probably the biggest thing of that nature that’s been done is what Makado did with that Tunneler earlier today.”

I shudder to think about it. “Seemed like the Pit didn’t like it very much.”

Fumi shrugs. “Those are the things they used back in the day. If it pitched this much of a fit every time they used them I think they probably wouldn’t have gotten so much done with them. Maybe Makado’s right and the Pit is starting to wake up. She did say back in Oyster’s shame that that’s what the science department thought, anyway.”

“I just didn’t know that the Pit could move,” I say. “I didn’t know it had fucking tentacles.”

“They came out in 2007,” Fumi starts, leaning on the bannister next to me. It groans under the extra weight and we both back away hurriedly and look for someplace a little safer to rest. “They came out in 2007. Miles away in some places, just giant masses of flesh bursting out of the ground. Nowhere civilized, thank goodness.”

“I’d never heard of that,” I murmur. “I wonder if they were trying to hush it up.”

“I don’t know,” Fumi shrugs. “Maybe. In Ranger training they show you videos of some of them, sort of like a ‘this-is-why-this-is-so-important’ type thing. They had this CGI mockup of Lubbock and showed the devastation if a tentacle like that were to sprout up there and go nuts.”

“It reaches as far as Lubbock?”

“I don’t think so,” Fumi says. “But who knows. Maybe if you go deep enough down…”

The thought makes me shudder. We sit there for another five minutes or so, breathing the musty Pit air flowing through the ruined Visitor Center and imagining what might be lurking further in waiting for us. Anything nasty hiding down there in the dark? Possibly. I ask Fumi about it but he just shrugs. He was never much of a biologist, he says, but he thinks there probably isn’t enough to eat, not enough food. Little stuff, maybe, but nothing big, nothing like the copepod we met on the way in.

It reassures me a little. Not a ton, but a little. I get up; Fumi rises and offers to help me but I wave him away. If I can’t at least stand up by myself, even with the boot on, I shouldn’t be down here.

“We need a plan,” I tell him, and Fumi nods.

Together, over about fifteen minutes or so, we go through a list of abandoned ranger stations and listening posts Elena could have reached from the bottom of the Cord near Oyster’s Shame. Some Fumi dismisses as being in too dangerous territory for Elena to have risked it, others Fumi suggests would have had no medical supplies or are too derelict to be attractive. We go through this on the little map on his wristpad, huddled together, sweat pouring down my back in the hot suit. I could snap the helmet down and have the climate control start up automatically but I don’t want to waste the battery. Something is niggling at me as Fumi runs down the list of stations, eliminating one or two more but leaving them sidelined as possibilities, to potentially check after we’ve gone through everywhere else. I bite my lip and then reluctantly force myself to ask:

“Fumi, it’s been almost two days now since I saw her. Are any of these stations going to have medical supplies that would help her deal with a hole through her abdomen for that long?”

Fumi is silent for a long while and then, finally, he shakes his head. “No,” he says. “I don’t think so, no.”

It’s what a horrible little part of me expected to hear, I guess, but it doesn’t stop the bottom of my stomach falling out when he says it. “God damn it,” I mutter.

“It doesn’t mean she’s dead,” Fumi says, quickly. “She could have –“

“What do you need to treat a gunshot wound like that, Fumi?” I ask, gesticulating. “You need sutures, you need to poke around in there and make sure little parts of the bullet aren’t left inside, you need actual surgery. Maybe some gauze and painkillers and adrenaline would keep her going for a while but for this long? If she isn’t dead then she has an infection that’s going to kill her in –“

“Roan, stop.”

I wipe at my eyes, furious with myself for crying, furious for letting her –

“Stop.”

“I’ve dragged you into this too,” I murmur, glaring at him. “I just ruin – I ruin everything I touch, everything just turns to shit, it’s like I can’t –“

“You’re spiraling right now. You know that, right?”

“I’m not spiraling.”

Fumi crosses his arms. Behind him the shattered glass of a storefront shows a poster of a plush…thing, looking like a frilly folded stingray, with a long proboscis. “’Mini Daves,’ 50% off,” the poster reads. I frown at it and then tear my eyes away, drag them back to Fumi. I’m not getting distracted, I want to be mad, I want to be furious, at myself, at Fumi, at Elena and Erica and Makado, at something. Fumi sees the look in my eyes and puts his hands up in a placating gesture. “I want to fucking punch something,” I tell him, very seriously, and he at least has the good grace not to laugh at me and my little noodly arms punching something. Although, to be fair, I did just break a man’s nose maybe about twenty minutes ago, so there’s that.

I can still feel his nose breaking beneath my fist, can still feel the imprint of it, can still feel the bone-deep ache of it. Punching someone isn’t like in the movies, it hurts. Stand a cinderblock up on a tree stump and punch it. Hitting someone in the face is easier on your knuckles but just as hard on your joints and bones. The skull is solid.

“What am I going to do if she’s dead?” I ask Fumi.

“Roan,” he says, putting his arm around me with a slow gesture like he’s afraid I might hiss at him like a cat and scratch his eyes out, “even if she’s dead we can still get her body. We can show her the respect she deserves. That at the very least is worth going on for.”

I swallow hard and then reluctantly lean into him. It feels nice, having an arm around me and a warm body nearby. I take a deep breath and then let it out again. “Okay,” I murmur. Ahead of us, in a little free-standing pylon, is a poster advertising the ballast bulbs. “Healing waters!” it says. “Adult fun!” it proclaims. I look at the wide grins of the people in the photos, notice how a couple of them are twisted lasciviously, how in one of the photos, one of the women’s bikini tops is a little askew, at how the man standing next to her very clearly has his hand on her ass and squeezing tightly. I –

My mouth drops open. Fumi glances over at me curiously. “Fumi,” I mutter. “Would Elena have been able to reach the ballast bulbs from the Cord?”

He thinks about it for a moment “I think so, maybe.”

“Then she must have gone there,” I tell him. I can feel an idiot grin spreading across my cheeks. “She just must have. She would have known none of the other ranger stations nearby would have had anything to keep her going, the ballast, wouldn’t it have – wouldn’t it have healed her?”

“I don’t know,” Fumi says. “Maybe. There were never any tests done on major trauma like that. It might have, but…”

“Think about it,” I tell him. “It would have been her only shot. Right?”

He sighs. “Roan, I don’t know…”

“Fuck it,” I blurt. “Even if it’s a long shot it’s the only thing we’ve got to go off of. It’s either she’s maybe alive in the Domes right now or she’s dead in a ranger station someplace deeper, right? So it’s worth checking.”

“Okay, fine. It’s worth checking.”

“So how do we get there from here?” I ask. “You’re the ranger, you’re going to know this place better than I do.”

We spend the next thirty minutes or so poring over the little 3-D maps stored in our suits’ computer drives. It’s limited and sketchy in places – a result, Fumi says, of the Pit’s movements and shifts slowly making the maps inadequate and out of date. The area around the wrecked LVC is the sketchiest of all, just because it’s a no-go zone for Company personnel, orders passed down from high up, making sure nobody disturbs the wreckage or manages to dislodge it and let it slip further down the gullet. He sees my worried look and waves it aside. Two people moving around inside aren’t going to cause any trouble.

Eventually we have a plan, although not, in my opinion, a particularly good one. There’s a way to get to the passage to the ballast bulbs, Fumi thinks, through a puckered dent in the side of the LVC, but after that it’ll be an eight-foot drop onto a metal gantry that may or may not be still intact or still walkable that should then lead us downwards into a esophageal opening that will let us detour back around to the ballast bulbs, although there’s a chance we might instead slip into a digestion sink and die a horrible death over a course of several hours.

No matter how unlikely Fumi assures me that last part is, just him saying it makes me worry. I remember the first time I watched Return of the Jedi I had nightmares for a week straight about that horrible mouth thing in the ground. I’d wake up with all my covers thrown off and covered in sweat with a terrible, suffocating dream retreating from my waking mind like a puff of smoke. I was eight or so, so maybe it was excusable, but I remember it striking some as-yet-unplucked string of horror somewhere deep in me, which looking back on it is a little strange as I’ve never been incredibly claustrophobic. Maybe it’s the concept of being eaten that does it, I remember feeling the same horrible tingling cringe aching its way up my back and setting my nerves on edge while I watched that bird thing wing away into the darkness with Marcus’ limp body in its claws.

We’ve rested long enough. It might not be a good plan but it’s a plan, and I’ll take it.

But before we can get moving, the radios at our waists crackle into life, and I hear Makado’s clipped, angry voice calling my name.

* * *

“Roan Dzilenski,” Makado says, then repeats it again. “Roan Dzilenski, come in. Roan, come in, over.”

I reach down for the radio but Fumi grabs my wrist and shakes his head. He’s looking at me differently and I realize that he still thinks my name is Merriweather. I open my mouth to explain but before I can Makado interrupts again.

“Alright Roan,” she says. “I guess you aren’t going to answer. That’s fine. I’m using the low-band in the Tunneler so I know you can hear me. I got a call from the boys in the Control Center. One of them made it up to the surface and called down to warn me. Could barely understand him over the broken nose. Heard that was your doing.”

Despite myself, I can feel a little bead of fear trickling down and sinking into the pit of my stomach. She knows I’m down here.

As though she’s reading my mind, Makado declares that she knows I’m down here. “You too, Fumi,” she says. “I know what you’re up to. And I’m warning you,” she growls, her voice barely distinguishable from the static wreathing it, “if you try to fuck this up for me, I’ll kill you myself.”

“Jesus Christ,” I murmur.

“She does sound a little unhinged, doesn’t she?” Fumi observes.

“Does she think we’re trying to stop her from getting the crystal?”

“I guess so,” he shrugs. “So, uh –“

“Should I say something back?”

“No, don’t. There’s a chance she’s trying to bait us into replying so that they can triangulate our position. Every radio signal in here goes through a number of repeaters and they keep logs of everything.”

“Right,” I say. “Of course.”

We’re silent for a little while, waiting to see if Makado says anything else, but she’s gone again. I shudder to myself, even amid the body-temp heat and the drooling humidity.

Fumi breaks the silence finally. “I thought your name was Merriweather?” he asks, glancing at me, and I blow out a sigh.

“It’s a long, long story,” I tell him, and Fumi shrugs.

“We’ve got a while to go to get to the Domes,” he says. “I don’t mind listening.”

And so with nothing better to do, I tell him. I nods along, giving me a little encouraging grunt when I flag. The whole story comes spilling out of me and I feel a little bit better having told it. We walk through dusty concourse after dusty concourse, here and there circumnavigating debris and rubble, great swathes of concrete wreckage blocking our paths, here and there gawking at relatively ancient displays and signage and froufrou and bricabrac. The floor doesn’t collapse on us, something horrible and fleshy doesn’t reach out and grab me and spew acid into my face, it’s quiet and dead and a little creepy, really, but having Fumi there makes me feel a little better about it.

At the end of it I glance over at Fumi. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” I tell him. “Or at least mislead you. Withheld information.”

“It’s okay,” he says.

“You’re sure?”

“It’s fine.”

“You’re not –“

“Look, don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Okay,” I tell him. I feel as though whatever might have been building between us, whatever kind of rapport I could have cooked up has shattered now. “I just –“

“Do you really love Elena?” he asks me, and I blush. I’d thought about lying and saying that I hadn’t said it but when I got that part of the story it had just come bursting out of me. I’d wanted to tell someone.

“I don’t – I think I do,” I offer, knowing it sounds lame even as I say it. “I don’t have a lot of experience,” I confess. “I feel very strongly for her but I don’t know if it really is…love. Whatever that is.“

Fumi thinks about that for a while, his boots crunching in the dusty remains of a storefront window. We pass the wreckage of something called a Chili’s Too, whatever that is, and my stomach growls.

“I think that if that’s how you feel, even if it was just for that moment, even if nothing comes of it, it was good to tell her.”

“Yeah,” I murmur.

For a long while there is nothing to say. It’s slow work picking our way through the LVC. The bit we need to get to is on the opposite side of the structure entirely and it seems every few minutes we come to wreckage we have to detour around or traverse somehow.

It happens after one of these, where a chunk of cement and rebar has fallen from the ceiling and I climb up and over it to try and see if there’s a decent way around, while Fumi waits, hands on his hips, watching me try and climb up with my bum leg. He offered to go instead but the gap I want to get at is too small for him, he wouldn’t be able to fit through it. When I get to the other side I come down heavy on the cracked tiled floor and I feel it shift beneath me, instantly sending a tremor of worry scurrying up my legs. I put my hands out to the sides as though I’m trying to balance myself, as though that could possibly help, but before I can scramble back to safety the floor cracks beneath me and a whole segment of the walkway ahead drops downwards, landing with an absolutely cacophonous crash that seems like it shakes the entire LVC. I lose my balance and splat headfirst onto the makeshift slide that’s formed in front of me and find myself slipping downwards at an alarming velocity. I try to roll, to put my hands out to stop myself, but I still end up ramming shoulder-first into a collection of tables and chairs, sending them flying. The impact knocks the wind out of me and for a moment I lie there on my back wheezing before I have the wherewithal to pop my helmet and suck in grateful gulps of the stale, humid air. There’s a creaking sound behind me and I see the rest of the floor finally give up the ghost and fall as well. I can hear Fumi scrabbling in the wreckage and then I think I see his silhouette pop up over the bannister.

“Are you okay?” Fumi calls down to me, and I haul myself to my feet and dust myself off.

“Yeah,” I yell back up once I’ve recovered my breath. “I think I’m okay, I haven’t broken anything. I don’t think I can get back up, though.”

“Just sit tight,” Fumi tells me. “I’ll find a way to get down to you, just give me a minute.”

“Wait, are we still going to be able to get where we need to go from down here?”

“Look, we’ll figure it out, don’t worry. Just sit tight.”

I can hear his footsteps move away and then I am alone, here at the bottom of the concourse, surrounded by chunks of tile that fell with me. I guess it was just luck that we hadn’t come to a weak spot like this in the floor up until this point, and then bad luck that I was the one to tread on it first. Plus, of course, if I hadn’t twisted so I wasn’t going legs-first, and if the drop had been a little deeper…still knocked the wind out of me, though, and my shoulder is going to be aching for a while.

My leg is okay and that’s all that matters at this point. If I re-break my already abused shin I’m going to be up you-know-which creek with zero paddles, especially down here, and I don’t much like the idea of having to beg Makado or the FBI to come get me so they can lock me up for forever.

The fall knocked out my flashlight. I’m praying it isn’t broken but it seems like the bulb is alright, I can’t see anything wrong with that. Maybe it’s gotten loose? No, that’s not it, I unscrew the top and check it but the bulb’s in firmly. When I click the button it winks on and then winks out again.

I utter a muffled curse and shake the damn thing, then smack it hard with my free hand. I’m beginning to get a little paranoid, standing here alone in the dark, especially now that Fumi’s footsteps have faded away.

I click the flashlight on again and this time it finally stays lit, although it flickers a little. I’m in sort of a lower concourse, some place that might have once been a food court judging by the tables and chairs strewn all over the place. I turn slowly, sweeping the light around me, getting a sense of it. Over there a maintenance corridor, over there a wrecked and disfigured self-serve stroller rental kiosk, over there someone’s purse, abandoned for four long years. I wonder what I’d find if I looked inside it, what I’d learn about the woman who’d dropped it in a panic when the LVC started to lurch.

I continue my slow spin and then pause; the light is catching on something that doesn’t look man-made at all, a sort of plated shell made from something like enamel. I think to begin with that it might be the remains of a fallen light fixture but it’s much too large for that. I sweep the flashlight further over it and then when my sluggish brain finally catches up with what I’m seeing and interprets it I jump so hard I nearly drop the flashlight. A shriek boils up my throat and I leap backwards, bowling over a couple of tables and falling to the floor in the process, landing hard enough on my forearms that I can hear the bone creak.

There, lurking in the darkness with its outstretched hand lying spiderlike on the floor just a few feet away from me, its armored, bulldoggish head glaring beadily at me, is an enormous, pale-white abyssal copepod.

I try to get to my feet and sprint away but my right leg buckles when I put weight on it, and I end up collapsing there, trying to scurry away like a rat, cringing in anticipation for the thing’s enormous hand to fix around my leg or my arm and drag me like a morsel to its waiting mouth.

Continue with Part 32

Back to Table of Contents

#mystery flesh pit #writing #writeblr #alt lit #original writing #mystery #thriller #disaster #caving #romance #Michael Crichton

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coricomile · 4 years ago

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Over five billion dead. Sid stares at his phone, the brightness turned down so low he can barely read the text on the screen. His battery is probably going to die sooner rather than later, and then the phone will be gone too. He'd only bought it a few months ago because the screen of his old phone had cracked and Zhenya had made fun of him until he'd replaced it. It's going to just be a hunk of plastic and wires soon enough.

The article is two weeks old, but Sid hasn't been able to get a connection to the internet in days. He hasn't had the heart to close the tab, even if he's read the article so many times he can almost recite it word for word. Over five billion dead as of two weeks ago. He needs to know how high that number has climbed, but there's no way to find out. No television. No internet. No newspapers. No news.

Everything is dark. The house is too big to light with candles, and he wouldn't leave them out anyway just in case something caught fire where he wasn't paying attention. Instead, he and Zhenya have taken to carrying a flashlight shoved into the back of their pants like some TV cop's gun, pulling them out to use in the places the light from the windows doesn't reach.

He remembers playing games like this with Taylor when he was a kid. They'd turn out all the lights and she would hide, her giggles usually loud enough to give her away. Every time Sid found her, he'd give his best little kid roar and tickle her until she hit him. A hollow, gaping ache takes up space in his chest and refuses to be pushed aside. Taylor and his parents had been alive two weeks ago. He doesn't know if they still are, or if the VDX virus has caught up to them.

He needs to know, but there's no way to find out.

Sid closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. There's a lump in his throat that wants to come out as a scream. He's afraid that if he lets it out, if he gives in, he'll never be able to stop. He's felt helpless before- curled in a ball, crying on the floor helpless, each sob like a stab to his head, the cycle feeding itself until it burned him out- but this- There's nothing he can do. There's nothing anyone can do.

Everything he's ever worked for- every last late night spent shooting pucks into the dryer, every single injury sustained, every trophy won, every loss that sank his spirits- it's all meaningless. He wasted his life playing a game. There are people dying every minute, the virus in their bodies attacking at random, and he'd spent his time worried about going back to the ice, to training, like it was important instead of frivolous and stupid.

The front door opens and Sid's hand goes to the flashlight, his fingers wrapping around the handle. Footsteps carry through the hall and then into the living room, slow and heavy. Someone turns the corner into the den where Sid's sitting and Sid tenses up as they get closer, a shadow in the dark, barely touched by the weak remainders of sunlight coming through the window.

"Sid?" Zhenya's voice calls out and Sid goes slack immediately. He turns his flashlight on and aims it just to the left of Zhenya's head, enough to light up his face without blinding him. The pale blue of his surgical mask looks eerie, glowing like one of the blacklight posters Jonny had at school.

"Over here," Sid says, even though there's no reason to speak.

He listens to the thump of something hitting the floor, the whisper of jacket over sweater as Zhenya makes himself comfortable. He'd hated how quiet everything was before, hated being alone in his big house because the lack of noise made him itchy, but he'd never realized how much sound there had been before; the buzz of the fridge, the hum of the TV, the far off rumble of cars and planes. Without all of it, his ears ring sometimes, like they're straining to make sure he hasn't gone deaf when he wasn't paying attention.

"You shouldn't have left the house," Sid says, even as he makes room for Zhenya on the couch. He shuts the flashlight off and waits for his eyes to readjust. He'd cleared out the center of the den right after the power had gone out, pushed the coffee table and the wicker baskets with old magazines against the far wall to keep himself from tripping over them. Still, Zhenya swears as he stumbles over something, hitting the couch hard enough to jolt it. "Z?"

"Rations," Zhenya says. His voice is muffled through his mask, but something sounds off about it. Sid wraps his hand around Zhenya's wrist, feeling for the warmth of his skin, for the thud of his heart. Signs he's alive and well. Under his fingers, Zhenya's pulse is racing.

Sid's stomach lurches. He wants a fucking light switch so he can see Zhenya's face. Zhenya can lie as good as anyone else if he's just talking, but his face always gives everything away, and Sid doesn't know what's wrong. And there is something wrong. Sid can feel it in the way Zhenya's trembling, fine shivers that are almost certainly not just the constant cold.

"Zhenya," Sid says. He sounds almost like himself, but he can't make himself loosen his grip on Zhenya's wrist. "Zhenya, what happened?"

Zhenya turns his arm in Sid's hand, grabbing him back and pulling him in. Sid climbs into his lap as well as he can, sheltering Zhenya's body with his own. Carefully, he stretches the two bands wrapped around Zhenya's head and pulls the mask away, throwing it into the corner to be burned later. He's sick of the taste of ash in his mouth, but there's protocols and procedures to follow, and Sid clings onto the routine as tightly as he can. It's something he can do.

Sid doesn't need light to know that there are little red marks on Zhenya's temples and just under his jaw where the elastic had dug into his skin, to know that the raw spot rubbed on the bridge of his nose from the metal piece there has probably gotten irritated again. These new masks are stronger than the paper ones the team had been forced to wear on planes and busses when they were still travelling. Sid's been hoarding them, saving up for when they won't be handed out anymore. It's something else he can do. Prepare. Plan.

Zhenya presses his face to Sid's chest and takes slow, deep breaths that sound shaky, his hands tight enough on Sid's hips that it almost hurts. Sid strokes Zhenya's hair and waits. He's been here before, an anchor to Zhenya's emotions, holding him down until he can pick himself back up. It hasn't gotten any easier, years and years later, but he holds himself together because Zhenya can't.

Eventually Zhenya leans back against the couch. Sid slides off of him but doesn't go far. He doesn't think he could even if he tried. Panic is building inside him, shaken champagne in a corked bottle, and if Zhenya doesn't say something soon Sid's going to cry or scream or break down entirely.

"Quarantine," Zhenya says, the word still not sitting quite right as he says it. The fact that he's had to learn how to say it at all makes it even harder. Zhenya shakes his head and opens his eyes. They're black and unreadable in the dark. "I'm get rations. Line not too long, get through fast, stop to see T-Rex statue. It's head is gone. Someone cut off. I'm stare at statue and hear people shout. Think is more riot. Is just two people. One man with hazmat one in hoodie. Look like me, maybe, but no mask. Probably already sick ."

Zhenya twists his arm in Sid's grip, lining their hands up together. He squeezes tight enough that it hurts, his fingers pinching and knuckles straining as he holds on. Sid lets him, breath held for the ending of the story. The longer he looks, the more he can see how shaken Zhenya is, how lost.

"Man in hazmat shoot other one," Zhenya eventually says. Sid's whole body goes cold. Zhenya's hand tightens around his. "No warning, no shout. He just shoot and drag body off to van." Zhenya drags in a deep breath and lets it out in a slow, hiccuppy exhale. "Not like in movies."

#sidgeno #i started writing this in like 2016 #boy it hits different now #permawip

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cinakira · 1 year ago

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anotheronechicagobog · 5 years ago

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Dunder Mifflin Meets Intelligence AKA

Volomag and Vodka Part 2

Warnings: swearing, mention of vomit, numerous times, pranks

Written by @anotheronechicagobog

A/N I hope you guys laugh at this as much as I did writing it. The pranks are from a show called “The Office U.S.”, I do not own that or One Chicago Also, Kevin’s sister Vinessa makes an appearance

Whoever coined the term ‘morning sickness’ deserves a slow and painful death. Kim thought bitterly as she was hugging the toilet at ten at night. “Kim? I made you some ginger tea and I got you a glass of water.”

“I fucking love you.”All Adam could do was laugh as he sat on the edge of the bathtub and gathered Kim’s hair in one hand and rubbed his hand up and down her back. Kim let out a grateful hum before her stomach lurched again. The gruesome sound of Kim spewing more stomach acid (because let’s face it, there’s nothing else left for her to throw up) into the porcelain toilet bowl.

Several minutes later Kim felt better, not good, but better. She felt okay enough to get off the floor. She stood up and grabbed the glass of water Adan had brought her from the sink counter and washed out her mouth before grabbing her toothbrush to complete the process of removing the acidic bitterness from her mouth. By the time she raised the mug of tea to her lips it was cold. “Thank you, Adam. For everything.” Her eyes met his in the mirror as he came up behind her to wrap his arms around her middle. “No thanks is necessary. This feels like a dream come true.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I... I don’t think that I’ve been this happy in a long time. I know that we’ve had our issues, but I love you. I have for years. Even when we broke up, I can’t stop. Even if I wanted to.”

“I love you too.” And she did. She might not know where she stands with him right now, she might not want to be labelled as his girlfriend right now, but she does love him. Dating after Adam was hard because she was always comparing them. No matter who they were or how much she tried to stop it, none of them came even close to the bar that Adam had raised. “C’mon,” he kissed the crown of her head, “let’s go to bed, we’ve got work in the morning and you might wake up a few more times in the night.” She smiled softly as he guided her towards her bedroom.

They hadn’t moved in together, but they were looking for a place. Three bedrooms. One for the baby, and one per adult. Adam and Kim, they had such a dramatic history, that they weren’t actually sure how to handle it. They wanted to have this baby, they wanted to parent together, they just weren’t sure if they should be in a relationship while doing so. It was a complicated situation, but they were doing their best to make it work.

————————————————————————————————————

The next day Kim was standing behind the desk at the 21st district. It was a... Unique change, because despite her bubbly personality, she’d managed to be grumpier than Trudy was behind the desk. It had absolutely nothing to do with the work, the officers, or the civilians, and everything to do with her pregnancy symptoms. Nausea and soreness kept her awake at night, causing her to be exhausted and in need of coffee, but she can’t have coffee! And on top of all that, people were constantly bringing food in that thrust her into a constant state of “if I don’t keep my mouth closed I’m going to hurl on everything in front of me, yes I have tried ginger ale, saltines, and ginger tea, and no, none of them have worked”. She was excited to be a mom but she was ready to behead somebody.

“Hey mama, how are you holding up?” Trudy, yes she was letting Kim call her by her first name now, had become her saving grace. Since Kim was covering the desk Trudy was free to do work in the back office and go on patrol. In return, Trudy was making sure Kim always water, Gatorade, and Polish beef barley soup (it was the only thing that didn’t make her hurl). “I haven’t disintegrated anyone with a glare today, so good.”

“Ha! Well, I brought another blue raspberry one for you. I’m gonna head out with Tay for the day since O’Donnel is out sick today.”

“I’m so glad that you were able to get her assigned to 21 again. I missed her.”

“Spare me the love fest, Burgess.” Her tone may have been snappy but the smile on her face and light in her eyes gave away just how happy she was. “Have a good day Sargent.”

“You too.”

————————————————————————————————————

Hailey and Vanessa had been keeping her up to date with all the goofiness of intelligence. All the jokes and all the pranks. When they noticed that Kim looked like she was going to cry, scream, and throw up, they figured they should do something to cheer her up. And since nothing ridiculously funny was happening on its own, they decided to make it happen, with some inspiration from one Jim Halpert.

First, they decided to try one of Vanessa’s favourites. The vending machine prank. They grabbed all of the small knick-knacks from the guys’ desks (excluding Voight because they didn’t have a death wish) and convinced the vending machine guy to let them put them in the vending machine. Adam’s Groot bobblehead, name plaque, and Chicago Bears bouncy ball, in places C4, D2, and H7 respectively. Kevin’s Chicago Blackhawks hockey puck, large globe pencil sharpener, and small Chicago bears teddy bear, in places A6, I3, and F2. Jay’s magic 8 ball, Deadpool figurine, and ‘cereal killer’ spoon, in places G5, D9, and A3.

Second, they moved Kevin’s desk into the bathroom. Phones, computers all plugged in. And aside from the items in the vending machine, all were where they normally were on Kevin’s desk. Vanessa even placed all of his files in order and each spine of the folder a couple of centimetres forward each level. So it looked kind of like a staircase made of folders, and that was how he always did it, according to Vanessa. That earned the dark-haired woman a knowing chuckle from Hailey who, Vanessa reminded, really didn’t have room to talk.

Third, they moved Jay’s desk into the corner of the bullpen, where Al’s used to be, and put a large navy blanket over it. Figuring that was enough to keep his desk out of sight. Together, with some scrap wood from one bewildered Matt Casey, they wrapped the pieces of wood together in such a way that they imitated a desk, a chair, a computer monitor, a phone (that one was a pain), his file divider, pencil cup, pencils and pens, and stacks of files. They were both so proud when the got to look at the finished product.

Fourth, Hailey had gone to a hardware store and gotten a spool of red wire. She plugged on end into Adam’s monitor before placing the wiring with tape along the front of his desk, the floor, all around the edge of the break room, out into the bullpen again, before going down the hallway to the interrogation room, up the wall across from the gun safes, attached to a plastic tub filled with neon coloured ping pong balls. This one went a little off-script, but they were both excited to see how it would turn out.

Fifth and finally, they took the containers out of the fridge that they had made first so that the contents would have time to solidify. Taking off the lids of the three containers, the two women flipped them over quickly onto plates. Thankfully the jello stayed completely intact, each confection clearly showing the mugs inside.

Giggling they stood back and high fived, feeling good and excited for the next day. A heavy cough interrupted them from their internal praise and sense of accomplishment. “Sargent. Hi. What are you doing here so late? We don’t have a case.”

“I was about to ask you two ladies the same thing Upton.” The two women looked at each other and sighed, knowing they were caught, Hailey answered.

“We were setting up pranks for the guys.”

“Don’t you two think that’s a bit childish?”

“It’s to cheer Kim up. She’s been so stressed, and the pregnancy symptoms have been so awful that we thought she needed a good laugh. Plus, it’s not like the guys will get mad at us. Adam and Kevin will go puppy-eyed once they realize this was all for Kim, and Jay’s in love with Hailey so he won’t be mad at her, and he can’t be mad at me if he isn’t mad at her since we came up with all of this together.”

“Hey! He doesn’t... Whatever,” she muttered when she saw the look Voight gave her, “Plus, we didn’t do anything that involved your office, your stuff, or you.”

“... Alright. At least there’ll be some entertainment to distract from the boredom of spending all day doing paperwork. Now get out of here, get some sleep, you have to be back here in five hours.”

————————————————————————————————————

“... Where is my desk?”

“Forget that, why is mine wrapped up like some kind of present?”

“Mine looks fine... But different? Does that even make sense?”

“I’m gonna need coffee if I’m gonna deal with whatever th fuck this is.”

“Start a big pot, Kev.”

“Hey what is this red wire? And duct tape?”

“It’s a computer, Ruzek. It has wires.”

“Thank you for your sarcasm Rojas, but seriously, what is going on? And why are your and Hailey’s desks normal?” Hailey pulled out her phone and started recording Adam as he unplugged the red wire and pulling it up. The duct tape came up with a sticky ripping sound. Everyone watched closely and angeled themselves to get a better look as the tape lifted up from the bullpen floor and continued into the breakroom, Adam growled in frustration as he exited the breakroom pulling the wire up just after he had entered and gone in a circle. Everyone followed him curiously as he went down the hall to the interrogation room, just as Jay was about to shout out an agitated question, the tape went up the wall. When Adam gave a final tug, the last bit of tape came off the wall, but he’d also pulled the rest of the wire, at what it was connected to, down to him. Causing started gasps and shouts from the guys as 100 neon ping-pong balls rained down from the ceiling all over them. “Okay seriously, what was that?!” Hailey, Vanessa, and Voight were all in the background enjoying the show.

“Wait, wait... Do you hear that?” The shouts stopped and everyone strained their ears to listen to what Kevin was pointing out. A desk phone ringing. From the men’s bathroom. Voight subtly took Hailey’s phone to continue the recording. “What the hell?!” Kevin, Adam, and Jay had found Kevin’s desk in the bathroom. Looking confused as hell he looked to his brothers before picking up the phone. “... Hello? Oh, hi Vinessa. Listen I’m gonna have to call you back, something’s going on at work. I love you okay? Say ‘hi’ to auntie for me... Okay, I’ll tell Kim you say ‘hi’. Bye.” He hung up the phone before sitting down and stretching his arms out over his desk. Almost nothing is out of place. “What the ACTUAL fuck?! And where is my hockey puck?!”

“Okay, now I’m even more curious as to why my desk is wrapped up like a birthday present.” Numbly nodding their heads all the men left the bathroom and cornered Jay’s desk. Vanessa had Hailey’s phone and she watched with her boss and roommate as they did their best not to blow their cover. Jay shook his head, puzzled at the state of his desk before putting his arm on his desk and plopping down in his chair... Everything immediately collapsed. Leaving the girls pushing back tears as Jay tried to stand up in the sea of slippery wrapping paper and wood. “Fucking hell someone please tell me that the coffee is done.” He looked like Bambi on ice trying to get up as Kevin hollered from the breakroom, “pot’s done! And thank fucking God for that! Hey! Why is my hockey puck in the vending machine?!” Hailey and Jay followed the crowd in last, Hailey having to help her partner get up. They entered and Adam looked like he was about to blow a gasket. “My name plaque! Groot! Who- Why would someone do this?!”

“Who the fuck put Deadpool in the vending machine?! And where is my desk?!”

Taking shaky breaths all the boys muttered the holy word; “coffee.” Kevin went to get the creamer when he stopped dead in his tracks. Three thuds later, and each of the boys’ favourite mugs were on the counter, floating in piss yellow jello. “Why is my mug in jello?”

“I washed these last night! First the ping-pong balls and now this?!” Adam reached into the jello and pulled his mug out, the jiggly substance still visible inside the mug. The two pranksters (and witness) burst into tear-jerking laughter. Hailey snatched her phone back and sloppily emailed the video to Kim before the boys could stop her. “O-oh - oh m-y- Fu- HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“You two did this?!” The girls quickly got off the floor and hauled ass to the women’s bathroom. The lock clicked just as the guys reached the door. “Hey!”

“Get out here now!”

“What did we do to deserve this?!” Their voices were lost in a mixture of laughter and yelling. Hailey and Vanessa were curled up on the floor hugging their stomachs and each other as the laughter became painful.

Suddenly the yelling stopped, and their boss’ voice made it’s way to the two hyenas. “I think it’s time to explain, ladies.” They took deep breaths, their laughter finally coming to an end. They untangled themselves and stood up, but didn’t dare leave the sanctuary of the ladies’ room. “Kim’s been really sad lately. We wanted to cheer her up.”

“And you thought that pranking us was the best way to do it, Hailey?!”

“Yeah, Jay. We all get a kick from joking around now and then, and she’s told Vanessa and I numerous times that sending pics and videos of funny work mishaps brightens her day.”

“We just wanted her to smile again, guys. She constantly looks like she’s about to burst into tears or rip someone’s throat out with her teeth.”

“... Fair enough. I know that this has been hard for everyone, but Kim and I really appreciate your support.” The click of the lock and squeeze of the door had Jay looking into the delighted eyes of his favourite person and... he wasn’t angry. He’d calmed down when they were talking about Kim, but seeing Hailey smile? Really, truly smile? He’d do anything for that. Vanessa stepped out of the way, and into Kevin as Jay wrapped Hailey in his arms, tucking his face into the crook of her neck.

“Kim is my best friend.”

“Hey!”

“Shut it, Adam. Kim is my best friend. Thanks for caring about her.”

“Don’t thank me, it was really, really fun.” And just like that, the intense emotional mood was broken. Causing laughter, from everyone this time, to reign supreme.

“As much as I love this... I’ll call it team bonding and get HR paperwork on hand, we have a desk day today. And we all need to work. So let’s put Atwater and Halstead’s desks back in their rightful places.”

“Okay seriously, where did the two of you put my desk, Hails?”

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

The signature footsteps of Trudy Platt raced up the stairs to the intelligence bullpen, drawing all eyes to her. “Can any of you explain why Kim had to excuse herself to the back room to roll on the floor laughing?”

#adam ruzek #hailey upton #chicago pd #kim burgess #vanessa rojas #kevin atwater #jay hastead #hank voight #adam ruzek x kim burgess #burzek #baby burzek #upstead fic #upstead #hailey x jay #jay halstead x hailey upton #kojas #kevin atwater x vanessa rojas #one chicago

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my-funky-little-cowboy · 5 years ago

Text

Fight Nights

Chapter 1 - Golden Ticket

Themes: Modern AU, MMA AU, Found Family Characters: Arthur Morgan, John Marston, Hosea Matthews Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence (Fighting), Drug use, Gore Relationships: N/A yet, John and Arthur are roommates Words: 5,626 [ko-fi] || [ao3]

The door closed gently behind him, he tossed his backpack onto the floor and hung his coat on the rack. Kicking out of his boots he tucked the butcher paper packages under his arm reaching down to shoo the ferret out of his shoe.

“C’mon Noodle, not there.” The ferret dooked and jumped back, scurrying behind John’s leg before jumping back out and chasing Arthur into the kitchen. .

John stretched and turned from the computer, leaning back in the chair, turning toward the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?”

“Yeah, hi to you too.” Arthur opened the fridge tossing one of the packages into the fridge, stooping down to pick up the ferret clawing up his pant leg. He draped Noodle over his shoulder and opened the cabinet pulling down a couple shakers and cans. He unwrapped the second package and grabbed for the nearest shaker.

John rolled his eyes and turned back to the computer, typing out a few quick messages before pushing away from the monitor and joining Arthur in the kitchen. He crowded the space, trying to see past Arthur to the counter.

“Burgers?” He fished a pop from the fridge.

“That alright?” Arthur reached over and stopped the fridge from closing, pulling some garlic and worcestershire from the door. “If it isn’t you can make your own meal.”

John scoffed. “It’s fine, just curious. Damn.” Arthur ignored him, working his hands through the ground beef. ”The game starts in twenty, wanna watch?”

“Who they playin’?” Arthur asked and glanced over his shoulder.

“Coyotes.”

“If they don’t win I’m gonna have to find another team.” Arthur deadpanned, he shook his head and huffed out a laugh.

“You’ve stuck with them through worse. And they are in the running for the cup!” John countered and flipped the TV on, flopping onto the couch.

Noodle, realizing he wasn’t getting any of the meat, got antsy on Arthur’s shoulder and began to slide his way down Arthur’s arm.

“Noodle. Hey. Hold on, just wait a second.” Arthur scolded.

John glanced over, jumping up just in time to catch the ferret as it made it’s leap toward the counter. “You’ve got a death wish, don’t ya.” John shook him and walked back to the couch, tossing him onto the couch.

Noodle bounced off toward the far corner of the couch, flopping onto his side. John slid back onto the couch and Noodle attacked, popping up and pouncing onto his chest, dooking softly. John poked playfully at the ferret as he picked the remote back up, trying to distract him while he changed the channel. Failing miserably as Noodle took to trying to steal the remote, the chewed and worn buttons a testament to how often he took this particular prize

The small apartment filled with the smells of food and warmth. Arthur cracked the door on the oven checking the vegetables before pulling the door open and tossing a couple rolls onto the wire rack, the burgers sizzling on the griddle.

“Hawks won the coin toss.” John called from the sofa and Arthur glanced up at the screen. The bright banners of the United Center flashed on the screen.

“Food’ll be ready in five.” He flipped the burgers, and started on the dishes, quickly rinsing the prep dishes and putting them up to dry. John grunted as Noodle latched onto his finger. He barked and jumped off the couch, scampering into the kitchen and over Arthur’s foot. He flopped over and bit playfully at his sock. With his foot, Arthur slid Noodle across the floor and out of the kitchen. Arthur padded over to the couch and handed John a plate, motioning for him to move over. The horn sounded from the TV as the puck dropped. John shouted at the screen as the Hawks lost possession.

The night continued, the boys arguing with the screen over the refs calls, the Hawks eking out a victory in overtime. John pushed off the couch as the post game started and Arthur reached for the remote, pulling it away from Noodle. He flipped mindlessly through the channels, distracting Noodle with a small piece of meat from his plate.

“You done?” John pointed to the plate being licked by Noodle.

“Nah, it looks like I am still picking.”

John picked up the plate and brought it to the sink, cleaning them and placing them on the dry rack. His phone buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket, typing out a quick reply and grabbing a jacket and his bag, waving a quick goodbye at Arthur.

Arthur kicked his feet up onto the couch, the theme song to Cheers quickly cutting off as he flipped the channel again. He finally settled on a rerun of Dirty Jobs, Noodle jumped up onto his chest, flopping over and nosing his way into Arthur’s shirt pocket. Arthur playfully grabbed at the ferret’s face, the tiny teeth lightly sunk into the side of his hand before the ferret darted to the other side of the couch and began pulling at Arthur’s socks. Noodle continued to jump around and play for a bit before settling down again on Arthur’s chest.

Arthur blinked the sleep from his eyes, the tv playing a string of infomercials. He reached for the remote and clicked off the TV and tossed the remote onto the back of the couch. He yawned and cracked his neck, Noodle snored lightly on his chest. Arthur scooped the ferret into the crook of his arm and sat up, shuffled into the kitchen and turned off the lights. He stretched and placed the ferret onto his pillow, heading into the bathroom to get ready for bed.

He flipped off the light and slid into the lower bunk. Setting his alarm Arthur plugged in his phone and closed his eyes, feeling Noodle move to his normal resting place curled against his shoulder.

The door opened quietly a few hours later and John slid back into the apartment, closing it behind him and disappearing into the bathroom. The light clicked off as he opened the door jumping onto the top bunk, the silence settling into the small apartment.

Arthur’s alarm went off, 6:30, the sun just starting to brighten the apartment. He pulled the covers back up in an attempt to make the bed, grabbing Noodle and putting him up onto John’s bunk. He finished getting ready for work, making himself a quick breakfast before heading off to work.

The L was packed, the cold wet morning keeping people from walking, Arthur being one of them. The train was slower and he hated the cramped feeling. He hated the stares he got. Arthur knew he was a big guy, but here he couldn’t get away. He fished through his bag and pulled out his Zune and headphones. Quickly getting himself lost in the music.

-- ♦ --

Simon Pearson flipped the lights on in his small butcher shop. Cinching his apron tightly around his waist, he disappeared into the cooler, returning with a couple chickens and began prepping them to render. The delivery door swung open and he glanced over his shoulder.

“Mornin’ Arthur.” Pearson called. Arthur pushed through the door and disappeared into the small kitchen. Tossing his backpack onto the table and hanging his coat on the hooks behind the door, picking up his own apron and tying it around his waist. He rolled his sleeves up and joined Pearson near the freezer.

“Mornin’.”

“Gonna be a busy day, grab that side of beef.” Arthur nodded.

They worked in comfortable silence until they opened for the morning. Pearson had Arthur work the front-of-house most days, he had been unsure if this kid was gonna be a good fit when he hired him a few years back, barely old enough to hold a job. But Arthur had surprised him, a quick learner and a hard worker, and surprisingly good with customers.

“I need another half rack of ribs.” Arthur called back to Pearson.

“Heard.” Pearson called back, moving to the cooler, he pulled out a rack of ribs quickly cutting it down and wrapping it in some butcher paper. He pushed through the door to the front-of-house and handed Arthur the package.

“How are you today, ladies?” Pearson smiled as Arthur turned back to hand the ribs to the older gentleman near the door. He took care of the women as Arthur cashed out the gentleman and the shop cleared out.

The day came to a close and Arthur cleaned up and took the final inventory of the case for the day. Pulling a few of the steaks from the case and a handful of brats. He packaged them up and put them into the back of the case.

“Got the final numbers for today, I’m also taking a couple of the porterhouses and some brats for the weekend, I put those under my list.” Arthur handed him the clipboard. “Need help cleaning up back here? I’m all done up front.” Pearson waved him off, wiping down the table.

“Get out of here, I’ll be fine. Have a good night, I’ll see you in the morning.” Arthur thanked him and grabbed his things, heading out the door.

-- ♦ --

John rolled out of his bed and padded into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Fixing himself some food he found his way to the couch. Flipping through the channels he stopped on a Scooby Doo marathon.

His phone buzzed on the kitchen counter and he glanced over toward the clock. He pushed himself up from the couch and dropped his bowl into the sink, reaching for his phone.

Hey. You holding?

Yeah. Whatcha need?

1/2 oz

Cool. Meet me at Jefferson Park. 3pm.

John threw the phone back on the counter and went into the bathroom, the ferret stretching deeply on his pillow as he passed. He showered and shaved, catching himself in the mirror, he sighed. He rubbed the towel through his hair before tossing it over the door. He got dressed and picked Noodle up off his bed, draping him around his neck and grabbing him some food for him from the kitchen. Noodle bounced excitedly on his shoulder, climbing his way down John’s arm as they moved through the apartment. He set the food down and unloaded Noodle into the cat tree to eat.

He rummaged under the bed, pulling out a box and putting it up on the desk, pushing his keyboard out of the way he sat down at the desk. He weighed and portioned out his remaining product, setting aside the ½ oz requested.

He didn’t normally deal with larger portions than dimes, preferring not to have too much on him at any time. He knew how much Arthur hated that he still sold, but he couldn’t complain about the extra money.

“You aren’t a kid anymore, they catch you, it’s an actual felony.”

“It’s just a lil’ weed, and it’s not like I’m some big time dealer.” John said. Arthur scowled and threw up his hands. “You ain’t complaining about the extra cash!” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Most of his clients being local kids or skids who couldn’t afford more than a little here and there. He tucked the extra bags back into the box, turning off the scale and tossing it in with the bags and snapping the lid closed. He slid the box back under the bed with his foot.

-- ♦ --

He had just kind of fell into this when they moved here. His dad found work at a local railyard, looking to make a fresh start after his mom died. A couple kids had found him smoking behind the gym and asked him if they could buy, and who couldn’t use the extra cash?

He had taken them up on it, hoping to make some friends in the process. Except the other dealer in school had taken offense to and sent a couple of people to convince him to stop. It’s how he had met Arthur, he had stepped in. He had a strange reputation around the school, and not many people wanted to mess with him.

“Thanks, but I would have been fine.” John picked up his bag.

“Didn’t look like it.” Arthur held out his hand. “I’m Arthur, and you’re bleeding.”

John wiped his sleeve across his face. “John.” He shook Arthur’s hand.

“I’ve seen you around, you live near Gage Park?”

John nodded, feeling extremely small next to him. He adjusted his bag on his shoulder. “Y-yeah. We just moved here. Dad got a job at the railyard.”

“Me too, we can walk together.” Arthur patted John on the shoulder and started down the road.

-- ♦ --

John picked up his other phone, dropping it into his jacket pocket before grabbing the bags off the desk and heading for the door.

The sun had finally come out at around one, pushing the temperature into the high teens. John hated winter, the cold and the snow. He wrapped his jacket more tightly around himself picking up the pace as he made his way toward the park. His phone went off, another text. He fumbled for the personal phone in his pocket, pulling it out.

Got off early. Gonna play some ball, wanna join?

I’m already at the park.

Jefferson?

Yeah

Cool, See you in 45

John pocketed the phone as he rounded the corner and through the fence into the park. He wandered over toward the swings checking his phone for the time. He sat down in the seat, pushing his sneakers into the sand. He found a few kids looking to buy, selling a couple of dimes before his actual client showed up, he pocketed the cash and started toward the basketball courts.

He tossed his bag underneath the hoop, the impact causing the fresh snow to billow out.The light dusting on the court flurried in the wind dancing across the blacktop. It’d been a while since they had played, Arthur had been so busy lately. He kicked at the snow drifts along the courtside.

“You’re gonna play in that?” John turned to see Arthur walking toward him.

“Not like I had planned to play, I was already out when you texted.”

Arthur laughed. “Coulda brought you a change of clothes, ya know.” He tossed the basketball at John.

John caught the ball and began to dribble it lazily.

“S’fine. It’s one-on-one, a friendly game.” He tossed the ball back to Arthur. “Don’t know how you aren’t freezing your ass off right now though.” Arthur looked down at himself, his shorts and sweatshirt not seeming that out of place for a game, but he knew John hated the cold.

“Me? You’re gonna tear those jeans, how do you even get those on?” John scowled and Arthur smirked, giving him a quick shove. “C’mon, let’s play.”

The sun was starting to set when they finished. John was exhausted, he was gonna have to admit he was out of shape, he exhaled heavily and looked over at Arthur. Steam rose off him as he breathed heavily, the ball tucked under his arm. John had managed to pull out a win, scoring the last shot before Arthur called the game, stating that it was getting late and he was getting hungry.

“That was a good game Johnny. That three-pointer was impressive as hell! I take it back, maybe I should get me some of those painted on jeans.” He clapped a hand to John’s shoulder. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

They walked together, bullshitting down the street, the same road home John always took. They stopped at the corner to wait for the light when an older man shouted at them.

“Hey. Hey! You’re that kid!” The boys turned around, glaring at the man who jogged across the street to meet them. Arthur’s body language stiffened next to John and his expression went stony. “You never called me.”

“Yeah.” Arthur snarled. “You were a weird adult.” The gentleman ignored him, his attitude just as chipper.

“You still wrestling?” He looked him over and Arthur shifted under his gaze.

“No.” John could feel the ice in his voice, colder than the evening winter air. He stepped between them, worried that Arhur was going to hit the man.

“Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck is this?” He turned back to Arthur, his eyes locked on the man. Arthur towered over the man, and for the first time John saw what had made Arthur intimidating to others all those years ago. The gentleman glanced over at John, his eyes drifting back to Arthur.

“You’re bigger.” Arthur straightened up to his full height, his patience at an end. He felt the anger bubble in him as this man sized him up, clearly unfazed by Arthur’s intimidation. “My offer still stands, if you’re still looking to fight.” The message was received and Arthur bristled more.

He was goading Arthur. Pushing him, to see if he still was as quick to anger.

“This is my gym.” He thumbed behind him and Arthur’s eyes followed the gesture glancing at the name Bessie’s Bane before returning to his face.

“Sure.” Arthur turned away from the man, stalking past him and down the street, leaving John and the man alone. John glanced after Arthur, before turning back to the stranger and glowering. He took off after Arthur, leaving the man standing alone in the street, a smug smile on his face. John caught up to Arthur two blocks down, grabbing him by the shoulder.

“Hey, slow down. What the fuck was that? Who is that?” John spun Arthur around.

“Nothing. Just some guy from high school.” Arthur grumbled, the heat still radiating off him.

“You gotta take him up on his offer, dude!”

Arthur barked out a laugh, his expression painted with surprise. “WHAT? Fuckin’ why?” He cocked a brow at John.

“Bro. This is EXACTLY how the Karate Kid started!”

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and rolled back onto his heels. “Are you fucking serious?”

“ARE YOU NOT? Some mysterious stranger asks you to train at his gym and you say no?”

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “John…”

“Arthur, come on. What have you got to lose? He’s creepy and you kick his ass.” John’s eyes were pleading.

“Yeah...sure.” Arthur dismissed, turning to head back toward the house. John shivered in the cold night air as Arthur left, jogging after him.

Arthur flipped on the lights in the apartment and dropped the ball onto the floor, trapping it with his foot. John followed him in, dropping his bag into the computer chair and grabbing his blanket off the bed before slinking over to the couch.

“That’s gross.” Arthur scolded. “At least go take a shower if you’re cold.”

John ignored him, burritoing himself on the couch and reaching for the remote. Noodle growled from the floor, climbing his way up the side of the sofa before burrowing his way into the pile of blankets that was John.

Arthur opened the fridge, pulled out a number of ingredients and then moved to the cupboard to pull down the worn recipe book and the lasagna noodles. He flipped through the book stopping on a well worn page. He soaked the noodles and prepped the sauce, layering the lasagna and tossing it into the oven.

“Lasagna’s in the oven. I’m gonna take a shower. Keep an eye on it.” Arthur closed the bathroom door. John grunted that he heard him, nuzzling deeper into the blankets.

Arthur turned off the shower and pulled back the curtain, stepping out of the tub. He wiped the condensation from the mirror, his eyes wandering over his reflection.

You’re bigger.

The words echoed in his head and he inhaled deeply. He had filled out in the last couple years and grown a few more inches. He had kept his strength up working in the butcher shop, but he had softened overall. Arthur ran his hand through his hair, shaking the excess water from it. He picked up the electric razor, trimmed down his beard and inspected the cut in the mirror before flicking off the light and going to get dressed.

The smell of the lasagna filled the apartment as he threw on some lounge pants and returned to the kitchen, pulling open the oven door and removing the bubbling pasta. Arthur dished out the lasagna and brought it to the couch, motioning for John to take it.

Wiggling out of the blanket he took the plate, it felt heavy in his hands. He was going to be sore tomorrow, he could feel it. John dug into the plate, only now realizing how hungry he was. He glanced over to see Arthur finish his off, getting up to get himself seconds.

The pasta warmed his insides, and John finally started to feel normal. His eyes grew heavy as he watched the TV. Noodle snored lightly on his chest. He drifted off to sleep, unable to keep his eyes open.

Arthur’s alarm went off and he groaned, stretching out his sore muscles. He stood and started to get ready for work. Noodle stretched out on his pillow before slithering beneath the pillow to keep warm. He grabbed his bag from the floor and packed some clothes into it, grabbing Noodle from under the pillow, hushing him and taking him over to the couch where John was cocooned in a giant blanket. He placed Noodle on the blanket and watched as the ferret burrowed his way into the warmth of the blankets.

“So. You gonna check out that gym?” John asked, his eyes still closed. Arthur turned and walked out the door.

The rest of the day passed slowly, Arthur’s mind preoccupied with what John had said. Was it insane that he was going through with it? This whole idea that this was a once-in-a-lifetime thing? He was mad at himself for getting excited for the possibility. The man was a creep, right? Who was he? Some recruiter? Why was he there that night?

“Arthur -- Arthur. Kid. You with us?” Pearson reached out, putting his hand on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur tensed under his hand.

“Yeah. Sorry, I’m here. What’s up?” He put down the broom.

“Could you come help me pull this carcass for dressing?” Pearson started toward the back with Arthur in tow. “What’s got you so lost in your own head?”

“Had a weird encounter last night.”

“Someone was able to creep you out?” Pearson turned around, an incredulous look painted on his face.

“Let me ask you something.” Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Some guy tells you he wants you to come fight for him, would you? This guy, who you’ve only ever met once before, back when you were a minor. That’s weird, right? Weirder that he remembers you like 4 years later, and confronts you about it on the street?” He paused then muttered. “Weirder still that I am thinkin’ of takin’ him up on his offer...”

Pearson laughed. An over-the-top sound that startled Arthur and he scowled.

“Listen, even if this guy is a freak. Look at you, you can take him. What’s the worst that happens if you go? They tell you that you can’t leave? Then make them let you. You pass this up? You’ll never know if this was your golden ticket.” Pearson waved him back to work. “I’ll be honest though, I’d be lyin’ if it wouldn’t suck if it was true and you left me. I like you kid. You’re a hard worker. So even if it does come up for shit, you always got a job here.”

“T-thanks.” Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, a smile creeping across his face. He pulled down the pig and hauled it over his shoulder, his legs screaming from the game last night. He dropped it onto the table for Pearson and went back to the front, his head a little clearer.

The remaining hours passed with him feeling a bit better about his choice. He stretched as he put his apron back onto the hook behind the door, grabbing his bag from the chair in the corner. He waved a goodbye to Pearson and made his way toward the gym.

-- ♦ --

Arthur stood outside, looking up at the faded sign that hung over the entryway. He readjusted the bag over his shoulder. The panic rising in his chest that he was making a terrible mistake, he paced on the sidewalk, Thinking back to what John had said. If this really was once-in-a-lifetime what would happen if he wasn’t good enough?

“Oi!” A voice called out and Arthur stopped. “You can’t loiter, it’s private property. Get in or get lost, tiny.” The man in the door crossed his arms. Arthur glowered and turned toward the door. The man threw up his hands in frustration. “I mean it.”

Arthur moved toward the door, his eyes throwing daggers at the doorman. He shoved past the man as he held the door open for him.

“Take your time, buddy.” He sneered as Arthur passed and it took every ounce of his control to not slam the man into the door. He pushed into the lobby and the man let the door close behind them.

A hand on his shoulder made Arthur turn, the gap-tooth grin of the man made Arthur recoil. The strange man chuckled.

“Yer a big sonovabitch!” He stepped back, taking Arthur in. “Sean.” He held out a hand. “This is Bessie’s Bane.” Arthur took his hand nervously.

“Arthur. Ya’ll got lockers?” Arthur pulled his hand back, and Sean nodded toward the back of the gym.

Arthur wandered through the gym toward the locker room, checking out the offerings. He ducked into the locker room and changed. He walked over and checked out the ring, two fighters were sparring loosely. A familiar voice called out from behind him.

“Curiosity got the better of you.” The older man stepped beside him.

“You could say that.”

“And? First impressions?” The man crossed his arms over his chest.

“That kid is a douche.” Arthur said, motioning to Sean.

“He is. So, want a tour?” The man turned and started back toward the free weights.

“Why me?” Arthur paused. “And who are you? He started after him. The man stopped at a boxing bag hanging in a far corner.

“Show me what you got and I’ll tell you.”

Arthur rolled back onto his heels, crossing his arms. “You know how creepy that sounds, right?”

The man shot him a look of annoyance. “Hosea. Hosea Matthews. Listen kid, you weren’t cut out for wrestling. The way you move. Your control, the way you read your opponents moves before they even think about them themselves. You were being wasted in wrestling.”

“It was a school sport, it really wasn’t that serious.”

Hosea grabbed the bag. “There is real money in this, if you have what it takes.”

“And what’s that, exactly?”

Hosea smacked the bag. “Whatever keeps you on your feet and winning.”

Arthur frowned. “That ain’t an answer. That could be literally anything.” He deadpanned.

“Just show me a coupled good hits.” He patted the bag again and Arthur loosened his stance. “You ever heard of MMA?”

“Sure, just didn’t think there were whole gyms dedicated to it.” Arthur delivered three heavy hits to the bag. Hosea watched him, his expression impossible to read.

“Again, but this time pretend it can hit back.”

Arthur transferred his weight to the balls of his feet and danced around the bag. He jabbed quickly at the bag, landing three hits in a quick succession before bringing in a final heavy hit.

“Again, more power.” Hosea stepped back from the bag.

Arthur growled, his first strike sending the bag in a high arc. He spun around, his leg catching the bag and thrusting it angrily to the side. He dodged the imaginary return blow ducking low and releasing a flurry of blows into the side of the bag. Hosea smiled.

Arthur continued to pummel the bag, the stress and anger from the week melting away. His arms fell to his sides. Exhaling slowly, he stopped the bag with his hands, his eyes flaring. Hosea chuckled, his hand finding Arthur’s shoulder.

“There it is. C’mon. TOMMY!”

Hosea turned Arthur and led him toward the ring. Out of his peripheral he saw a large man lumber toward the ring, the man called out as he reached the ropes.

“Yeah?” The rope bowed heavily under his weight.

“Tommy. This is Arthur, he needs a sparring partner, want some ring time?”

The men touched gloves as they started the fight, each squaring off. Tommy took the first swing, moving to try and break Arthur’s defenses, knocking him back onto the heels of his feet. The second hit connecting with his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. He doubled over and a knee connected with his face. Arthur swung wide as he reeled back, catching Tommy square in the jaw with his fist.

Both men took a staggered step back before returning to their defense stances, Arthur wiping the blood from his nose. Each sizing the other up. Arthur danced around some of Tommy’s heavier hits, taking only glancing blows. His speed, the only advantage he had. His blows seemingly ineffective against the mountain that was Tommy.

Hosea watched them, his eyes on Arthur, watching his movements. Each time he adjusted his fighting style Hosea smiled. The men slowed as the fight wore on and Hosea called it.

Tommy’s giant hand clapped down heavily on Arthur’s shoulder “You’re damn good kid, keep up the work.” He turned and headed off toward the locker rooms.

Hosea leaned against the ropes next to Arthur. Arthur chugged back water, wiping the rest of the blood and sweat from his face onto his towel.“So? Come fight for me?”

Arthur huffed out a laugh, his skin on fire with adrenaline, a huge smile crossing his face. “You got yourself a fighter, old man.” He held out a hand to Hosea who shook it firmly.

Arthur slid out of the ring and made his way back to the locker room, his breathing returning to normal. He grabbed his things and headed out the door.

-- ♦ --

Arthur unlocked the door and stepped inside, tossing his bag next to the door. John looked up as he entered, the color draining from his face.

“Holy shit, dude! Are you okay?!” John yelped. The black eye bloomed on Arthur’s face. The blood from his nose and split lip spotted the front of his sweatshirt, the sleeve smeared with blood. Arthur smiled at him, holding up his hands.

“I’m okay Johnny!” He pushed past John into the bathroom, stripping off his sweatshirt and tossing it into the sink. John’s fears were not put to rest as he looked at Arthur’s back covered with deep red bruises already starting to look angry. Arthur flipped the water on in the shower, letting it warm up and walked toward the kitchen. He pulled baking soda and vinegar from the cabinet.

John stepped behind him, blocking his way back to the bathroom, puffing himself up. “Seriously dude, what happened?”

“I went to the gym, that’s all.” He pushed John gently out of the way and headed back into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

John paced the room. This was all his fault! He got Arthur hurt, because he wanted to believe that this could be some kind of big break for him. He crumpled onto the couch, his head falling into his hands.

Arthur opened the bathroom door a while later, his cuts bandaged and cleaned. The red bruises angry against his skin as he pulled a shirt from the rack. John pushed up off the couch and Arthur threw the shirt over his head.

“You really got your ass kicked...at the gym?” John crossed his arms, still not convinced this wasn’t just Arthur trying to protect him or close him out.

Arthur pulled on the shirt and chuckled. “Yeah. Dude was built like a fuckin’ brick wall!” He flopped down onto the couch. He grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels. John sighed, dropping back onto the arm of the couch.

“Sorry…I told you to go” He mumbled.

Arthur let the remote fall to his side. Glancing over to John. “Nah bro. Thank you, really. It was amazing!” He picked the remote up, flipping through the channels again. “Hosea wants me to come by tomorrow, get me started on a regiment.” John looked down at Arthur, stunned into silence.

He watched Arthur, his feelings bubbling through him. Still blaming himself for how hurt Arthur got, but conflicted with how at peace he seemed. John watched as Noodle scrambled onto Arthur’s chest, curling up, Arthur’s large bandaged hand gently scritching the ferret. John glanced down at the floor, guilt overtaking him again.

“You hungry?” Arthur turned to John and he propped himself up onto his elbow. “Hey, you okay?” John kept his eyes trained on the floor. Arthur leaned over, reaching for John as Noodle rolled off him onto the couch.

“John, you didn’t do this. I am fine, honestly! It’s just a couple of cuts and bruises, no worse than I used to get during wrestling. I had a blast!” He shook John’s leg. “Come with me tomorrow!” John looked up at him, knitting his eyebrows. “Find out for yourself, since I can’t convince you.”

John breathed out a short laugh shaking his head. A smile washed over Arthur’s face. He patted John’s leg and rolled back onto the couch.

“Fine.” He pushed up off the couch and walked over to the kitchen. “How about pizza?”

#rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #john marston #fanfic #fight nights #hyde tries writing #i will try and post like this as well #tumblr version

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motleymoose · 4 years ago

Text

Homecoming, Part 2: Bosph, Ch 2

Chapter 2: New Friends, Found & Lost

Fandom: The Mandalorian, Star Wars Characters: The Mandalorian (Din Djarin), Gender-Neutral Reader, Mihcas (OC), Nameless dozens Words: 5.1k+ Warnings: Canon-appropriate violence, Injuries, Death & Destruction, Angst adjacent, Fluff if you squint

Summary:

I make friends where I can. But apparently, I don't get to keep them long when the bounty hunter's around.

Fraggin' buckethead.

Homecoming Masterlist

Just before the rusty pink dawn broke, we made it to the bottom of the ravine. My hands were bound once more, but this time the cuffs were loose, giving me room to wiggle out of them. The hunters’s blaster was still in its holster and the rifle slung across his back. He didn’t draw the pistol until we were out of the ditch, picking our way around craters and abandoned mech. A pile of service droids marked the gate into the compound, and my guts wrenched at the sight of them. There were many out there that didn’t see the sentient robots as living things, no matter what personality or skills they developed outside of their programming, and it hurt to think of the terror and confusion the service droids must have experienced before being destroyed.

Repressing the urge to vomit, I stood silently beside the bounty hunter as the merc at the gate scanned the ID fob and took the puck containing my arrest warrant. While the scan was processing, another guard stepped forward and ripped the goggles and respimask from my face, chucking them behind her. I scowled as menacingly as I could, but she just laughed, waving her hand dismissively at me. The scanner beeped an all-clear, and the merc triggered the gate, ushering us into the yard. The Mandalorian’s blaster barrel pressed into my side as we followed the merc through a low tunnel and into the building itself.

Once inside, we were greeted by several more mercs, each carrying weapons in plain view. Flanked on both sides and the back, the mercs guided us into a short hallway that contained a single door.

“Oh, no. After you,” I replied to the prod from the Mandalorian’s gun. I was rewarded with a slap upside the head that left my ears ringing. The merc who administered the blow grinned humorlessly at me with very sharp pointy teeth. Sighing in exasperation, I held my bound hands up. “I don’t know the code to open the door.” I wiggled my fingers emphatically and received another smack to the head. A pale orange Twi’lek shouldered her way forward, tapping a string of digits into the control panel. With a hiss, the door slid open.

The room was smaller compared to some of Mihcas’s other boltholes, but it was still elegantly furnished, and expensively. Carpets and furs decorated the floors and walls, and richly cushioned couches and chairs were spaced evenly around the center of the room facing the extravagantly massive fireplace. Servants, of varying ages, mods and species, lined up against the wall on either side of the fireplace, eyes downcast and arms politely tucked behind them. In the midst of it all stood Mihcas, dressed in a well-tailored formal tunic belted at the waist and Sullustan leather pants that ended inside tall black shock boots, his shoulder-length silver-blonde hair tied neatly at the back of his neck. He turned as we entered, a wolfish grin on his otherwise averagely-handsome pale features.

Acknowledging me with a curt nod, he greeted the Mandalorian with wide arms. “Welcome, fierce beroya! I do hope the journey was not too wearisome.” A sharp glance to one of the attendants procured a tray of cups and cold tea and Imperial delicacies.

I eyed the tray longingly before forcing myself to look away. My eyes met Mihcas’s, and his humorless grin widened, showing off his perfect teeth. The Mandalorian stepped around me, blocking my view of my ex-boss.

“Do you have the credits,” he stated in his not-a-question way, fingers tightening imperceptibly on the blaster’s grip.

“Ah. Yes,” Mihcas replied, voice hardening. “If you would be so kind as to hand my errant employee over to my guards, I will get you your payment.” He walked to a table standing in the corner of the room and unlocked it with a finger scan.

The Mandalorian turned to me, cloak blocking all but my view of his hands as they tested the cuffs and slipped the blaster into the pocket at my hip, hidden by my baggy tunic. With a helmet tilt to the guards at the door, he stepped back and watched as two of the mercs flanked me. I was lifted up by large hands clenching my upper arms and swiftly dragged from the room.

The door closed behind us as my two brutish companions, a mountainous blue-green Twi’lek male with a mean looking modified disrupter slung across his back and a rough-looking tawny Wookiee carrying a heavy reconfigurable blaster and a long knife strapped to its belt, hauled me bodily down the hall for one long droid-operated freight elevator ride and tour of the underground tunnels before depositing me into a barred holding cell. The Twi’lek bastard gave me a hard kick to the knee, sending me tumbling to the cold stone floor. I yelped in surprise and pain, feeling the cartilage pop in protest. The Wookiee barked a guttural laugh and slammed the barred door closed after the Twi’lek exited the cell. I waited until I heard their heavy footfalls disappear into the darkness, praying to the Maker that there was no one else down here with me, and sat up.

Holding my breath, I slipped out of the cuffs, tucking them into the pocket at my thigh. Mother of Moons, was I thankful for my jumpsuit. There was no other piece of clothing as versatile as this in the galaxy, nor any with as many pockets. Touching every pocket in turn, I let my fingers trace their way to my left knee. It was throbbing dully, and the heat from the rapidly swelling flesh only mildly concerned me at the moment. There was a secret pouch at the back of the knee, hidden in the baggy folds of the tough fabric, and I needed to get at it before the pain intensified. I unbuttoned the leg of the jumpsuit to just below my thigh and fished out the tiny set of tools I’d hidden.

Unrolling the palm-sized piece of leather on my aching knee, I selected a thin, pointed hook pick and a flat length of metal with a zigzag end I liked to call a squiggle, more colloquially known as a worm rake. I carefully folded the other tools back into the leather and returned it to the secret pouch, buttoning only three buttons at the bottom of the leg out of convenience and the need for speed. Rising painfully to my feet, I limped over to the metal door to inspect the lock close-up.

It was a simple deadbolt-type lock. Smirking mirthlessly, I knelt on my right knee, letting my left leg splay out sideways to avoid being bumped. Snaking my arms through the bars, I closed my eyes and let the tools become natural extensions of my hands. I could see the mechanism clear as day without actually looking at it, my body attuned to the scrapes and taps of the tools.

A gentle push here, a light rake there, and the lock clicked. I retrieved the little tool set from the knee pouch and replaced the pick and rake, returning the now-complete set to its home once more.

I allowed a small groan as I stood up. White-hot pain stabbed at the tendons at the inside of my knee when I put weight on my left leg, and I cursed the skug of a Twi’lek who'd kicked me. The Mandalorian had told me nothing of a rendezvous, let alone an escape plan, but I took the borrowed pistol as a good sign he wasn’t leaving me as sarlacc fodder. However, the knee was going to slow me up quite a bit if there happened to be an end goal I wasn't aware of.

The space between the tunnel wall and the holding cell wasn’t all that wide, and I made it in two one-legged hops, landing heavily against the wall. Using the tunnel as support, I limped awkwardly back the way I’d been carried. Landmarks were few and far between down at this depth, and it took a few attempts before I found the first freight elevator.

Relief flooded my senses as I stumbled over the gap and onto the steel platform. The tiny cylindrical service droid meeped in surprise when I entered, but quickly returned to its base programming to ask what floor I required.

“Ground level,” I replied dryly.

The droid beeped a confirmation, several small lights flashing brightly across its face. The guardrail swung down as the cage doors slid shut, and we began our ascent to the surface. The trip up was going to take a while, so I slid against the wire-paneled wall and sat companionably on the platform next to the droid.

“Do you like working down here?” I asked sincerely. Other than this one, the droids I’d seen so far were all non-functioning piles of metal.

A whir and a set of clicks confirmed my suspicions. I didn’t have the more delicate tools needed to give the elevator droid a proper diagnostics test, but I had a small dropper of oil and a few slim-handled stiff bristle brushes.

I emptied my pockets, setting each item neatly in front of the service droid. It meeped and whirred.

“It looks like your vents are stiff and your utility arm could use some grease. I’d like to clean them for you, if you’ll let me.”

A lone light blinked as the droid processed the information. A few seconds later, it clicked excitedly.

“No problem! I like doing this kinda stuff.” I smiled, adding offhandedly, “I’m a mech.”

With mindful fingers, I popped off the droid’s front access panel and loosened larger bits of caked-on gunk from its bolts and heftier gears. Taking up one of the smaller brushes, I swept away the rest of the debris and pinched the stiff bristles together to work out a little bit of rotted oil gumming up its more delicate gears. Leaning back, I took one satisfied look at my handiwork before picking up the small oil dropper.

“A little lube, and you’ll be as good as new, burc’ya,” I said, dusting off the top of its domed head.

I finished oiling the droid’s joints and other recalcitrant parts by the time we arrived at the ground floor. The elevator juttered to a stop, and the little service droid whirred happily, moving its arm in a smooth back and forth motion that showed off my mech skills. I couldn't help but smile at the droid. Knowing that my work was being appreciated was the best thanks I could ask for.

"Looks like this is where I get off," I said, pulling myself stiffly to my feet. "Don't let those kung-breathed dosh-heads get you down, friend."

The droid beeped in a succession of trills and tweets, and I patted its dome in a friendly parting. The droid pulled the door lever, and I stood back as the guardrail raised and the cage door slid open. It took a moment for the outer facade to recognize the command, but when it did, I found myself in utter chaos.

At the end of the tunnel, oily smoke curled languidly out of a Twi'lek sized hole in the sliding metal doors. One of Mihcas's elegant chairs lay broken halfway down the tunnel, and the body of the Wookiee guard was crumpled against the wall. Wide eyed but not naive, I slipped the blaster from my hip pocket and edged out of the elevator.

"Get out of here, if you can," I whispered to the little service droid. It meeped worriedly, and I reached back into the freight elevator to tap its domed top in comfort. "Don't worry about me, the goons can't hurt me; the boss reserves the right to kill me himself."

The droid trilled frantically, lights firing circles around its small head.

“Um, no. You are not coming with me. It’s too dangerous.”

Another set of trills and lights, but this time with a short honk.

“Fine. But don’t come crying to me when some fraghead takes a potshot at you and fries your servers,” I replied. Glad as I was to have company, and friendly company at that, I worried about the little droid coming to harm.

It beeped solemnly at me, disengaged from its dock, and whirred happily ahead of me.

"You, too, little friend," I murmured.

Limping as quietly as I could, I followed my new droid friend. It stopped a few feet short of the merc laying in the hall. I slowly approached the prostrate Wookiee, blaster drawn, taking a position in front of the service droid. The merc wasn't moving, which was good news for us. But by the size of the hole in its chest, it didn't look like it took that news very well. Stooping cautiously, I reached out a hand and poked it in its glassy, half-opened eye.

Yep. Definitely dead.

Tugging at its belt, I spun the leather strap around its waist until the forearm length blade came into view, still in its sheath. The knife was more like a sword in my hands, but it was better than a gun. Shoving the Mandalorian’s blaster back into its pocket, I straightened and glanced towards Mihcas's sanctum. I began to limp towards the door, the small robot rolling closely behind. We were almost to the broken door when something caught my eye.

I froze, and the droid followed suit. A shadow flickered in the haze of smoke, masking whether it was friend or foe. Fingers tightening on the grip, I shuffled forward leaning heavily to the right. If I had to fight my way out of here, I couldn't count on my knife skills alone. My knee was too badly damaged to be of any use in hand-to-hand combat, and I cursed the Twi’lek once more before steeling myself for a possible attack.

Someone grunted angrily on the other side of the smoky room. Inching towards the door, it was impossible to see more than two feet inside. Frustrated, I patted my pockets with my free hand, searching for something to cover my face.

Bingo.

Unwadding the crusty oil rag, I tucked the knife under my arm and tied the rag around my nose and mouth. It wasn’t as good as a respimask, but at least I wasn’t going to immediately fill my lungs with soot. I got a surer grip on the large knife, and leaned up against the wall beside the door. The hole was large, all jagged edges and fused metal, and I knew that no amount of finagling was going to get the control panel to open it. By this time, I was well aware of my knee; the sharp, throbbing sensation that traveled up and down my leg every time I took a step made it kinda hard to forget about the damage. I couldn’t put much weight on it, which made the idea of stepping over the bottom of the damaged door all the more unpleasant.

The acrid smoke roiled, disturbed by movement farther into the room. I wasn’t sure if this was the only exit, but seeing as I didn’t have any other ideas, I was going to have to try my luck with whoever was occupying the space.

“Think you could get me one of those rugs if I set you over the door?” I asked the droid blinking beside me.

It beeped a response, and I nodded.

With as much ease and grace that I could muster, I hefted the droid through the hole and onto the other side of the door. Its fans whirred faster as it encountered the dense smoke, and I could see its squat shape rolling further into the room. Silence fell for a brief moment, and the worry began to eat its way back into my chest.

Just as I was about to force my way over the broken door, a set of colorful blinking lights greeted me through the dimness.

Leaning into the hole, I snagged the edge of the fur my little droid pal had retrieved. I laid it over the lip of the hole, taking care to not fall over. I was frustrated and scared, and it took more than I had to bite my tongue from shouting in pain. Gingerly, I sat down on the edge of the door and tipped over backwards, landing with a healthy whuff on the other side in a pile of discarded carpets. The droid blinked silently in concern, and I patted its head before flopping over onto my belly. Pushing to my knees, I hissed out a string of curses in as many languages as I could muster. My knee was shrieking in agony, but I had to keep going if I wanted to get out of the compound alive. Flinging potential tripping hazards away from me, I used a broken chair leg to rise wobbly to my feet. The room was eerily quiet, but I could still feel the presence of someone else.

I was rewarded for my paranoia by a clatter in the center of the room. I stopped and held my breath. Another grunt sounded from the same direction

Instead of running in the direction I thought the door was, I decided to try my luck with the being at the center of the room. The droid flashed red in alarm, but I ignored its warnings. I may have been hoping that it was Mihcas making that noise, slowly dying in a puddle of his own bodily fluids. It would have made a fitting death for a skug who caused untold amounts of despair in others.

Picking my way carefully through the wreckage, I held the blade at the ready. If anyone was going to pop out of the smoke at me, they were going to be met with a very big knife. The droid stayed as quiet as it could, leaving plenty of space between us as a precaution. It wouldn't do anyone any favors if it got underfoot in a fight.

A noise nearby made me jump. Boots scuffed up ahead, followed by another groan. I couldn’t see over to the other side of the couch, the smoke being too thick and stinging my eyes to tears. Everything had taken on a blurry, hazed look, and it was a miracle I didn’t trip over the leg that came sweeping across the floor at me.

“Frag!” I yelped, arms instinctively coming to a defensive position.

I heard my name rasped through a vocoder. "You're alive."

"No thanks to you, buckethead," I replied, squinting down at the Mandalorian. "You're lucky I've got skills. What happened to you?" He was propped up in a scrunchingly uncomfortable way against the couch, an unfamiliar pistol in his hand and his rifle at his side. I tried again, waving the knife at the smoke. “This your handiwork?”

Ignoring me, his visor focused on a point just over my left shoulder. "Let's go."

With effort, I help him unsteadily to his feet, looping an arm around his torso. He leaned heavily into me, favoring his right side. From the looks of it, his arm was useless, dislocated maybe. A dark wet splotch had bloomed underneath his armor, and there was a strain on the floor to match.

Adding his weight to mine caused my knee to buckle ever so slightly in the wrong direction. The searing pain brought bile up the back of my throat. The sourness mixed with the metallic taste of the smoke already residing there, making me gag a little in response. Anxiety emerged from underneath my guts, clawing its way to my chest.

I swallowed in an attempt to keep the panic from setting in, and immediately regretted the decision. It dropped like a stone back into my stomach. Now I was queasy on top of the pain and the panic. Things weren’t looking good, and I could feel my heart begin to race at the thought of being smothered by all the smoke in Mihcas’s compound. Just as I was getting lost in the tangle of panicked thoughts and feelings, the Mandalorian muttered something.

“What?” I gasped, brought rudely out of my waking nightmares into reality.

“Amban. Need it,” he breathed.

Oh, right. The rifle.

Inhaling as deeply as I could, I ignored the nausea and the ever present pain and reached down for the discarded rifle. When I came back up, lightheaded and not a little dizzy, the bounty hunter wrapped the strap once around his good wrist and slung it over his helmet and shoulder. Blinking a few times, I exhaled explosively. Taking his weight back on, I guided him in a stumbling, winding path across the room.

"Fragging sake, you way as much as a bluurg!"

The Mandalorian grunted under his breath, gloves fingers digging into my shoulder. "Blaster," he muttered.

"Hold on. " I stopped, letting go of his arm and fishing for the gun in my pocket. "Here, " I said, showing it to him. "But how are you gonna-"

An excited trill of beeps sounded off to my right. With a heave, the hunter dropped his arm from my shoulders, taking the pistol in his good hand. Without looking at where he was aiming, the Mandalorian fired off two succinct rounds in the direction of the noise.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” I cried, lunging toward the crumpled droid. It meeped weakly, its blinking lights slowly fading one by one.

“It was helping me.” I held the droid’s small, blocky body in my arms as more of its functions began to shut down. My knee was screaming, but I didn’t care; my new friend was dying, and there was nothing I could do for it.

The Mandalorian stood sentinel behind me, blaster at his side. “We should go.”

“I can’t leave it alone!” I snarled back at him. “Why did you shoot?” My voice wavered, the fight draining out of me as fast as the droid’s little lights winked out. It didn’t take long for my little friend to beep its last.

I stood up from the remains of the droid, wiped my face on my sleeve and limped back toward the Mandalorian. “Ready when you are,” I said coolly.

He checked the charge on his blaster, powered it back up, and collapsed against the wall. “Exit. There,” he said with a tilt of his helmet. Squinting against the smoke and the tears, I couldn’t tell how far it was, but I could feel a breeze that stank of the outside.

Huffing, the Mandalorian pushed off of the wall and onto my awaiting shoulder. I may have been carrying most of his weight, but he was still in total control. He steered us the short distance to the smashed door and into the short, low tunnel.

“Not sure how we’re gonna get over that ravine,” I said conversationally.

“You worry about getting us there, I’ll worry about what comes after.”

“Got some magical flying Tauntauns up your sleeve, do you?”

“Shut up and walk.”

More than a little irked, I shuffled along under him until we got to the mouth of the tunnel. The body of the guard who’d laughed at me lay twisted against the curved wall of the tunnel, eyes open in astonishment. The merc was nowhere to be seen. Stopping a few steps from the outside, I helped the Mandalorian sit down against the curve of the tunnel wall, his breath coming out in rough, painful gasps over the vocoder. I glanced nervously at the dead guard. “What’d you do with the other one?”

“Do you... really... want to know.”

“Just making sure I’m not gonna get blasted once we step outside.”

“I took... care of... them.”

Nodding again, I look out across the compound’s yard to the gate, still closed but unmanned as far as I could tell. The Mandalorian’s breath began to slow from ragged gasps to mostly even puffs. He shifted against the wall, and I reached down to help him stand.

Synchronized, we stepped cautiously out into the muddy sunlight. The warmth felt good on my face and neck, and my shoulders relaxed fractionally. Mother of Moons, I never thought I’d see daylight again.

"I think you've seen better days, Mando."

The bounty hunter was fast. As I was turning my head around to see who had spoken, the Mandalorian had his blaster trained on the interloper.

Mihcas

Surprised as I was to see that the Mandalorian was standing in front of me… was he trying to protect me?... I was more so by the appearance of Mihcas who, I’d falsely assumed, had been killed with the rest of them.

Serves me right for not asking the correct questions.

Mihcas strode forward, the Twi’lek’s disruptor drawing a bead on the bounty hunter. His clothes were torn and singed and he was covered in blood, some of it drying darkly in his loose, silvery hair. Somehow I knew that it wasn’t his blood, and the thought of whose it could be made me sick. “I’m willing to let you carry on your merry way in exchange for my employee. We have business to discuss, and I would hate to bore you with all of the gruesome details.” The wolfish smile pulled at his lips again. He looked absolutely mad.

“I don’t negotiate,” the bounty hunter replied. A slight tremor in his right arm told me he wouldn’t be able to stand for much longer. I was going to have to do something, something incredible stupid in order to save the buckethead who got me into this mess, and I was going to have to do it fast.

“But I do!” I said brightly, stepping around the shocked Mandalorian.

On Mihcas’s lips, my name sounded like a curse. His long, thin hands tightened on the rifle, bringing it to bear on my chest. I could hear the power buzzing through it from twenty paces away.

“What are you doing?” the hunter whispered urgently.

“Shut up. I’ve got a plan to plan.” It had sounded so much smarter in my head, but I couldn’t take it back now.

Refocusing on Mihcas, I held up my hands and dropped the purloined knife. It landed, extremely pointy point down, in the semi-soft soil between my feet. “If I assume correctly, this scruffy-looking buckethead took out all of your hired goons while I was down below. Right?”

Mihcas’s head tipped imperceptibly, eyes darting to my helmeted shadow then back to me.

“‘Kay. Even knowing that, you’re willing to bet your life that he’s not gonna turn right around and kick your doshing ass once you’ve shot me? That doesn’t seem remotely smart or calculating, Mr. Bossman.”

Face reddening, Mihcas hissed, “I’ll take my chances.”

“Really? ‘Cuz from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re half a dozen charges away from an empty rifle. No, don’t check,” I bluffed reasonably. “Take your eyes off me, and who knows where this crazy Mando’s gonna go.”

I could practically see the steam rolling off of my boss, his temper getting the better of him the longer I pointed out the obvious. With any luck, I’d get his focus entirely hazed by anger, and hopefully that would be enough for one of us to take him out.

The Mandalorian huffed behind me, and I shook my head. If only he could be patient for a moment longer.

“So, with all this stuff not in your favor, I can see only one real option for you.” I paused for effect, holding my breath as I watched Mihcas shift uncomfortably. Then I waited a little bit longer.

“Well?” Mihcas snapped. The gun’s barrel dipped a fraction lower, and I inwardly congratulated myself on pissing him off enough to lose focus. If he was interested in what I was saying, there was an even better chance of making it off this rock alive.

“You die.”

Shoving me roughly to the dirt, the Mandalorian rushed forward, guns blazing. With his right side useless and probably in considerable pain, the shots were a little off-centered, hitting the other man in the hip and shoulder. Mihcas went down with an angry scream, returning erratic fire from where he lay. A burning sensation bit at my side as I rose from the dust, and I doubled over. Must’ve landed wrong when the hunter pushed me. The Mandalorian yelled something in my direction, but I didn’t catch what it was as I straightened up. The adrenaline surged once more through my veins, and I ducked, pulling what I now considered my knife from the ground. From the corner of my eye, I could see the bounty hunter flat on his belly behind the pile of dead droids, returning fire with Mihcas. For the heck of it, I picked up a decent sized rock as well.

Stumbling forward, I switched the large blade to my dominant hand, the silvery sharp edge slicing into my palm. From my vantage point, both the Mandalorian and Mihcas were highly visible to me, but not each other. I tested the weight of the rock in the other, finding the best grip I could at such short notice. I only had one shot, and I needed to make it count, otherwise...

Well, I didn't want to think about that.

With an underhanded swing, I lobbed the rock inexpertly at Mihcas's head. It shattered against the gatepost, showering him with mean, gritty pebbles and dirt.

A string of swears erupted from Mihcas as he dropped the barrel of his gun and wiped frantically at his face one-handedly. Those bits of debris had to sting; the air on this planet wasn't the cleanest, and it undoubtedly had leeched into the soil.

Steeling myself, I straightened to my full height, filling my lungs with the dry, tangy air.

“HEY MIHCAS,” I screamed, the words tearing my throat raw. “CATCH!” I flicked my wrist, sending the large dagger singing through the air. Mihcas’s eyes went wide when the knife appeared, sticking out of his chest. He immediately slumped over, cradling the hilt in his death throes.

Taking one last look at Mihcas’s body, I limped hurriedly toward the dead drones.

The Mandalorian’s helm gleamed violently in the sunlight, and I shielded my eyes, coming to a stuttering stop in front of his cover.

“Got ‘im,” I said with a smile.

I may not have been able to tell what his face looked like under that visor of his, but I could feel an air of disapproving astonishment coming from him. I relished in it.

“I… have… so many questions,” he replied, frustratedly flabbergasted.

“So do I, but I’m sure we can get that sorted once we get back to the Crest. That is, unless…” I stopped, scrutinizing the tilt of his helmet and the grip on the blaster. “Unless you’re leaving me here?”

A violent huff sizzled over his vocoder. “There’s speedbikes in an alcove inside that tunnel,” he said tersely, pointing back the way we came. “They should get us back to the ship before midday.”

“Thank you, Mother of Moons,” I mumbled, rolling my eyes. I was going to voluntarily stay at the compound if it meant not walking all the way back to the ship at his speedy pace.

_______________________

Notes:

beroya - bounty hunter burc’ya - friend

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life-of-ice · 5 years ago

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Round 2: Masaki Sako vs. Reiko Sukoru

@taiyuu-high-oct Time for them to battle it out!

Jewelry for this round above!

A few days earlier…..

It was break time in Class 1-A, and everyone was conversating before class started. Tokachi walked up to the front of the classroom and waved, getting everyone’s attention

“Hey guys! So I had this idea, maybe we can make walkie talkies for us to use during our next test? And we could have codenames! It’ll give us a huge advantage, and it’ll be fun!”

The class buzzed with excitement, and as one they gave their affirmation.

Tokachi beamed, glad he idea went through. “I got really really excited about this, so I came up with some code names already! Here!”

She started writing down the codenames on the board, and after a moment of silence, silly grins began to spread across people’s faces.

Oh, this was going to be good.

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

Sako stared out across the makeshift city,taking account of what he had on him. Plastic and iron? Check. Walkie Talkie? Check. Unknown Fabric? Check. A stupid, inaccurate codename? Sigh. Check. He took in all the sights and the eerie lack of sound. Everyone had gone to their areas, and each of them was isolated, leaving a bridge of silence that no one could cross. The city was well endowed, complete with signs and vehicles, there must have been a huge amount of electricity used for this round.

There was an overlay of chatter from the radio.

Now, the feathered boy knew who his opponent was. His opponent was Reiko Sukoru, the girl who literally shocked Lyrimon, and if what he heard was true, she had flown over most of the obstacles in the entrance exam, by turning her legs into freaking tornados. Or maybe she had drifted as a cloud, but either way, pretty cool, right?

Sako was fucked. Like normal. But hey, what’s a fight without a challenge?

He stood listlessly, his arms at his side, his wings folded up, and he was trembling with adrenaline, finding it hard to breathe.

Aurora cheerfully began explaining, with gruff inputs from Wolfsboon every once in a while, and then she began her countdown, everyone silencing as she went.

“On your mark!” He looked up, searching.

“Ready!” He leaned to get ready to run

“GO!” And off he went, running at a fast jog, not quite ready to spend all his energy yet. Even so, his endurance was pretty good, and he looked, up, down and all around for the faint glow of the orb.

The feathered boy thought it was a good idea to go just straight towards the middle of the course, that would make sense, right? They want to make it fair for both the students. And off he ran, taking note of who his area overlapped with.

Oh look, there’s green fire. ….. And all the power went out over there. Looks like Funkee and Koatsu.

“HA! SEE HOW MUCH YOU LIKE THAT- oh. He sets things on fire.”

“COME AT ME BRO!”

There’s Lyrimon, and I guess that’s Suzuki. Oh dear, she’s staring at me. Haha, and now she’s not, good job Lyrimon!

Returning his attention to the task ahead of him, he glanced down alleys and streets, not willing to take too many chances. Directly ahead of him was a roundabout, and in the middle was the orb, gently floating above it’s pedestal.

WHOOSH!

Reiko with tornado legs, dropped from the sky, and she reformed just in time to land gently on the ground, grabbing the orb as she went.

If I just turn around and go back the other way, she’s going to think that I have it, right? I mean, she knows what my quirk is, right? Oh boy.

Sako turned around and started walking off as though he was trying to be stealthy, as she examined the orb, probably trying to figure out whether it was real or not.

And there it was, the rumble of noise coming from behind him, and he took off in a sprint, definitely not holding the orb, but making one as he ran, along with one of the other most stupid looking things he’s made in a while.

He loaded his homemade orb into the hand held ball launcher, like the kind you use for dogs, and as he ran, he threw the ball as hard as he could down one of the streets, luckily, he judged the timing correctly and it flew quickly, going decently far before dissipating, leaving nothing behind. Just to be safe, he ran down one more block, pretending to throw something again, and then he put his acting skills to work, pretending he was shocked.

Now he was “angry”, stopping and glaring at the street he just threw the orb down. “FUCK! THAT WAS THE WRONG ONE! UGGGH. I have to go get it now. Hrmph.” He took off again, this time going down the street, dropping the ball thrower, knowing full well that there wasn’t anything down there… Except for Shou and Otsuka.

“Hey Chicken Little, you good?”

Sako sighed at the name, he’s not short, dammit. He didn't know who it was, but he responded back anyway with a grunt of affirmation, “Yeah, it’s all part of my plan. Hey, I’ve Got A Bone to Pick, Reiko’s heading down your way, can you try and distract her?”

Otsuka’s voice came through. “I’ll try my best! I’m a little preoccupied, Shou keeps changing the range of their quirk and it’s very disorienting.”

Sako was pretty sure that Reiko was getting more confused now. And that was a good thing, and now she looked conflicting, glancing between the orb she was holding and the way Sako was running, and the first orb he threw, and she went off to follow the first orb, putting down the orb because she couldn’t carry it and go full speed arm and leg tornado at the same time.

He glanced behind him and silently cheered as he veered off into an alley, Reiko not taking any notice of him, thinking that he was looking for it.

And all through this, he backtracked while carefully stayed out of Shou’s range, knowing full well that Reiko was going directly into it, and as he ran, he checked to see how she was doing, but Shou’s activation and deactivation of their quirk range was disorienting her, despite her ability to propel herself.

And he ducked and scooped up the orb, and sprinted like there was no tomorrow.

Glancing around, he goes a block down further from the main road, hopefully to avoid Reiko if she came sooner than expected. He pressed himself against the side of the building to catch his breath, and as he stood there for a few minutes, Funkee came running around the corner, also catching his breath, and the two made eye contact.

“.....”

“....”

“Uh, hello Hacker Voice.”

“Hi Masaki. Or should I say Chicken Little. Alright, so I’m running away from Koatsu, I have the orb.”

“.. Oh nice! Me too! You think you could help me with something?”

“Sure.”

Sako explained his plan, telling Funkee he just had to stay there, and run electricity through a wire for him. Funkee nodded in affirmation, and Sako began his plan to lure Reiko towards him.

He went back to the main street, and saw Reiko.

Now an angry tornado was after him. Great!

He was going to have to move his plan forward in time a little bit, and this time he slapped one of the exposed wires as he created a light, thin, metal web, and one long wire weighed down by what was essentially a hockey puck.

He threw the web at Reiko, and the puck at Funkee, who was connected to the building already, and as soon as Funkee caught it, he electrified the thing, Sako getting out of the way of the web as it fell, electrocuting Reiko.

The two boys winced at her fall, she was now unconscious, with slight burn wounds where the net landed.

Ouch.

Sako pulled up the web, intending to simply get it off her, when Koatsu came across them, and there was a beat of awkward silence before everyone starting moving, Sako throwing the web at him too, and Zeke channeling electricity, while Koatsu was running over to Reiko.

Bzzzt!

He dropped like a rock, and the two boys stared at their handiwork before sighing in relief, high fiving.

Speaking into the radio, Sako made eye contact with Funkee, grinning all the while. “Chicken Little and Hacker Voice here, we took down both our opponents. Mix n Match, I’ve Got a Bone to Pick, need any help?”

“Masaki, we can’t reach their areas.”

Sako blushed, and returned back to the radio. “Never mind then! Carry on, haha.” He turned to Funkee. “Hey man, thanks for your help.”

Funkee grinned. “Any time. And now, to win our rounds.”

The two of the shared one more smile before sprinting off to their goals. Sako carefully placed the orb in the goal, and Wolfsboon's voice growled out from the speakers.

“Masaki Sako wins!”

#Masaki Sako #Taiyuu OCT #Zeke Funkee #Lyrimon Draconia Spellmen #Koatsu Arakan #Reiko Sukoru #Suzuki Popi #Otsuka Aimi #Round 2

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blogwirelesschargers · 5 years ago

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Best Wireless Chargers 2020 – Buyer’s Guide

My girlfriend recently bought a wireless charger for her Samsung phone. She was really excited about it. And, if I’m being honest, I was too. The world needs fewer wires, and the whole wireless-charger thing has been a long time coming.

Unfortunately though, the charger was a lot slower than we thought it would be. The LED lights were annoying, too – they were so bright at night that they lit up her entire room. It made me wonder if we’d just bought a bad brand, and if there were better wireless chargers out there.

Which of course is when I decided to write a review article on them!

1. RAVPower – Best for techies

In my mind, the biggest selling point for RAVpower’s Fast Wireless Charger is its sleek design. It’s one of the most futuristic looking chargers on our list. When I put a wired charger next to a RAVPower, I feel like the RAVpower is an artifact left behind by a time traveler from the 24th century. That’s how good the design is.

The RAVpower is a Qi-certified charger, meaning it works with a fair number of devices, including the iPhone 8, 8 Plus, the iPhone X, as well as the Samsung Galaxy S7, S8, S9, S7+, and the Note 8.

But, to be honest, as good as it looks, this isn’t the fastest wireless charger on the market. There are some seriously fast wireless chargers out there. At the upper end, some will charge your phone at a rate of 15-watts. On the lower side, we have wireless chargers that will hobble along at a speed of 3.5-watts.

That being said, the RAVpower charges compatible iPhone devices (including the 8, 8 Plus, and X) at 7.5-watts. While this falls in the middle of the range of 3.5-15, it’s actually above the mode of our set. What I mean by this is, more than half of the devices I looked at charged Apple devices at 5-watts or less. None of them charged faster than 7.5 – so while the RAVpower isn’t the fastest on the market, it isn’t bad.

Because of the different designs between Apple and Samsung devices, Samsungs can be charged faster than Apple products. The RAVpower charges compatible Samsung devices (including the Galaxy S7, S8, S9, and the Note 8) at 10-watts. That’s faster than three of the other chargers on our list, slower only than one, and as fast as the other five.

What I Like

The very first thing I absolutely love about RAVPower wireless chargers is the design. These are some of the most futuristic looking chargers I have ever seen. You could buy one for nothing more than the pleasure of having people asking you to tell them more about your cool new gadget.

The RAVPower’s design lets it dispense heat about 15% faster than similarly priced chargers. I personally don’t like the idea of a hot phone or charger during the charging process. With all the reports of batteries exploding, I’m always afraid it’s going to blow up.

The RAVPower also protects your phone against some of the common problems that occur with rechargeable batteries: overcharging, overvoltage, and overcurrent.

Overcharging happens when you let your device charge too long. The battery is full, but power still gets pumped in. This can damage a battery, ruining its ability to hold a charge. RAVPower’s technology allows the charger to see that the battery is full, and to reduce its charging rate to a trickle.

Similarly, the RAVPower protects against overvoltage (when the charging delivers too much power for your device) and overcurrent (a power surge).

All of these capabilities are bundled up under a proprietary technology known as HyperAir. To be honest, these are standard things you will find in any wireless charger worth its salt, but there’s something extra that HyperAir technology does that makes it truly stand out: it is capable of detecting your iPhone instantaneously because it shares the same fixed frequency program that your iPhone has. That means that as soon as your iPhone is within a minimum range, it starts to charge straight away.

What I Don’t Like

Okay, the first thing I really don’t like here is the fact that the LED on the charger will stay orange no matter whether my iPhone is standard charged, fast charged, or fully charged. With Samsung Galaxies, the LED turns green. This is because of the difference in how the iPhones and Galaxies communicate with the wireless charger.

Your phone also shouldn’t have casing thicker than 3 mm or the wireless charger won’t be able to charge it. With many other chargers, the maximum width is 4 or 5 mm. When it comes to phone cases, that extra allowance can make a huge difference. Don’t put anything between your phone and the charger either, because that will also keep it from charging. And that includes metals and magnets. In fact, magnets might mess up the functioning of the wireless charger; I really feel like they could have done a little more as far as the resilience and robustness of the charger is concerned. It’s probably great for a home or office where it’s going to sit by a computer and you know nothing’s going to hurt it. But if it’s in a common space – in a dorm or a shared office – the chance of it being damaged is a little too high for my blood.

2. Choetech – Best for frequent use

The Choetech approach to wireless chargers is pretty interesting. They wanted to make a versatile charger – one that can do a little bit of everything pretty well – and that’s what they delivered.

As the name implies, Choetech designed the QI Fast Wireless Charging Stand as… well… a stand. This allows it to be easily used while your device is charging. Other designs on the market include mats (which allow multiple devices to charge at once) and pucks (which can only charge a single device that is lying flat). You can imagine how much easier it would be to use your phone when it’s at an upright angle, as opposed to lying flat on your desk.

What I Like

Let’s take a minute to get back to the fact that this Qi-certified wireless charger is a stand. It allows you to place your phone in either landscape or portrait modes. That way, you can use your phone in whatever way the app you’re running demands. Meanwhile, the wireless charger will be filling it up with juice.

There is an LED strip at the base of the charger that tells you what mode it is in. When it glows blue, it means the wireless charger is in standby mode. When it glows green, it means your phone is charging.

For compatible Samsung devices (the Galaxy S9, S8, S7, S7 Edge, S6, and S6 Edge, and the Galaxy Note 9, Note 8, and Note 5), the charging rate is 10-watts. I find this works great. I can use them while they’re charging without draining the battery so much that it stops actually charging.

I also like the considerate design. You might think that, because it is a wireless charging stand, the charging area will be a little restricted. However, the design involves two coils, which means it has a much wider charging area than expected. Place your phone in landscape or portrait position and it will still charge.

This wireless charger also features charging and temperature protection, due to the clever circuitry in the device. It has anti-slip rubber feet for more stability.

What I Don’t Like

For those charging the iPhone, you will notice that the 5-watt rate is anything but speedy. In fact, if you have your GPS switched on, or any other app that places heavy demands on the phone’s power, then don’t expect your phone’s battery to get full anytime soon.

I didn’t like the fact that it doesn’t come with an adaptor right out of the box. That means I had to go hunting for an adaptor with the right specifications in order to use it.

While this is a Qi-enable device (meaning it can charge many different kinds of phones), I didn’t like that some phones had a hard time charging. A Nokia, for example, has to be placed in a special way for it to charge at all. Move it from its sweet spot and it won’t charge.

I have to advise that you first make sure your phone is supported before buying this charger. You should also check if the phone casing is less than 4 mm.

3. Seneo – Best case-friendly charger

Seneo is one of the world’s leading brands, with over 2 million customers. Of course, Seneo insists that all of these were satisfied customers; I decided to be one of those customers, have a look at their Qi Certified Wireless Charging Stand, and decide for myself.

It comes in a really cool and sleek design. From what I saw, most charging stands come in the same windsurfer design with only two real distinguishing features. The first is in the charging real estate. How many charging coils it has, and how they’re arranged, determines the size of the stand. The other distinguishing feature is in the design of the LED light that tells you whether the phone is charging or not. This one was a lot like the rest, but I liked the fairly glossy black on it. It just looked a little more ‘refined’ than the rest.

What I Like

As it turns out, the Seneo is a pretty good wireless charger (maybe those 2 million customers really are satisfied, after all!). As with most chargers, the Seneo has two modes, 5- and 10-watts. But, with the Seneo, the numbers of watts isn’t the whole story.

The 10-watt mode is – and if you’ve been reading this article through, you’ll know the answer here – for the Samsung Galaxy suite of phones and tablets. That includes the S6 onwards and the Note 5 onwards. The exact list is on their page.

That of course leaves the lower, 5-watt mode for iPhones, including the 8, the 8 Plus, and the X. 5-watts is on the low end of charging rates on our list. However, Seneo claims their connection is “more stable,” and promises faster speeds than other 5-watt chargers. They compare their charger to some of the 7.5-watt chargers that are on the market.

I didn’t quite get what they meant by “stability” – a stronger connection between the charger and phone maybe? Or something internal to the charger?

I never did figure that part out, but I did learn, through use, that it does a better job than other 5-watt chargers. In a few hours’ time, my iPhone went from 10% to 100% despite the fact that I was constantly messaging my girlfriend. I didn’t really put it through its paces by using a more intensive app, like a video or game. And I kept my GPS off. But still, compared to other 5-watt chargers put into similar conditions, it did better.

It comes with all the standard features. It’s Qi-certified, so it’s compatible with both Samsung and iPhone phones. It has temperature protection, voltage protection, short circuit protection, etc.

But maybe the real highlight for this charger is its case friendliness. It’s on another level. Your phone’s case can be up to 5 mm thick (though the optimal thickness is 4mm). The highest on our list. This is the difference between having to take your phone out of its case, or not. You still can’t have any clips or magnetic backings – magnets especially mess with wireless chargers. But I loved that I could leave my phone in its case, set my phone on the charger, and not have to keep adjusting it so that it sat right over one of the charging coils in order to get it to charge well.

What I Don’t Like

As much as I would like to corroborate their claims, I really don’t think Seneo’s charging stand is comparable to a decent 7.5-watt charger. It did seem to be better than the average 5-watt wireless charger. And it may be better than some of the cheaper 7.5-watt chargers. But it certainly didn’t beat any of the good 7.5-watt chargers I tried.

Another downside is that this charging stand isn’t made for any other phone brands on the market. You should either have an iPhone or a Samsung.

I also don’t like the fact the package does not come with a Qi 2.0 or 3.0 adapter. You have to buy those separately. That is something I didn’t like about pretty much every charger on this list, but that doesn’t excuse Seneo.

4. Pleson – Best value for your money

Some of my friends spoke highly of Pleson’s Ultra Slim Qi Wireless Charging Pad. I decided to borrow one of theirs, and give it a good comparison. And I have to say that, if you made a graph of the wireless chargers in this list with affordability on one axis and great features on the other, then Pleson’s pad would sit as a blip above the best-fit line.

What I Like

The biggest difference between Pleson and other brands is the charging rate. The Pleson comes in at a whopping maximum rate of 13.5-watts. That’s up to 1.4 times faster than similarly priced chargers on the market. My girlfriend loves it too. She is an absolute social media junkie and so she needs a charger that will either charge her phone super fast or handle heavy phone use while charging. The Pleson is a puck, so she has to wait for her phone to finish charging before she can use it, but it will charge her phone to 100% in an hour at the most.

I also liked the “intelligent identification design” – the LED light turns green when the phone is charging. It seems like such a simple thing to engineer charging lights into these devices, but not all of them do. You will also have to use either a QC 3.0 adapter or the original adapter that comes with your Samsung phone.

But let me say that I like more than just that the Pleson has a light. I also like the light’s design. Most wireless chargers try to do too much when it comes to notifying people of the charging condition of their phones. There use too many beeps and blinking lights. If the only thing I cared about in the world was the state of my phone’s charge, that might be fine. But I’m usually working or sleeping, and I try to minimize the number of beeps and boops and blinks in my life. But Pleson doesn’t come with any of those. In their own words, their LED light is designed in a ‘humanized’ way.

I want to know when my phone has finished charging, but I don’t need a constant reminder. Pleson has recognized that, and engineered their LED to turn off after 10 seconds. For me, that’s perfect. I pop in my phone and it flashes green briefly to show me that my phone is charging. Now that I know that little fun fact, I don’t need to constantly see the light or hear any annoying sound.

Another good thing with Pleson is the 3-year warranty. The standard warranty in the industry is 18 months. There is a charger on our list (the Ellesye) that offers a lifetime warranty. But Pleson’s 3-year warranty is a testament to how confident the people behind this brand are in the quality of their own technology. On top of their warranty, they also promise a 60-day money-back guarantee.

What I Don’t Like

One problem is that the fast mode is only available for the Samsung Galaxy suite of phones and tabs. That doesn’t even include standard charging Galaxy phones like the S6 and the S6 Edge. You will also have to settle for standard charging other Qi-enabled phones like the Google Nexus 5 and the Google Nexus 6.

For iPhones, the Pleson becomes rather surprisingly lackluster. With top speeds of 13.5-watts for Samsung phones, you would expect something like 7.5-watts for iPhones.

The Pleson is a puck charger. A puck charger is the manufacturer’s way of telling you that you can either charge your phone or you can use your phone, but you can’t have both. Why do I have to make a choice, Pleson?? Pucks are the literal, physical embodiment of that saying about not being able to have your cake and eat it too. While the charge rate for my iPhone isn’t horrible, I have to wait for it to charge completely before I can go through my messages and see what I missed. In the meantime, I’m cut off from the rest of the world and actually have to talk to people and take up hobbies like drawing with pencils like it’s 1999 again.

I also don’t like the fact that this charger isn’t very case friendly. Any phone case thicker than 2 mm will give you some serious problems when you try to charge your phone. You would also have to take off the back of the phone if it is metallic. This charger is completely intolerant of metal.

5. Samsung – Best for Samsung users

Of course, this party wouldn’t be complete without a proprietary charger by none other than Samsung themselves. The Samsung charger is on the pricier end. Adding that to the fact that Samsung has been a pioneer of wireless charging, we would expect it to deliver some pretty great features.

You might worry that, since the charger is by Samsung, it is only compatible with Samsung phones. Luckily, that is not the case. This charger is compatible with any Qi-compatible smartphone, including the iPhone 8, 8 Plus, and X.

I am absolutely awed by this charger’s unique futuristic design. Words won’t do this justice – when I say that it’s two discs coming together at an almost perpendicular angle, and that it looks like a cross between a puck and a stand, I make it sound like something Frankenstein might have made. But, if that’s the case, then this would be Frankenstein’s third generation device, when all the nuts, bolts, and seams have been hidden, and instead of a horror story it’s a romantic sci-fi.

Now, even though it looks like two pucks, it is a stand, to be sure, but the back of the stand is large and circular, like an oversized puck. I think that is intentional, to increase the charging real estate so your phone can be placed in pretty much any orientation and still charge.

What I Like

When I first saw the Samsung wireless charger, I went through a bit of cognitive dissonance. I love the fact that they didn’t overlook the ability to place your phone in either landscape or portrait mode when charging. That means you get to use it as much as you want and still get it to charge. There are puck models of the Samsung wireless charger which are much simpler and do not have this advantage, but the stand version is as fast as any charging stand you find out there.

I also love the fan on the device, which does an incredible job of dispersing heat. That means you don’t have to worry about either the charging stand or your phone overheating as you charge it.

The charging rate on the Samsung wireless charger is 9-watts. Now, before you frown at that, I can say that the charger still charges a phone very quickly. I don’t exactly know what kind of engineering went into it, but they managed to make their 9-watt fast charging system feel like the 13.5-watt Pleson. I tried my girlfriend’s Samsung Galaxy S9 on the fast charge. It filled up at the optimal rate even while she was chatting and posting on social media the whole time, and with her GPS on. It was just something else.

Even at the standard 5-watts that iPhones get, mine was able to charge in just a few hours. And that’s while I was using it – I was checking messages, had the GPS enabled, browsing social media. All of this, of course, requires that you have a regular type C USB charger for the fast charging and a regular QC 2.0 adapter for the standard charging.

The LED light is multicolored and comes with a pleasant and faint glow to tell you what the charging status of the phone is. With most stands, you expect the LED light to be rather obvious and at the front of the charging stand. However, with the Samsung, it’s a lot more subtle, being located under the circular puck at the bottom of the stand. And not having a bright LED light glaring at me is something I appreciate.

The one I used had two coils, which allowed me to charge my phones in whatever orientation I wanted. There are models of this same charger that come with 3 coils, instead of 2, so you get to charge your phone even more easily due to even more charging real estate. Of course, it is Qi certified and will charge your phone as long as the phone is Qi enabled.

What I do not Like

For the most part, the only thing I did not like here was the fact that this charger is not very case friendly. The official number may be 3 mm, but sometimes, even that might give you issues charging. To be safe, make sure the casing on your phone is less than 2 mm thick (or, be prepared to take your phone out of its case every time you want to charge up).

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