#she has a prosthetic eye if that isn’t clear!

[magic-worms]

quick mabel to relax:] featuring one of my headcanons

[baxndaid]

sal fisher x mean!reader?

reader is a bit of a bitch to be completely honest. that’s what sal loves the most about them 🤭🤭🤭 (perchance some smut with it xoxo)

sal fisher

x reader 🍤☁️🦢

— super bitchy reader

a/n ; i love bullying sal <33

- being a massive bitch to sally isn’t something that he was supposed to like, but he does, and it freaks everyone out

- he used to be snarky and insult you back but after a few days he completely stopped and just let you have your way with him without much of a fight

- you love to make fun of him, he’s just so pathetic, your favorite activity is tugging on his pigtails while sitting behind him in class and then quickly looking away like nothing happened

- you and your friends snicker but little did you know, the blush under sally’s prosthetic mask intensified as he found himself liking it a little too much

- his best friend, recently step brother larry, obviously noticed sally’s jittery behaviour and at first he thought it was because he was scared of you, but thanks to some detective work with ashley it was clear that he just liked you

- they tried their absolute best to talk him out of it,

“dude, did you hit your head? you like her? she’s a massive piece of shit!”

“right! she torments you every day! are you sure you’re feeling okay sally?”

sally didn’t exactly deny what larry and ashley told him, instead opting to just silently nodding whilst drowning out their voices and day dreaming. yes, you were awful and rough with him, but he loved it

- larry would try and guide sal away from you whenever he saw you in the hallways, but after a long while, he gave up and let sally be drawn to you like a moth to a flame, he didn’t like it, but he couldn’t stop sally from doing what he wanted

- and so, your torment continued without sally’s friends in the way

————

The halls were completely empty as the bells rang and class has commenced. Sally, despite his not so best efforts, found himself stuck between your arms and his back facing the lockers behind him. He didn’t bother to move or run away,

“Hey dumbass, what’s up with you? You look more repulsive than usual,” You asked, leaning in slightly. He looks around nervously, his glass eye lagging behind his real one as he stutters.

“Huh? What’d you say? Speak up!”

He flinched, his blush hardening under his prosthetic face and reaching his ears. He looked up at you, a little nervously but a hint of excitement present in his blue eye.

“Jesus…” You caress his red ear, “You into this or something?”

He looked at you and swiftly looked back at the floor again, you followed and looked down.

“…Fucking perv.”

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Lonely Souls Club 8

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as stalking, loneliness, noncon, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Two lost souls cross, but not all those are lost, want to be found.

Characters: Bucky Barnes

Note: told you i had the itch.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Bucky 

He lifts her with one arm. His real arm. She fits it perfectly. He carries her to the bed, feeling her rattle with barely restrained sobs. He lays her down and she yelps, her hand brushing his chest as she reaches to her hip. 

“I’m sorry, I hurt you,” he hovers over her, his heart pumping hotly. 

“No, no,” she groans and writhes in agony, “no, it’s... me. It always... hurts.” 

He frowns. He feels that pain. They may have fixed him but there’s still pain. He can take a punch, even from a train on a track, but he still feels all of it. Most of all, he feels what’s missing. The part of him that isn’t there. 

“Can I get you anything?” He asks. “Do you need to eat? Water?” 

“Please, just leave me,” she begs and hugs a pillow, “please, I don’t want you to see me like this.” 

“Doll,” the word slips from his lips, it tastes like sugar, but he can’t help but choke. He inhales and lets it out slowly, “I can’t leave you alone. It’s my job to help those in need. You need me.” 

She looks at him and it’s like he’s been hit right in the gut. She’s beautiful. Her face is streaked with tears, her hair unkempt, and her eyes gleam with pain, but to him, she’s immaculate. 

“Why?” She asks. “How... how did you find me?” 

He’s struck again. He falters just a little bit. He thinks of telling her the truth. Of telling her everything. He can’t. If he does, she’ll be afraid. He couldn’t take that. He couldn’t handle her looking at him like everyone else does. 

“Sometimes we just find who we’re meant to,” he says and believes it. 

She sniffles and squeezes the pillow tighter. She rests her cheek against the top and stares off at the wall. He knows even talking is too much for her right now. 

He goes to the door and picks up his arm. He looks down at the black and gold vibranium as he pulls shut the inner door, the outer one is broken. He lays his prosthetic on the corner of the bed, out of her way, and pauses to feel the thin mattress. He puts pressure on it and the frame creaks. Not good enough. 

He stands straight and goes into the kitchen. The counter is cleared. He opens the cupboard and sees it all. She calls his name but he ignores her. Why was she so upset? It’s more than just her hip. He pulls out the box of macaroni. Inside, the packet of cheese is divided into three separate baggies, the noodles too. 

He squints and puts it back. He takes out the oats and the rice. It’s all the same. It’s all portioned down but not nearly enough to sate. She’s rationing. He sets the boxes back and grabs the sugar dish. It’s empty. The box of green tea has only three packets left. Tea is an appetite suppressant; she’s gone through it so fast, he can guess why. 

His heart drops. He ate more than this in the 30s. A mayo sandwich was much more appetizing than a quarter packets of quick oats. He looks around and nears the fridge. 

“Bucky, please, don’t,” she calls to him. He stops. There’s a piece of paper under the magnet. 

‘After review, your government allowance has been recalculated...’ 

He swipes the paper from under the magnet and reads it. They took more than a quarter of her usual stipend. How could they do that? He saw her shopping cart, he’s seen how she eats, how she lives. Why would they do this to her? 

He wants to tear it up but he knows that won’t change anything. She continues to groan on the fold out bed, the frame squeaking with her sobs. He peers over at the bathroom door. He doesn’t need to look inside at the grimy shower barely big enough for her. 

None of this is good enough for her. She’s all alone here. And now they’re trying to starve her out. That’s what they do. If you’re not useful, they abandon you. 

Fuck that. 

He marches around the couch and searches around. He grabs an empty tote hanging by the door and goes to the little plastic drawers. He reaches inside and stuffs as much into the bag as he can. She babbles his name. She sits up, watching him. 

“What are you doing?” 

He doesn’t answer. He can’t. He’s so fucking angry, he might scream and he doesn’t want to frighten her. He strides across the basement apartment and into the bathroom. He grabs her toothbrush, her brush, whatever he can. He opens the cabinet and finds the pill bottles. Two tablets. The rest are empty. 

He comes back out and takes his arm off the worn mattress. He snaps it in place and throws a blanket over her. She whimpers as she gapes at him. He hooks the bag over his shoulder and scoops her up, keeping the blanket snug around her. 

“Wait, Bucky, what’s happening?” She whines. 

“You can’t stay here,” he says as he feels around until he finds the top of her cane. He grips it and turns it in his grip, angling it with him as he moves around the couch. 

“No, what—where are you taking me?” 

“You deserve better.” 

“Please, Bucky,” she murmurs, “I...” 

“I don’t judge you, doll,” he goes to the door and works around her to open it, “I judge those bastards.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I lost my god—my arm for those people. I went to war. I went through hell,” he growls as he stomps out, stopping short as he sees the motorcycle parked outside. Shit. She can’t ride that. “But they gave me a new arm, they gave me a new life, but what did they do for you?” 

She gulps and he hears her heart pick up. She’s embarrassed. She shouldn’t be. 

“I told you, I help those who need me,” he takes her down the alleyway. “It’s okay to need people.” 

He comes out to pavement and looks up and down the street. He’ll get a cab. That’s the easiest way. He’d walk but she needs to lay down. She needs a hot bath and a proper bed. She’s suffered enough. 

Reader 

Bucky waves the cane from under you and finally hails a cab. He approaches with you in his arms and you keep your head down. You feel like everyone’s staring. That’s what they do when he’s around. 

He gets you in the back seat and rearranges you with the bag and your cane. There’s a tick in his jaw that worries you. You’ve seen that in men before. You’re distracted from the reminder as your hip pangs again. 

You shakily buckle your seat belt as the driver shifts into gear and joins the slow stream of New York traffic. Bucky sits slightly forward, the seat belt straining on his chest, watching through the windshield impatiently. His fingertips tap together as his lips move noiselessly. 

“Bucky,” you say his name. 

He looks over at you and the tension drains from his jaw, “hey, doll, sorry I... I’m just thinking. You need something?” 

“Where are we going?” You ask again. 

He tilts his head, his brows lowering, “home.” 

“Your place?” You ask as you shift and rub your hip. 

He nods, “yeah, my place.” 

“Oh.” 

“Oh?” He echoes. 

“Why?” 

He looks away and his cheeks tug down, “I saw the letter. The food. You... you can’t live like that.” 

“But--” 

“I told you,” he grits. “No more arguing. You need to relax. If you keep tensing up, you’re only gonna make it worse.” 

He’s right. You sniff and try to ease your muscles. The slow crawl of traffic has you jerking with the driver’s brakes. Bucky warns him to take it easy. 

When at last you reach your destination, he pays and tips the driver. He gets you to the edge of the seat, taking the bag and cane too. You wave him off and grab the cane. He lets you have it and you stand. You stumble and grab onto him with your other hand to get up on the curb. 

Your gait is stunted, more than usual as each step sends a ripple through your hip. You look up at the walk-up and stop at the bottom of the steep stairs. You stare at them, defeated. 

“I’ll get you up,” he says. 

You hang your head, “it’s just gonna be one thing after another. Can’t do this, can’t do that... take me home.” 

He ignores you and wraps his arm around your back. He urges you onward, supporting most of your weight as you climb. You get to the top and he punches in a code on a keypad beneath the door handle. It opens and he angles you inside. 

It’s a nice place. A townhouse. The kind you could never afford. The walls have that vintage brick look and the floors are real hardwood. The front room is plaster painted in sky blue and the trim matches the floors. It’s all so much nicer than your life. You feel even less welcome. 

“Come on, I’ll take you upstairs,” he says as he finishes unlacing his boots. You have only your socks on. 

“Upstairs?” You repeat. 

“Bathtub is up there,” he says. He stands and puts his arms out, “can I?” 

You look away and nod. You can’t do any more stairs. He lifts you carefully and you rest the can over you. He carries you up the stairs and down the hall. You weigh nothing in his arms.

“The room next to this, that’s mine. I’ll change the bedding, put your bag in there.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah, I—I don’t sleep in there. I don’t really sleep at all,” he takes you into the bathroom and sits you carefully on the toilet seat. “It’s not too far. If you need anything, say my name.” He stands up and puts his hands on my hips, “you don’t even gotta yell. I can hear through the walls.” 

You look up at him. How could you forget how special he is. He has that serum in him.  

“Okay.” 

He looks over at the tub and chews his lip, “you... you good?” 

“I can manage,” you realise he’s asking if you need help. 

“Well, when you get out, don’t hesitate to call for help.” 

“I’ll be alright.” 

“You know,” he begins abruptly, even before you finish the last syllable, “I don’t think any of what you think I do. You’re not weak. You remind me of the strongest person I know, you might’ve heard of him,” he scoffs, “Steve Rogers. Not Cap, Steven Grant Rogers. Skinny kid I grew up with in Brooklyn. Weighed as much as a piece of hay. He didn’t need the serum. He was strong. Like you.” 

You want to laugh. You put your head down and sigh, “that’s nice--” 

“I’m not lying to you. I wouldn’t lie to you,” he says.  

You feel more tears tingling. You rub your cheek and glance over at the tub. The thought of a bath and is intoxicating. Just a little relief. 

“Thank you, Bucky,” you say, “you really didn’t have to do all this.” 

“I did,” he insists, “someone shoulda done it sooner but the world ain’t what it used to be. Neighbours aren’t your neighbours.” 

“It’s not... It’s my problem--” 

“It’s not a problem,” he says. “I’ll bring in a fresh towel before you hop in.” 

[satans-kneecap]

The Hunger Games Books

• Katniss is described as having dark hair, gray eyes, and olive skin (although her mother and sister are pale, blue-eyed, and blonde)

• Peeta is taller than Katniss??? (which isn’t better, Josh Hutcherson is a 5’5 king which really added to Peeta’s Movie Character)

• Haymitch is from the Seam, so he didn’t have blond hair or blue eyes

• Madge exists (and the mockingjay pin is hers that she gives to Katniss)

• Katniss gets blasted deaf in her left ear (although they quickly fix it in the Capitol)

• Peeta gets cut in the leg, and then the mutts maul it, which is the reason why he gets it amputated and gets the prosthetic leg

• Prim has a goat (I think her name was Lady?) as well as Buttercup the cat, which Katniss tells a story about after Peeta asked her to tell him a story

• Katniss attacks Peeta after he confesses about the crush during the interview, and she causes his hands to bleed

• Cato begs Clove to stay with him as she died (fuck Cato x Glimmer)

• The mutts were designed to look like the tributes (ex: one with blond fur and green eyes for Glimmer)

• Peeta has two fucking older brothers and they both watched him get picked for the Hunger Games like “damn bro that shit sucks” which is in complete contrast to Katniss and Prim

• Katniss waits the WHOLE NIGHT before mercy-killing Cato, she just let him be eaten alive for a couple hours

• We get to read about Haymitch’s Quarter Quell!!!!

• Katniss sees Finnick doing mouth-to-mouth on Peeta after his heart stops and basically thinks “Damn, Finnick, even for you this is wild”

• Her & Finnick trying to scare Peeta when he wakes up when they were all on the beach

• Katniss was ready to kill Peeta with a syringe to protect him after she got lifted out of the arena (she picks it up in the movie but it’s not really clear what her actual intentions were)

• Katniss’ prep team being chained on the wall of a room (I’m pretty sure it was in District 13 or something) just completely fucking naked???

• She fucking sucked at everything Plutarch asked her to do for the propos

To be fair, I still like the movies, but these are just some of the many differences

[kitcatttt]

List of most aggressive Void Touched survivors to least! (Minus Viend, Commando, and Seeker) I’m so obsessed with this au man 😭

N/A - REX, MUL-T, and Chef. I hc that inorganic matter can’t be corrupted in the same way as organic matter, in the sense that it can’t be controlled. It just shuts the robots down. And REX’s plant can’t move without the robot so-

9 - Engineer. He’s actually helpful and non-hostile. He built Commando a prosthetic to use after Bandit bit his arm off, although it does have some corruption in it so it has to be used sparingly. He also doesn’t move outside his workshop, as he’s tethered to his turrets now and carrying them out is really inconvenient. He would’ve stayed in his workshop anyways though, because building/tinkering with shit keeps him calm. He’s also one of the only ones that you can have a conversation with without them trying to scare or threaten you.

8 - Artificer. With how long she used to spend with Viend, she’s somewhat used to how the corruption feels, aura and pressure wise. Basically, when she got corrupted it wasn’t a hugely different feeling than what she was used to, and thus she wasn’t made that aggressive. She’ll talk to Commando and Seeker sometimes but gets agitated if she isn’t with Viend for a while. She also gets agitated if Commando or Seeker are near it. Mostly because they used to not like it and didn’t treat it the best, so she doesn’t trust them to have changed. They have though dw.

7 - Railgunner. Like Artificer she’s used to how the corruption feels, but she also enjoys the Void. So once she got corrupted, she started hanging out there 24/7. Constantly on edge but doesn’t blindly attack. She will attack if you even speak of trying to get her out the Void though. Mostly attacks Seeker, but she has and will attack Commando.

6 - Bandit. First to get corrupted 💔 Irritable but has self control, and is (mostly) calm around Captain and Commando. Just- ignore that he bit his arm off. He’s still loving towards Commando, he just really enjoys fucking with him. To Bandit, he was just “playing around” when he bit Commando. Will intervene if anyone other than him or Captain tries to/does hurt Commando.

5 - Captain. Like Bandit, just grumpier. Hisses when upset, so 80% of the time he’ll be hissing. Hates everyone on the ship that isn't Bandit or Commando, though from how he acts towards them you'd think he hates them too- He’s loving in private though. Really REALLY hateful towards Viend though, which causes a lot of issues with him and Artificer fighting.

4 - Loader. Do. Not. Go. Near. Her. She will grab you. Depending on her mood, she’ll either crush you to death, or talk your ears off. She’s also a fucking tank, so Commando and Seeker have a specific tranquilizer for her. Has killed Engineer before while annoyed because she knew he wouldn’t fight back. She also purposefully moves important stuff to make Commando and Seeker’s lives harder.

3 - Huntress. Perpetually annoyed, Commando and Seeker tend to stay out of her way unless they need her to do something. She’ll come to them if she needs something, and she normally gets pissed when bothered. THE BEEF WITH MERCENARY RAGES ON!!!!!!!!!!!! They fight CONSTANTLY, but there’s rarely a clear cut winner. Commando and Seeker say she won when she asks though. For their safety.

2 - Mercenary. Don’t make eye contact. Ever. It is a death sentence. He has several eyes too so that makes it much harder. Looking at him is also pretty bad, but it isn’t guaranteed death. He sees himself as better than everyone on the ship, so he believes no one has the right to look at him like equals. If Commando or Seeker ever need to talk to him, they HAVE to kneel. They fucking hate it, but he won’t listen otherwise, and he’ll most likely stab them.

1 - Acrid. They keep it locked up for a reason. Don’t engage.

[eleanorjane0690]

Solidarity In Sonder

Excerpt from Chapter 23

Autumn '76 - Peeta

“ I couldn't possibly say, but that doesn't mean you can’t speak upon your worries.  Especially if you’d like my informed opinion.”  

“What?” I huff, relinquishing my hold on Buttercup and closing my eyes while running a hand up my forehead.  Although, as I knot it into my hair, his suggestive statement clicks into place.  

“Ah, I see.” I exclaim, as my eyes ping open “So, I’m guessing, with it being the first daydream you’ve had in a very long time, it was out of the ordinary.  Therefore, something recent must have inspired it.”

Clearing his throat with a weird cough of agreement, after audibly sipping from some unknown beverage, Doc apologises “Sorry Peeta, I have a very dis- agreeable tickle in the back of my throat.”

Shaking my head at his shitty acting skills, aware this very phone call is being recorded, playing along, I smirk “Recently…erm…my art has been inspired by some unusual stuff.”

“Such as?”

“Scars.”

“Scars?” he repeats.  

“Yeah, previously unseen ones.  Ones inflicted in childhood.”

“Previously unseen?” 

“Well it’s not often you see someone's bare ass on full display.” I snigger.  

Waking late into Sunday morning, having slept soundly for the first time in months, sprawled butt naked on my belly across the bed, my depressing lack of morning glory didn't even register as I felt Katniss’ delicate finger tracing along my childhood scars.  The scars, that regardless of the full body polishes I’ve undergone, cannot be erased.  

Shooting my eyes open, highly aware of just how ugly and unappealing the long lines of raised scar tissue are on my ass cheeks, embarrassed, I yanked the throw over my bare body and buried my head into the pillows.   

“Peeta what are they?” she quietly asked.

“Switch scars.” I mumbled, as a quiver that made me sound like the scared child I’d been when I was made to grin and bear receiving them crept into my voice “From my mothers whippings.”

“That’s how you knew!” she exclaimed, welling tears clear to hear in her own tremulous tone “That day in the Square, that’s how you knew, isn’t it?”  

Conscious of the fact she was referring to Gale’s whipping, but unable to look her in the eye, I silently reached out behind me, took hold of her hand, and gently caressed it to let her know not only was she correct but that it was okay to be upset.  Because regardless of how much I appreciate her not talking about him, for my benefit I assume, I know how much that day broke her heart.

“Indeed, it's not often that you do.” Doc professionally replies, trying to mask his titter.  

Sniffling, she excused herself, and on hearing the door go, I quickly got up and threw some clothes on.  

Walking out onto the porch, her half-drank cup of coffee was sitting by the swing but she was nowhere to be seen.  Irrationally, as the Covey’s tale of Lucy Gray began to repeat within my mind, I began to panic.  Running barefoot into the mud, slipping slightly due to the feckless prosthetic, with each repetition rising in distress, I repeatedly hollered her name.  Bolting out of the outhouse bathroom, face blotchy from tears, she flew across the landscape and into my arms.        

“Thank the stars,” I heaved, burying myself into the fall of her hair “I thought…I thought you’d gone.” 

“Gone,” she repeated, brows furrowing as she pulled back to look me in the eye “gone where?"

“I…I don't know…just gone.” I lied, cowardly circumventing how between whippings, Gale, and Lucy, my mind had made some abhorrent connections.  How I feared despite our date, upon being reminded of him, she’d fled to be with Gale.  

“Not without you,” she soothed, rising on tip toe to cup my cheek “I don’t ever want to be anywhere but with you.”  

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56641270/chapters/147201754

[dragonmasterhiccup]

———

“Isla, stop that!” Danny scolded, trying to pull her little sister securely back onto her— currently unnamed— dragons back. The four year old was currently rowdy as ever though, and with all the excitement coursing through her, it was hard to stay still.

That same little girl was the one who now wore a completely fireproof outfit, the one that Hiccup had made for her years ago…

She never forgot him, how could she? She still looked back on that month as one of her fondest.

As she was getting lost in her thoughts, Caito flew up next to her, his expression neutral, though it showed a hint of concern.

“Hey, Kid, you okay?”

Blinking, Danny turned her head to look at her brother, mustering up a small smile as her arms remained wrapped around Isla’s waist.

“Yeah, I—

“Your eye isn’t giving you too much trouble?”

The almost teenager— only two days off, so she basically was one— rolled her eye playfully. It had always been like this with him; you’d be lucky to even answer his question before he was throwing the next one at you.

“It’s fine, Caito, just sore, like usual.”

The injury on her left eye had kind of been her fault, kind of not. She’d freaked out a few years ago when one of her father’s men had been going to sear the branding on her skin, and in the process she’d ended up attempting to use some of the combat moves that Astrid had taught her. That went… not well to say the least, and it had ended up being planted right on the left side of her face, leaving some nasty scars, which were still healing, and rendering her left eye ‘lazy.’

“Okay, I was just checking.”

“How about your arm?” His arm which had been sliced clear off. Good thing Danny’s dad was dead, because now his old prosthetic was now secured onto Caito’s stump.

He nodded. “It’ll be fine, don’t worry about me.” He was deflecting. “What we need to worry about is this island you were talking about.” His voice was suddenly more firm, more serious.

Isla looked up at her and smiled. She couldn’t speak much at all, only small noises here and there, but the family worked around it, using hand signals and gestures to be able to communicate with her.

“—Yeah! The one that you said has an entire arena?!” Magnus called from behind them. He looked to his left, where Imogen was practically asleep on her newfound dragon friend. “Hey— wake up,” he said, nudging her carefully.

“Huh?”

Magnus chuckled. “You cannot keep falling asleep like that.”

“Sorry…” she muttered, yawning and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

“Nah, you’re good, don’t sweat it. Just, don’t fall, okay?”

Danny laughed lightly and shook her head, before looking over at Sigrid, who also looked incredibly exhausted. To be fair, they all were.

“Danielle, we’re serious, you need to be sure about this… place, okay?”

“I am sure— and what’s our other option? Keep island hopping? Where we keep running into more hunters?”

“I’m just saying—“

“C’mon! Let’s go!”

———

“Oh, hey Fin, what’s up?” Danny questioned her friend, who was just finishing his patrol.

Because that’s what they ended up as; friends. It hadn’t worked out for them to be in a relationship; they were too different. And, they also had different viewpoints in the future, about what certain things should look like. In the end, it was better off like this.

“Uh, hi, Danny. Your brother was just talking to me, something about a two or three week trading expedition he thought you’d be interested in? He doesn’t have someone to lead it yet, and he said you’d be a good fit.” He shrugged. “He said you could decide—“

“Finally! Gods, yes, I’ve been needing to get off this island; I’ve been feeling so cooped up recently!” Especially after she’d taken that position on Hiccups council… Hey, someone had to put Spitelout into retirement, why not her? “When do I leave?”

Finley chuckled. “Calm down, calm down. He said by the afternoon.”

“Sounds good!” She replied, already jogging off in the direction of her mother’s hut. “I just gotta say bye to Mom real quick, then I’ll meet my crew by the docks!”

———

“Intruders!” Yelled one of Berks coastline guards, already drawing an arrow, along with the dozens of others lining the cliff.

At this point, the older Danny had left, and now the younger Danny and her family were flying it.

“S***! Danny, you said this was safe— and get Isla behind you!” Caito yelled.

“Guys, stop!” Danny yelled at the rest of her family, who were very quickly starting to lose their cools. “Just hold your hands up!— We, we’re not intruders! We’re travelers, and we just wanna speak to your Chief! His name is Hiccup! Tell him, tell him uh… that Danielle Bloodvist is here!”

After that, they had reluctantly been allowed to land on the island, and Danny— holding Isla— stood there, waiting for Berks Chief to hopefully arrive…

Gods, she was so nervous; what if he didn’t remember her? What if he hated her? He could kick them out, try and kill them—

“Danielle? Shh, it’s okay.” It was Sigrid, and she now had a hand on her shoulder. “Look, I know you’re stressed, but you cannot freak out right now. We need them to like us enough to let us stay… Do you want me to take Isla?”

Isla however, had her head buried in the crook of Danny’s neck, and she was clearly not letting go anytime soon.

Danny shook her head. “N-no, I got her..”

“Okay, then stay calm, and we’ll just wait here…” It was always a good thing Sigrid was here; she was the best at calming them down…

Six years had passed, the Chief of Berk's family had grown. Zephyr, who was now almost seven, had a younger brother now, Nuffink, who was almost five.

The island was thriving, the dragons and people flourishing, and they were expanding their trade with other islands.

The council changed as well, Spitelout caused too much trouble to be allowed his seat, and Hiccup had Danny take his place. Her unique perspective would only help Berk, and the rest of the council agreed.

Danny was able to travel more now, as she was less recognizable as Drago's daughter as the years passed, and she was in no danger of being taken again. It was a relief, to say the least, as this had always been a point of contention between them.

Astrid was doing well too, forgoing her single braid for a pair of them these days. If you asked Hiccup, he'd say she looked as beautiful as ever.

The Chief and Chieftess were together, dinner almost ready when they heard the news, causing them to exchange a confused look. Danny just left, why would they be told she was returning?

Unless...

The mention of there being a band of them, including a little girl, had the Chief on his feet, Astrid telling him she'd look after their kids as he went for the door.

Could it be her?

Calling Toothless, he hopped on the Night Fury's back, and they flew to the outskirts of the island.

He could see them up ahead, and soon he recognized the fire suit he'd made years ago.

As he got closer, he could see her, and he knew it was Danny, the Danny that stayed with them for a month. He almost couldn't believe it, she'd found her way back! And her siblings...they survived this time!

Landing softly, he dismounted, holding up a hand to the scouts, telling them to stand down. "It's all right. They're welcome here."

His eyes were bright as he stepped towards Danny. "It's really you, isn't it? You're...you're all grown up!" Sadness made itself across his features, seeing the branding and the state of her eye. He could see just how painful that must've been, and he wished he could've prevented that.

He couldn't stop himself from embracing Danny, so happy to see her again. "You did it, you found your way back!"

Pulling away, he saw the little girl curled up in Danny's arms, and the others standing around them. "Welcome to Berk! I'm Chief Hiccup, and..you all look exhausted, so why don't you come with me back to my hut, get you all something to eat and some rest, yeah?"

They'd need a place to stay, but Hiccup knew they needed some food and water first. They all looked gaunt, malnourished, and a warm meal would do them all some good.

He motioned to a few of the scouts, "Once they are settled, take their dragons to the feed stations, take them through the full service dragon wash before sending them to the stables. They look like they could use a little pampering as well. Tend to any injuries they may have."

Turning to another scout, he said, "Go to the Great Hall, bring a basket or two of food back to my hut. Astrid and I cooked up dinner, but I don't think it will be enough for everyone."

Facing the group again, he nodded as he hopped back on Toothless' back, not taking off so they can lead the others to his home. "This way. We have a lot to talk about, once we all eat."

[flordivina]

𝓒𝓸𝓷𝓽. — ♫ — @rntr-testinggrounds

It has happened too quickly, before she could even control herself & think; as the sudden amount of emotions would swirl on her mind & around her heart, like a caring hand tracing the wounds left in the dark from her memories—

Seraphine had been slightly tired today; going back & forth from Piltover to Zaun was not an easy endeavor when rushing to make up the best of her time while her Dad was too busy with commissions & repairing to stop her from venturing. He was, after all, also doing his part & offering to aid for free any implement that had been damaged during the attack & the rebellions. From filters to breathing masks to prosthetic arms & legs to wheelchairs for anyone regardless of what side of the bridge they came from…

Of course, there were always those who were rightfully afraid to cross into the City of Progress even when some advancement in political relations had been tried during the months following. So Seraphine would go at her own accord & fix those things that could be needed with the independent groups of volunteers; & she had just left another round of her errands when suddenly she heard it…

A gentle & sweet sound; familiarity caressing her ears as nostalgia would give space to wonder…

The musicbox ever so fondly memorized, a hum she had known by heart cause little her loved to hum it as her best friend would practice her dancing & she would await for her classes to end. The first Soul melody she had caught, even before she knew that’s what it was. An actual symphony…

But that couldn’t be possible right? She was probably imagining things, & maybe the hex-crystal droplets inside her headphones were messing around with another zaunite’s melody instead of tampering it; maybe she was mistaken & it was the returning memory of her bedridden friend through the window, perhaps it was overlapping after seeing so many teenagers & childrens suffering still…

There was no way that the melody she was following, growing louder & fonder with every step, would be hers… right?

She was probably dead by now; right? But she never knew if she had died, she had hoped for her to return; despite her family pushing the idea such thing wasn’t plausible. She was probably dead… —probably…

Before she knows consciously; it’s like her heart burst in the symphony. Every note follows just as she remembers, clear & unique; moving her to the point of tears filling her eyes; & in the caught instant, she’s back to be 13 years old, rushing to meet her best friend with a hug as soon as the door would open. For a moment, time had not passed, for a moment she forgets. It’s for a moment that her eyes don’t notice the mechanical porcelain-doll like shape; it’s for a moment she doesn’t notice how there’s no human skin, it’s for a moment she wishes she could just feel trapped in the idea…

It’s funny how her Soul’s melody isn’t disturbed by the mechanical voice; only her remembrance & dream…

“Oh—… oh, I’m… I’m sorry, I got too emotional for a moment…” She would quickly apologize as the embrace would ease, reluctantly before stepping back. Turquoise gaze meeting with the features that now formed her face; it was like looking to a pretty doll, one of those from the artisan markets they would pass on their way to school. She would always point at the ballerinas to Orianna, telling her one day she would gift one to her when they graduated from the Conservatory & she was Piltover’s most famous dancer.

But how; & why—

“I… didn’t mean to startle you. I—… You reminded me of someone for a moment; a very good old friend. I had not seen her in several years &… funnily enough I don’t even know if she’s still among the cities.”

She didn’t have the heart to say ‘dead’ ; she was reluctant to that; even more so now. Everything alive could produce a melody, Seraphine had noticed with time. Humans, Vastayans, Animals, even the plants had their own gentle manner to express one if she touched them properly. Nothing that was fully mechanical or devoid of a Soul, could produce the symphonies her heart attuned to.

Every corpse was always silence ; like that morning she had left for good

“Oh, yeah, I had not presenting myself even. My name is Seraphine.” Her smile would be kind even as her tears had teared up a little bit; as if she could still hear herself greeting the blonde girl sitting at the desk next to hers the first day of school...

“What’s yours?”

[steelbluehome]

USA Today

'A Different Man' review: Sebastian Stan stuns in darkly funny take on identity

Brian Truitt

October 2, 2024

Sebastian Stan’s face literally falls off in the new dark comedy “A Different Man,” with the aim of questioning who we all are underneath.

Writer/director Aaron Schimberg’s fabulously thought-provoking and searingly funny flick (★★★½ out of four; rated R; in select theaters now, nationwide Friday) digs into themes of identity, empathy, self-awareness and beauty with amusing eccentricity and a pair of revelatory performances. Marvel superhero Stan is stellar as a disfigured man with neurofibromatosis given a miracle “cure” that makes his life hell, and Adam Pearson, a British actor living with the rare disorder in real life, proves a refreshing and movie-stealing delight.

Edward (Stan) is a New York actor who does cheesy corporate inclusivity training videos, where employees learn to treat everyone with respect. It doesn’t happen in his real life: He’s mocked, laughed at or just roundly dismissed because of his facial tumors.

The only person who isn’t a jerk to Edward is his flirty next-door neighbor, aspiring playwright Ingrid (Renate Reinsve), and they strike up an awkward friendship where she sort of digs him and he doesn’t have a clue what to do.

Edward’s condition has worsened to the point where he can’t see out of one eye. He takes his doctor’s advice to sign up for an experimental drug and is given a mask of his original face to wear for a sense of normalcy once the medication begins to work. Oh, it does work, exceedingly well – the body-horror sequence where the tumors come off his face is particularly gnarly – and he's left looking pretty handsome, ready to be a new man, and Ingrid overhears him telling people that Edward is “dead.”

As years pass, he becomes a star real estate agent now calling himself Guy who reeks of confidence. But while the artifice has changed, internally he’s still an insecure mess. That comes out when he discovers that Ingrid has written a play about Edward's life.

Guy wears his mask to the auditions and gets the part, partly because Ingrid feels a connection with him. But he also meets Oswald (Pearson), who looks exactly like he used to but the new guy is beloved as the gregarious, effusive life of every party. Oswald wants to be his friend yet the tense situation veers dicey when Guy becomes jealous, winds up losing his role to Oswald and grows violently unhinged.

Thanks to prosthetics designer Mike Marino – nominated for an Oscar for “Coming 2 America” (and likely getting another nod for this) – Stan is unrecognizable and plays Edward as aloof and shy, tapping back into all that once his macho facade crumbles as Guy.

In the better of his two transformative roles this awards season (though quite good as Donald Trump in "The Apprentice"), Stan is wonderfully off-kilter in "Different Man" and it’s great to see his dour personality contrasted with the lovable Pearson's. A veteran of English TV and the Scarlett Johansson film “Under the Skin,” the newcomer pops with innate charisma and friendliness as it becomes clear Oswald is the guy Edward wanted and thought he would be, not this other Guy.

While the ending loses steam as “Different Man” gets in its own bizarre head, the film maintains a certain heady, psychological trippiness. Having Edward and Oswald be almost mirror images of one another adds a mind-bending slant to an already deep tale that tackles a society that often mistreats someone considered “other” and holds the makeover in high regard.

With strangely thoughtful panache and a helping of absurdity, Schimberg makes us rethink how we look at people and ourselves alike – and who’s to blame when we don’t like the view.

[multi-lefaiye]

oh yeah last night i started a google doc with notes for jackrabbit and other characters he's close with,,, here are some physical descriptions under the cut :3

elle rose: Elle is a lean, brown-skinned woman of average height, with curly black hair that she keeps tied back in a ponytail. She has a square chin and a smattering of freckles across her face, and bright hazel eyes. Years of working on the farm have given Elle strong arms and calloused hands. She has a distinctive scar on her left shoulder, shaped like a crescent moon.

jackrabbit: Jackrabbit is a tall, lightly tanned man with strong, muscular arms and a soft, fat midsection decorated with knots of gnarled scar tissue. He has green eyes with monolids, and long black hair he typically ties back with a gold ribbon. His right arm and leg are both missing, from the elbow and knee down respectively, and he uses a pair of specially-designed magicka-mechanical gold prosthetic limbs. Most notably, however, are his catlike features--Jackrabbit’s body is covered in scattered patches of black and white fur, his ears are long and furry like a cat’s, and he has a long, furred tail trailing behind him.

leon blackguard: Leon is a tall, leanly muscular woman with tan, sun-kissed skin and a shock of short, spiky white hair. She has eerie yellow eyes that shine even in darkness, and uncannily sharp teeth. Her body is littered with tattoos and scar tissue, most notably a series of bullet scars across her back and left shoulder (leading to lifelong chronic pain and weaker grip in her left hand) and spiraling black tattoos along her arms. Though she isn’t one for makeup, Leon does occasionally wear face paint on her hunts, a smear of bloody red across her eyes.

howl quicksilver: Howl is a pale, round-faced man with short-cropped blond hair, wide blue eyes, and freckles across the bridge of his nose. He has a cheerful, friendly air about him, with prominent dimples when he smiles and a single piercing in his right ear. Howl is fat, with a round belly and soft arms, as well as thick thighs. Despite his mostly plain appearance, in certain lights, his eyes shine lavender rather than blue, and some have sworn they’ve seen a fork in his tongue.

van novak: Van is a small, lean person with pale, bronze-tinted skin, vibrant green eyes, and fluffy red hair. They have a deep red tattoo spiraling across their bony shoulders, partially hidden by a massive burn scar on the left side of their torso. Like many tinkerers, Van's hands are often dirty, their fingers smudged black with oil, and overall they tend not to put much effort into their appearance. Van often has a frown on their face and is not particularly expressive, but on the rare occasions they smile, the clear gap between their front teeth becomes visible.

[direwombat]

tagged by various people over the past week or so, including: @socially-awkward-skeleton, @vampireninjabunnies-blog, @nightwingshero, and @inafieldofdaisies, (and i think that's everyone, but if i missed anyone i'm sorry!) to share some wip stuff

tagging: @detectivelokis, @baldurrs, @fourlittleseedlings, @adelaidedrubman, @purplehairsecretlair, @sstewyhosseini, @confidentandgood, @strafethesesinners, @strangefable, @madparadoxum, @voidika, @trench-rot, @josephslittledeputy, @kittiofdoom, @sukoshimikan, @deputyash, @gaeadene, @g0dspeeed, @harmonyowl, @poetikat anyone else with something to share today (but no pressure as always <3)

here are some really roughly drafted bits from augustine's pov in chapter 2/interlude i.

“Shaw, report.”

Ben groans, and he rakes a hand through his hair and drags it down his face -- something Augustine has noticed he does whenever he feels frustrated or overwhelmed. With a shake of his head, he pulls his radio from his belt. But before he responds, he points to one of the men holding Augustine up. “You. Go get a stretcher.”

“But --” 

“That’s an order,” Ben growls.

The man falls silent, shrinking back as he peels Augustine’s arm from around his shoulders and carefully leans him against the other masked man who helped carry him back to the station. Pain lances through Augustine’s leg and he grits his teeth  as his weight shifts. The man scurries off and disappears inside the main building. 

Ben hisses out a quiet fuck before lifting a finger to the remaining man, motioning for him to wait while he answers his radio. “Ranger’s station is secure,” he says. “No casualties. We’re clear to start receiving shipments.”

“Good work. Stay vigilant. The rogue deputy still hasn't been apprehended.”

Ben’s eyes flick over to Augustine and he bites at his lower lip. Dark brows knit together as a shadow falls over his face, but through the haze of pain clouding his vision, Augustine can’t quite tell what that shadow is. Just that he’s deep in thought. 

Then, Ben’s shoulders slump. “About that, sir…” he breathes deeply and grimaces. “I do have an injured civilian.”

“I fail to see the connection,” the voice on the radio says flatly, and before Ben can respond, it continues, “Kill them. Now isn’t the time for converts.”

“It’s the deputy’s brother, sir.”

“What?”

“I have the deputy’s younger  brother. He’s injured.”

The voice on the radio is quiet for a long time. “Bring him to me.” A beat. “How badly is he injured?”

Ben looks at Augustine’s leg and winces. “I’ve seen worse.” He rubs at his left thigh, the leg Augustine knows is a prosthetic below the knee. “But he does have a bone protruding from his shin.”

“Get him here before he passes out from pain. I want to talk to him.”

“Yes, sir.”

He holds his radio in front of him for a moment, waiting for a response. When there isn’t one, he clips it back to his belt. 

Not long after, the man covered in blood returns with a stretcher tucked under his arm. 

“Get him in a truck,” Ben orders. “ I’m taking him to St. Francis. Brother Jacob wants to talk to him.”

....

“Ben?” [Augustine] rasps. Jesus Christ he’s thirsty. “Ben, what’s going on?”

“Just try to relax, Gus,” he says. He turns the key in the truck’s ignition and pulls out of the ranger’s station. “I’m gonna get you to a doctor. Get that leg taken care of and you’ll be just fine, okay?”

“I’m not --” he sucks in a sharp breath as his leg is jostled by the truck bouncing on the dirt road. “I’m not a vet.” 

“They’re the closest doctors, buddy,” Ben says. “Besides, that doesn’t matter anymore. You’re one of us, now.” 

Augustine’s not entirely sure what that’s supposed to mean. But any anxiety over that is immediately replaced by the sickening realization that he needs to let his sister know that he’s hurt. “I need to call Syb,” he says, suddenly panicking. Shit, she’s gonna be so mad. “She needs to know what’s happened.”

“Easy, easy. We’ll call your sister for you,” Ben reassures him. “We’ll make sure you get to see her, okay? Here --” He reaches behind him, into the backseat where Augustine lay. “Give me your phone. I’ll call her when we get there.” 

Hazily, Augustine nods. Yeah. Syb’s met Ben a few times. She knows him. 

Everything’ll be fine. 

He gingerly fishes his phone from his pocket and pushes it into Ben’s palm. “Lockscreen’s 0967,” he says -- his mama’s birthday. Darkness is starting to creep in at the edges of his vision. 

Ben’s hand retracts with the phone and Augustine assumes he tucks it in a pocket or lets it rest on the passenger seat. “Stay with me, bud,” he says. “Gotta keep conscious. Someone real important wants to speak with you.”

But his eyelids are so heavy and he feels so cold. “Whozit?” he slurs. 

“Someone who’s gonna give you your purpose,” Ben responds.

Augustine hums sleepily. Even in his semi-conscious state he finds the answer bizarrely cryptic coming from a man he knows to be brutally direct. But that encroaching darkness blankets his vision before he can ask any more questions.

He falls into it, and his pain disappears.

[rainbow-nerdss]

Crushed Flowers

Written for @augustwritingchallenge day 9: Cleaning Crew Stucky, 1.2k AO3 link

Two weeks ago, Steve woke up in a changed world.

Today, he stands in the middle of a destroyed street, rubble and wreckage all around. The rest of the team — if that word even makes sense for the group he’d fought alongside — are long gone, back to their homes, or secret bunkers, or wherever else Fury had pulled them from.

Steve… he couldn’t leave.

He couldn’t go home — his home didn’t exist anymore.

He looked around him, and he didn’t see victory. He saw crushed cars, destroyed buildings, so much damage to infrastructure and people’s homes, their livelihoods, torn apart as some sort of collateral damage.

He changed out of his uniform into civilian clothes, and joined the first responders, the sanitation crews, and the civilians all working together on the real hero work — picking up the pieces after tragedy.

When Steve was a kid, a building in his neighborhood had burned down. Whole families had been left homeless, and many had serious burn injuries they couldn’t afford to have treated in Hospital. 

Steve had followed his mom out, watched her help those she could, saw the way the community rallied to help their own. 

That’s what a hero did, he thought.

He starts shifting rubble, careful not to move anything too heavy, that might tip off anyone to who he was. Soon enough, there’s enough of a path cleared to allow heavy crews to get to the buildings, and he turns his attention to the line of shopfronts. One catches his eye, a little flower shop with crushed stems and petals scattered across the sidewalk, in between crushed glass from the shattered windows, sparkling in the early morning sunlight. 

Steve makes his way over and finds the owner — or, someone he assumes to be the owner — sitting inside. 

“Need a hand?” Steve asks, then cringes, when he sees the man’s prosthetic arm. “Sorry, I—”

The man snorts, then looks up at him. “It’s fine.”

Steve steps over a broken display and looks around. It looks like one of the fights passed directly through the store, wrecking everything in its path. 

“Shit, this is—”

“I know,” the man sighs. He stands up, and Steve sees a name on his apron. Bucky. “I don’t even know where to start.”

Steve’s chest clenches. Not only is his name like something from home, he’s got the strongest Brooklyn accent Steve’s heard since he went to basic training. 

Steve picks up a pile of shattered wood and nods towards the street, where there were crews collecting anything broken beyond repair. “This feels like the first step.”

Bucky nods, then wipes his eyes with his hand. “Guess so.”

Together, they gather up all of the debris from inside, and stack it out in the street, to be collected by the city. The register still works, though it’s been dented pretty badly, and he’ll need to get a whole new counter to put it on, but the place already looks better, empty as it is.

“Coffee?” Bucky asks. “I don’t think the back room got hit too hard, there might even be a mug back there.”

Steve’s beginning to feel the tiredness catch up with him, so he follows Bucky back. The back room was hit, but it seemed like they got it at an angle, so there’s a mostly untouched corner, with one mug intact. Another has a large chip, but it’ll still hold liquid. And the coffee machine, blessedly, is untouched.

“This place was meant to be my fresh start,” Bucky says, quietly, when they’re both sitting on the floor with steaming mugs of black coffee. “When I got back.”

“Army?” Steve asks, and he isn’t surprised when Bucky nods. “Me, too.”

“I was only open for three months. I was… I was starting to adjust, and now—” Bucky indicates the destruction around him.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, quiet enough that he doesn’t even know whether Bucky will hear. 

“Not your fault,” Bucky dismisses it. 

Steve opens his mouth to argue, to come clean, tell Bucky who he is — he might not have destroyed this particular store, but he hadn’t exactly been paying attention to which buildings got hit as he ran from giant fucking space robots.

“It isn’t your fault, Steve,” Bucky repeated. “You didn’t summon those fucking things, and who knows if i’d even be alive to complain if you guys hadn’t been there to stop them.”

Steve sighs. “You—”

“Yeah, I recognise you. Saw you in enough history textbooks as a kid to recognise you when you walked in my door.”

“I’m in textbooks?” Steve asks, incredulous.

Bucky looks at him, then starts laughing. It doesn’t take long before Steve starts laughing right along with him. It’s not funny, but after the hell they’ve both been through, they need it. They laugh until their stomach hurts, and then Steve pulls himself to his feet.

“So, what’s next?” he asks. 

Bucky looks around what’s left of his business and shrugs. “Not much more we can do today, is there? Why don’t we see who else needs a hand?”

They share a look, and Steve feels something unclench in his chest, a tightness he hadn’t even known was there. “Sounds like a plan,” he agrees. They walk out the front door into the chaos of the street.

Steve stoops down, finding a single, miraculously unharmed stem of bluebells.

“Hey, Bucky?” he calls. Bucky turns around, and Steve hands him the stem.

A mile spreads across Bucky’s face. 

“You know, bluebells only grow for a couple of weeks, naturally. They die off early in the spring, but they always come back the next year.” Bucky tucks the flowers into the pocket of his apron and gives a last look at the business he’d worked so hard to build. 

Steve looked around him, at the wreckage, yes, but also the hundreds of people working to set things to rights. 

“The city’ll come back, too,” he says. “We just need to offer it a little help getting started.”

Bucky hums in agreement, then sets off towards a group of people gathered down the street. “I’ve got power, if anyone needs it!” Steve hears him shout. “Door’s open, just walk in!”

Steve heaves a heavy breath, and jumps into action as people start rushing towards him, pointing them to the sockets behind the register. 

He and Bucky work side by side until they can’t anymore, eyes meeting across whatever work they take on, and by the time Steve has to go — hunger and tiredness finally getting the better of him — he finds himself following Bucky to his old neighborhood in Brooklyn instead of going back to the fancy apartment SHIELD appointed him in Manhattan.

It feels like home. 

Bucky feels like home. Steve sleeps on his couch, and when he wakes, late in the night, he finds Bucky curled up beside him.

A quiet nudge, a bleary eyed frown, and then Bucky moves, tucking himself into Steve’s side. Steve smiles, drifting back to sleep.

Maybe, just maybe, this new world doesn’t have to be completely awful. Maybe it’s not all secret organizations and Starks and threats to the safety of the planet — maybe Steve gets to go home after all — by a certain definition of home, at least.

[celinamarniss]

We Can’t Keep Meeting Like This, chapter three, part five. Part one. Part two. Part Three. Part four.

Peli’s droids scrambled over and began to clear away the debris surrounding the ship, organizing them by a system that Din couldn’t follow. One of the droids—the boxy, two-legged one—sidled up to Luke, and he leaned down to pat its chassis as affectionately as though it were a pet. His astromech trundled over, its head swiveling from side to side as it took in the scene. 

“Let’s take a look at what we’ve got,” Luke said to the astomech. It made a rude sound. 

Luke laughed and braced himself against one of the few remaining panels. “I think she’s beautiful,” he said, practically draping himself over the side of the ship in order to wedge his good hand down into an open panel. “Just needs a little love.” 

Peli leaned up against the hull next to him to watch, Grogu in her arms. “You won’t be disappointed. I know my ships, and this one’s got good bones.” 

“Yeah, looks like it still has a little juice, I think—unh—” 

Luke grunted as something sparked under his fingers. He jerked back, shaking his hand, muttering something guttural under his breath. Din didn’t catch the words, but they sounded Huttese. From the expression on Mara’s face—surprised and impressed in spite of herself—Din guessed that whatever Luke had said was vulgar. Extremely vulgar. 

Peli, on the other hand, knew exactly what Luke had said. She gasped and smacked his arm. Luke yelped. 

“Not in front of the baby!” she hissed. 

“The baby’s fine!” Luke retorted. 

“Yeah, well, if he repeats any of that, you better believe I’ll have a few choice things to say to whoever taught him.” 

“He’s fine,” Luke repeated, stepping out of her reach. He turned his hand over, checking for burns. 

“Are you alright?” Din asked. 

“He’s alright.” Mara snorted. “You damage both hands, farmboy, and you’re walking home.” 

Luke shot her a look sour as curdled milk. 

The arm wasn’t in a cast or bandaged. Luke didn’t act like he was in pain, and he wasn’t careful when moved. Din couldn’t help but wonder—“what happened to your arm?” 

Luke sighed as pulled his arm loose from the sling and held up his right hand. Though it looked just like his left, it was unnaturally stiff, as if the hand had been frozen in place. The thin line of a scar wrapped around his arm. 

“That’s a nice prosthetic,” Peli said. “But I don’t think I have anything hospital-grade in my shop that you can use to fix it. I can talk to a guy for you, though.” 

Luke looked pained. “I don’t want to take it to a local technician. It isn’t hard to fix, I just can’t do it one-handed and Mara won’t help me.”

Mara snorted. “I told him if he stuck his hand in the open vent of a damaged ion cannon—again—he was fixing the damage all by himself.” 

Din stared at him. “You stuck your hand in the vent of an ion cannon?” 

“Three times,” Mara said. 

“I was trying—” Luke cut himself off with a frustrated grunt. “Look, it just fried the memory chip. I’ve got a backup, I just need to replace it.” 

“I’ll fix it,” Din said. 

Luke looked surprised. “I wasn’t saying that to convince you—” 

“I don’t mind. If it’s just a chip replacement, I can do it.” 

“I appreciate the offer, but you don’t have to do this, Mando.” 

“It’s Djarin. Din Djarin. I want to do it.” 

Luke beamed. “Mine’s Luke Skywalker, but you know that already.” 

Something about the name seemed vaguely familiar, now that he heard it out loud, but the reason didn’t come to mind. 

Mara offered Din an ironic smile. “As it says on the bounty: Mara Jade.” She caught Luke’s eye and tilted her head toward their ship. “I’ll get Peli’s money—” 

“—and I’ll get the memory chip.” Luke said. “We’ll be right back.” 

He let the prosthetic hang at his side, his working hand going up to rest in the small of Mara’s back as they strolled back toward their shuttle. Mara raised a hand to shade her face from the sun. 

“Nice looking couple,” Peli said. “Bet they’re fun.” 

She cast him a sidelong look. “I guess you’re about to find out how much fun.” The innuendo was thicker than a Berchestian layer cake. 

“They’re married,” Din hissed. “To each other!” 

“Some marriages have room for three, if you know what I mean,” Peli said, wiggling her non-existent eyebrows. “I’d tell you to use protection, but I guess you’ve got that covered.” She smacked him on the arm. “Hah!” 

There was a clattering sound on the other side of the ship. Peli turned, Grogu on her hip.  “What are you doing over there?” she shouted at her droids, throwing her free arm up in the air. “What did I tell you about dragging that motivator around? What did I tell you?! Do I gotta do everything myself around here…”