#i will.... maybe. draw him with his armor... one day.. sometime in the future...

[dizzybizz]

gillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgillgill

#caption is my best ep32 drunk chip impression #hes so on my mind #hes so in my head #hes so hes hes hes soooooo #i dont think i will ever stop fiddling with their designs. doubly so bc they change over the course of the story too... #so many looks to keep in my head... oaughh #just roll with it #jrwi riptide #gillion tidestrider #jrwi pretzel #my art #idk why the pose is like that uh it wasnt supposed to turn into this whole thing but yknow :) #i will.... maybe. draw him with his armor... one day.. sometime in the future...

[thehomothings]

Analysis of Kite's conflicting moralities, relationship with death, and the toll reincarnation may take on one's psyche

So, today I decided to compile all the thoughts I have had about Kite's interesting worldview since the first time I saw him into one post, mostly for my own sake, really. If you're familiar with the few posts I've made, you know it's gonna be a mess, but hopefully a comprehensible mess.

A heads up, this is going to be spoiler-heavy, and very much deal with subjects of death and dying as a whole. Also, some of these conclusions are drawn from my own experiences and close brushes with death, I'm not going to go into much detail but it might get personal and definitely dark. I'm not even sure if I can call this a meta-analysis, and I'm obviously no expert, so mayhaps take all of this with a grain of salt.

Been getting into drawing lately, and during the more simple and mindless part of the painstaking process of dotting every single star in this, I let my thoughts wander through the latest part of the fic I'm writing, and I got a better grasp on what exactly made Kite such an elusive character to me.

I'm not quite sure why I got so attached to Kite. Perhaps it was the air of tragedy surrounding him, how despite his sordid past he remained still open and gentle even if outlined by a healthy dose of cynicism.

But sometimes, I think it's the fact that he is so paradoxical. He's brave, yet fears death to such a degree that creates a whole Nen ability around it, is a pacifist yet will not hesitate to spill blood for his own sake or someone else's. Despite the many ultimatums and warnings of 'I will not protect you', he gave his arm and then his life to save Gon and Killua. He approaches each hunt and battle with a clear plan of action in mind, but his Hatsu takes the form of a roulette that gives him random weapons which are never what he wants, but what he seems to need for that exact situation, which he cannot dispel without using. When he draws a weapon, the decision is locked in and his or his opponent's fate is sealed. That's why each time he dubbs his weapon a bad roll. Every time he has to gamble, he sees himself as having run out of luck. When it comes to having to choose between himself and somebody else...well, there had never been a choice. In fact his aversion to using it may feed into its sheer power that we, unfortunately, saw too little of.

Let's go over his very first appearance when he saves Gon from the mother Foxbear.

It's not hard to see the strain searching for Ging has put on him; he's rash, prone to anger and punching a child for daring to get into trouble. In his mind, he's failing at his most important task, has not yet earned the right to call himself a hunter despite being in possession of his very own hunter license.

After killing the mother Foxbear and raging about having done so, he says this interesting line:

So yes, he finds killing for any reason rather irksome as most would do, yet I think something deeper caused him to absolutely lose it in this scene:

He had not been aware of Gon's identity, and despite being an animal lover and a naturalist, he made a choice to save the human instead of allowing nature to run its course. In fact, he says: 'No beast that harms a human must be allowed to live.'

How does one weight one life against another? How is the worth of it determined? The value of life... an impossible choice he's faced with and a choice which he seems to regret to some degree.

The Foxbear cub.

Here, he's speaking from experience, a tangible loss he has felt himself, and a hard and bitter life he does not want to impose on the cub.

His backstory is exclusive to the 2011 anime adaptation but there are hints alluding to it in the manga, for example, the fact that he does not seem to know his birthplace, or:

The choice of words is chilling.

Reading between the lines, one could draw the conclusion that he is an orphan. Something supporting this hypothesis is how he visibly deflates after Gon tells him his parents have (presumably) died.

So we see he is willing to go against his own moral code of not killing as to not doom another living being to the life he led, a lonely, hopeless existence that could barely be called one. He saw it best to put down the cub rather than leave it to die a painful, slow death.

The reason Kite himself isn't as cynical and cold-hearted as one would be after witnessing cruelty in its rawest form is those small crumbs of human kindness which he may have found in Ging.

It was not only a chance at an honorable life being Ging's apprentice gave him, but it also 'saved' him from being broken and twisted into what he hated and worst of all, death.

If we take that one minute of backstory as canon to his character-which I find myself inclined to do- these quirks of his make much more sense. He lived on the run. He lived on the knife's edge between giving up or pushing forwards. He lived as so a wrong move could be the difference between survival and the end.

Between rock and a hard place creates a mentality of black and white, absolute good or extreme evil, this or that. Except in reality, it's much harder than that. Deciding who to save and who to strike down is a heavy burden to bear.

It's almost easy to see how struggling to keep surviving could lend itself to a crippling fear of death and subsequently developing a Nen ability which once more goes against his own moral code in order to give himself a second chance...yet something about it strikes me as unlikely when I look at it this way.

Living life knowing it could end at any moment has the opposite effect, at least for me it did. One comes to accept that it is fleeting and while not eager to let it go, when death eventually and inevitably does come, there is no fighting it.

Especially when there is no hope that tomorrow will be a better day than this one.

Frequent near-death experiences numb one's fear in a way, even if it drives them to take precautions that render it unlikely to happen again and results in c-PTSD, but still, it does. It sparks a certain nihilistic view of 'if it all can end so easily, then what's the point of it all?'

Unless there are things to live for, a sure promise of a better future, and Ging gave Kite that. When he faced the threat of losing his second chance at life:

Really, what else could lead someone to develop the ability of 'the hell I'm going to die like this'?

I think a separate event, an even more brutal near-death experience that almost cost him his life as the hunter he so strived to be set him off to develop the secret roll of Crazy Slots, what I call Roll No.0, Ars moriendi. Unlike other weapons, it cannot come up in random and is directly summoned by him, or better said, summon by his overwhelming will to keep going and hopelessness of fighting a losing battle. I don't believe roll No.3 was the weapon that allowed him to reincarnate. I've named that one Wand of Fortune, a sort of armor instead of an offensive weapon since I find it hard to believe Kite, a Conjurer, would not focus on defences as well, and I will go into both mechanisms of these weapons hopefully in his backstory.

Despite knowing this battle to be a pointless one and being acutely aware of his soon to be demise, he did not immediately draw Ars moriendi, no, he stayed back and fought for the sake of the boys, kept Neferpitou occupied until they could reach safety. We can see evidence of this in the aftermath of the battle that seemed to have gone on until dawn, a torn apart landscape only signaling a fraction of the devastation that was Kite's power unleashed. It still wasn't enough.

In the anime sub I watched, when Gon apologizes to Ging about Kite's death, Ging said a sentence that infuriated me, because it belittled the utter suffering of the NGL trio.

"He would not die in your place." (No screenshot, sorry)

And I remember practically shouting at the screen, screaming 'how could you possibly say that? Of course he did. He absolutely did die in their place. How could you not know your own apprentice? Why-'

It was only last night that it hit me why Ging would say that.

Once upon a time, maybe Kite would not have given his life for anybody under any circumstances, even if he had a way out of it all. He would still need to die to come back to life.

His Thanatophobia could be attributed to the (possibly untreated) PTSD of the near-death experience in his later life, being so certain of dying that finding himself alive afterwards drove him to never want to go through that again. He quieted his fear by creating a sort of a loophole, that even if he lost the battle he would remain. Ging remembered that, but as evidence shows, something changed. Maybe he healed a bit, perhaps growing up dulled his fear to a certain degree, but eventually when it came down to his life or another's, he didn't choose himself.

Now, I can hear you saying 'but he didn't die, so what are you going on about??' And so I reply: Yes, he is alive, but he did die. He experienced that painful, horrible moment of staring death in the eyes and thinking 'This is it, this is the end', went through the actual process of having his soul removed from his body. And that moment stretches into infinity, ten lifetimes condensed into the mere seconds before oblivion.

Dying isn't so hard if one stays dead.

It's not so easy to open one's eyes and find oneself alive again after that, no matter how much that is the heart's desire. It's difficult, nigh-impossible to reconcile with life and walk amongst the living when everything had been so final, when death had been accepted to its fullest.

So Kite awakens, the twin of Meruem and back from the dead, his mind and identity both intact and fractured. In that he is Kite is no mistaking, yet he is not the same gentle pacifist whose first reaction upon sensing a monster's aura was to shield two kids from it at the cost of his arm.

I don't think many of you are familiar with Zoroastrian ideology, but Togashi is known for loving his religious imagery, and it's not only Christianism he derives inspiration from (evidence of which can be seen all over Kite's character and resurrection).

In Zurvanism-a branch of Zoroastrianism- there is talk of the twin spirits: Ahura Mazda -epitome of all that is good- and Ahriman -epitome of all that is evil-, the parent god Zurvin decides that the firstborn may rule in order to bring "heaven, hell, and everything in between."

Upon becoming aware of this fact, Ahriman forcibly tears through the womb to emerge first. Sounding familiar yet?

Zurvan relents to this turn of events only on one condition: Ahriman is given kingship for 9000 years, and then Ahura Mazda may rule for eternity.

Meruem ruled for 40 days, his death leaving the throne vacant for ant Kite, wearing a dead girl's face and seeming to be brewing some nefarious plan. No more is there any sign of that unrelenting pacifism and the sanctity of life he held so high, losing his own may have only served to show him how meaningless the pain and suffering he went through had been, dying only to be reborn as a member of the species that killed him. It may be that he has no desire to rule over the remaining Chimera ants or create an army of his own-

Yet I dread to think what a broken mind possessing limitless power might do to the world.

And that's it. If you made it this far, thank you for reading! If you found it interesting, stay tuned, as I think a lot and I will make it your problem.

#Cw: talks of death and PTSD #When I say I unknowingly projected onto him #I can't tell if writing this was cathartic or torturous #and I gave myself heart palpitations so this is enough for today #And yes I refer to ant Kite by he/him pronouns because misgendering him on the account of his body being afab is just ignorant #even if I think skrunkly's genderqueer af and actually wouldn't mind she/her #still i wanna push the trans ant kite agenda #So yes this is how I unknowingly picked up Kite as a coping mechanism even if out attitudes towards death are practically opposites #don't mind your grandpa trauma dumping #What I'm saying is get ant Kite therapy before he sinks the world #I love reimagining Kite as a villain and I don't know why #Kite hxh #hxh kite #kite hunter x hunter #kaito hxh #hxh #hunter x hunter #meta analysis #theories #fic rambles #Icarus waffles #Kitkat #gon freccs #Ging freecss

[dr3amofagame]

more of the mutually assured destruction duo, post-prison this time! this one was really fun, thinking about what this dynamic might be like in the future gives me SO much brainrot, im so excited. this one’s also a little dark, so make sure to read the warnings + tags !! :D 

tw: implied prison abuse, starvation, toxic relationship, touch starvation, manipulation, panic attack, trauma, blood, injury

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison.

And it's ironic, because Wilbur hasn't even been around, has been in hell for fuck's sake playing Competitive Solitaire for nine-odd years, but even he could've seen the self-destruction hanging like a cloud around the other's head from a million miles (and several months? years?) away. Perhaps, he thinks wryly, you can only see the signs when you've lived them, or maybe red flags don't raise alarm when you’ve painted the entire figure in blood, but it doesn't really matter, in the end, because the final result is the same.

Still, it's just a little funny when he's stopped in the middle of his journey through the Nether, not a piece of armor on him per usual and an unused netherite sword slung over his hip.

"Hello, Sapnap." The kid is standing in front of him, eyes gleaming in badly-hidden anger and desperation, smoke rising from the mottled red-black skin on his hands. "Fancy seeing you around."

"You-" Sapnap sputters, unable to speak as his face flushes red in frustration, and Wilbur smiles at him condescendingly. The expression on the other's face is one he's seen before - one Tommy had been particularly inclined to give him in the past, when his emotions raged so heavily that there was nothing for the pressure to do but build, too thick and heavy to force themselves out of his throat. "You're monsters," Sapnap manages, finally, and Wilbur quirks an eyebrow.

At least we're self-aware, he thinks, the all-too-familiar twinge of irritation at Tommy's - and apparently, Sapnap's particular brand of reckless naivety pulsing at the base of his skull. He lets none of these thoughts show on his face as he cocks his head to the side, smiles wider - and Sapnap, just like Tommy, takes the bait.

'Why are you smiling?" He looks achingly young - they all do, really, their expressions and reactions dripping with a sort of innocence and sincerity that dissolved from Wilbur's own face somewhere around the fifteen-hundreth game of poker, and it really does feel ironic, how quickly the outside world can fall apart compared to the unending constancy of the void - but he digresses.

He didn't know Sapnap well before his whole death thing, and as much as he wants to use his partner to get information on the other members of the server, he doesn't really think Dream is really even lucid enough for that - the man clearly hasn't been thinking clearly, not for a long time. It doesn't matter, though, because you learn to read people when your life becomes nothing but running the same broken-edged memories over and over again in your mind and smiling jaggedly over the same few card games - Wilbur had always been a people watcher, and Sapnap's feelings are stamped on every corner of his face.

"Monster, huh," he says, saying the word slowly, rolling it over his tongue like he's tasting it for the first time, watching from the corner of his eye as Sapnap squirms, "Interesting word you've got here. You use it often?"

Sapnap bristles, smoke curling from his nostrils - "It's what you are, dickhead."

Rolling his eyes internally, Wilbur keeps up the act, humming as he fiddles idly with his cufflink. "I mean, if you really believe that," he rocks forward on his right foot, stifling a smile at the way the younger draws back, "But really, it's all a matter of perspective." He twists himself around, pivoting around his heel, beginning to walk in an arc around Sapnap's left side, watching as he spins around, shoulders drawn up to his ears. "What do you think?"

"I think that you're full of shit," he says, voice flat, and Wilbur laughs. It's genuine, really, because well - Sapnap's different. He's fun; the entire server is, after so long in the void. You can only spend so much time with the same two people before they drive you a little up the metaphorical wall, but Sapnap's reactions are fresh and new and different, still saturated with vitality that hasn’t been leached out by the same deck of cards in the same scarred hands shuffled and reshuffled for eternity. He's interesting, and new, and most of all, predictable.

"Say, Sapnap," he continues, blowing over the other's anger, knowing that it'll only make the frustration build more. He lets his hair flop lazily over one eye, lets his smile grow wider, lips pressed together in amusement, turns his face so that it's lit eerily by the lava lake beneath them. "If we're monsters for, I don't know, setting off a few stacks of TNT," he waves his hand flippantly, watching the muscle of the other's jaw jump in poorly-hidden rage, "What does that make you for what you did to Dream?"

Sapnap's eyes go wide, and Wilbur knows he's struck the jackpot. He lets his lips part to reveal bared teeth, jagged and glinting in the light. "I'm sorry, did that hit a nerve?"

The kid's mouth opens- closes- emotions warring on his face, fists curling and uncurling at his sides, lip trembling. "We- we had to-" his hands come to his face, palms digging into his eyes, and while he's not looking, Wilbur draws his expression back a bit, becoming softer, more welcoming. When Sapnap looks back up, his eyes are shining, hands shaking still; he steps forward, then rocks back on his back foot like he doesn't know where to go. "What do you mean?" he throws the words like they're meant to be a threat, but by the end his voice has devolved into something high-pitched and keening, overflowing with desperate grief that Wilbur latches onto like a starving man (ha) with his last meal.

"I'm sorry, it does seem rather insensitive for me to assume," he resumes pacing around the other, voice lilting, soft, "I just mean, it seemed pretty obvious, don't you think? I don't think I've ever seen someone so skinny, really, but I guess that is what happens when you get starved,"

"Shut up-"

"Not to mention the whole panicking thing, I mean, he's like Tommy sometimes with all of the fucking shaky breathing and mumbling around like creepers, not that I'd know what all of that's about," he watches Sapnap through half-hooded eyes, darkly amused, "and pickaxes, oddly enough, but oh well. Who am I to judge?"

"Shut up-"

"And all of the scars - I thought they were from you, honestly, he told me about the whole 'taking his last life' thing, but then he jumped into lava one day - I guess there wasn't much to do in that cell, huh? He didn't even scream, it's really pretty fucking incredible - I thought I'd actually have to break him down a bit, but really, you've made my life so much easier-"

"SHUT UP-"

Wilbur watches with a too-wide grin as Sapnap finally, finally charges, a netherite sword appearing in his hand as he races blindly ahead, tears shining on his cheeks, his words more pain than thought as he brings the blade down-

A blur of purple, the sound of crumbling netherrack and metal meeting metal, flesh hitting flesh - Wilbur moves smoothly out of the way as Sapnap crashes to the ground, an armored figure bearing down an axe against the shield he's raised between them.

Dream, hair tangled and long, wearing armor that is far too heavy for his skinny frame, every inch of him shaking in panic, should hardly be a threat - but this is Sapnap, weakened by Wilbur's sharp words and crippled by the shock of seeing his former best friend's face again, eyes still unfocused from the rage and tears that had clouded over them moments before, so he can do little but raise his shield as the netherite slams into it, again and again. Not a word falls from Dream's lips, but he brings down the weapon at a ruthless pace - ever since he's been free, his attack style has changed greatly from the defensive style he used to favor, even to Wilbur's untrained eye - there's no skill, no art to the way he attacks anymore, just the fearful ferocity of a dog trapped in a cage for far, far too long.

He finally kicks Sapnap down the netherrack cliff that they're on, the other man left to nurse his wounds below them - Wilbur doesn't bother sparing him another thought; Dream's far too weak to cause any permanent damage. Instead, he approaches his partner, weapon, with a smile, watching, satisfied, when he whirls around with a manic expression.

"I'm alright, see?" he croons as Dream's shoulders move up and down with his heaving breaths, eyes fever-bright, teeth bared. He brings a hand down on the other's shoulder and watches as he flinches at the movement, breath hitching, every muscle freezing, knuckles pale on the handle of his axe, before moving again, stumbling forwards, hands reaching for Wilbur's head and stopping halfway. Wilbur tips his head forward, lets the shorter brush his face with trembling fingers, checking his unmarred skin for blood through the purpling bruises already forming on his cheek, and thinks how powerful he is to have a god at his beck and call, a perfect attack dog brought to heel, death itself obediently at his side.

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison, and as Wilbur runs his hand up and down his back, feeling the way his spine arches at the touch, at the fluttering pulse under the skin-and-bone wrist under his fingers, he thinks how fortunate he is to be the first to notice.

#old stuff :] #queue <3 #tw abuse #tw panic attack #tw manipulation #tw toxic relationship #tw blood #tw injury #tw trauma #tw touch starvation #mutually assured destruction duo my beloved #post prison dream brainrot always lmao #my writing :D #my asks !!

[firstofficerwiggles]

Chapter 2: Adventures in Space Babysitting

Link to Chpt. 1, Chpt. 3

Pairing: The Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: T

Warnings: Mild swearing, sexual arousal, references to sexual relationships, canonical violence

Word Count:~5600

Summary: Caretaker reader is settling into her job and she realizes she has a crush on Mando. Some fluff, action, and little angst in this chapter.

Author’s Note: Welcome to Chpt. 2! I haven’t really written anything with angst before so I hope you think that part went okay. Thanks for reading!

The little green body launches itself up onto your bed yet again waking you in the early hours of the morning. The child snuggles up close to your chest and you can’t help but rub his little back with soothing motions. You have tried to get the child on a routine these past few weeks, and this seems to be the one pattern he’s most pleased to follow every day. The first time he showed up in your bed you thought Mando had placed him there as a subtle hint that it was your turn to be on child duty. However, when you heard Mando frantically looking for the toddler that first morning, you knew the little one had managed to sneak his way over to you all on his own. Neither you nor Mando know much about the child’s life before Mando rescued him, but it seems to you that it must have been difficult, because he appears to be starved for affection and he seeks it out every chance he gets. You’ve always been a cuddler yourself though so you are happy to oblige him and honestly although it means you don’t get to sleep as much as you used to, you love your early morning snuggles with him. Besides, it helps keep your mind off how much you’d like to snuggle Mando.

This silly crush on Mando has hit you out of nowhere and you feel like a complete fool for even acknowledging it. You suppose it can’t be helped to a certain extent, as he has to be hands down the nicest man in the entire galaxy, implausible as it may seem. He’s a gun-for-hire, rough and tough bounty hunter, covered in armor and weapons, and yet he has been nothing but thoughtful and respectful towards you. When you first spoke to him about establishing a better schedule for the child and working on some developmental milestones, he listened carefully and encouraged you to do what you felt was best. Other men you’ve known in the past would have questioned your recommendations or only half-listened to you dismissively. But Mando asked thoughtful questions that showed you he valued your opinions and then he was sure to comment on how well things were going after you began implementing the changes. You couldn’t remember the last time an employer gave you a compliment on your work, and it was just nice.

Then there was the first time he brought back a bounty to the ship. He’d been gone for about two days and when he returned, he was dragging a large alien man behind him. While you tried not to be overly curious, you couldn’t help but watch him as he manhandled the guy into the carbonite freezer. You were impressed with his strength, but it also made you feel a little bit wary as he next strode over towards you and the child. Your cautiousness melted away quickly though as Mando placed a bag of berries on the crate sitting next to you, mentioning that he noticed how much you seemed to enjoy them and thought you’d like to have some more. The thought of him noticing such a detail and then taking the time to stop and buy the berries for you made you want to swoon. You told yourself you were being ridiculous and that it was clearly just an overreaction to someone finally being nice to you.

The child is starting to get squirmy and you know that means he’ll be looking for breakfast soon. You listen carefully for Mando and realize that he must either be still asleep or up in the cockpit. Either way, you doubt he’s eaten any breakfast yet as he seems to prefer your cooking over his own. You toss back your covers and get yourself ready for the day. You decide to make eggs this morning, the little one’s favorite food that isn’t sugar-based. You are just finishing cutting up some fruit to go with the eggs, when you hear Mando’s boots behind you.

“MMM, smells good.” He says sounding still a bit sleepy. “I’m starving.”

You turn around with a plate all ready for him and a cup of caf, telling him “Lucky for you, I knew you would be.”

“Thank you, I don’t know how I survived without you,” Mando replies. Your heart sings at his words and you quickly turn back to the food so he can’t see the goofy smile breaking out on your face.

“Mostly on ration bars it seems.” You noticed he had quite the stash of them when you were first on board. Fortunately, you’ve convinced him to try to get a greater variety of food whenever possible.

“Well, my taste buds thank you too.” He carries his breakfast into his bunk where he can eat in privacy. At first, you felt sad for him always having to eat by himself, but you realize he must be so used to it that it probably doesn’t bother him. Nonetheless, it hasn’t stopped you from thinking up ideas for a shared meal sometime in the future, maybe when he knows you better and his trust in you is stronger.

After breakfast, you’re getting the child ready for a day out on the town. Mando is dropping off several bounties today which means you’ll be able to stretch your legs off the ship and visit the market in Batuu. As the ship lands, Mando is already back in the hull quickly reviewing all of the safety protocols for leaving the ship. He does this each time and at first it was rather annoying, it’s not like you’re an idiot, but then you realized he does it because he simply cares that much about the child’s and your wellbeing. While his protectiveness towards the child is completely logical, you still can’t get over how much it extends to you too. You’ve been responsible for yourself for so long; it never occurred to you that another adult would care so much about protecting you.

“Before I forget, I found a holster for you.” Mando is holding out a leather belt for you. “You shouldn’t keep the blaster in a bag; you can’t get to it fast enough.”

“Oh, thank you.” You say politely, although you’re hoping that just once he’ll fail to remind you to take the blaster along. You know he said you have to take it with you every time you leave the ship, but you still feel uncomfortable carrying it around. At least when you could shove it into your bag, you could pretend you didn’t have it, but now, it’ll be right there on your hip, much harder to ignore. Your fingers fumble with buckling the holster; knowing that he’s watching you intently makes you nervous. Mando steps closer to help you, softly brushing your hands away. Maker, he’s so close to you and each time his hands brush against your waist as he secures the holster you need to remind yourself to breathe.

“There you go.” Mando finishes but lets his hand linger for a moment on your hip. You feel his thumb brush back and forth just a bit before he sharply pulls away as if realizing what he was doing. You slip the blaster into the new holster, and he gives you a nod, “Looks good.”

You feel your face heat up as you realize he’s staring at your hips and you distract yourself by making sure the child is ready to go, “Ready to explore?” you ask him, and you hear a happy coo in response from the pram.

You follow Mando down the ramp of the ship, glad to be out in the fresh air and sunshine. Shopping for supplies never seemed like anything interesting in the past, but now that you get to visit different markets on new worlds you’ve never seen before, each little shopping trip feels like a new experience. The colorful stalls filled with all types of wares beckon you to explore and discover some exotic fruit or an old book that you might never see anywhere else.

Oh, speaking of books, “I thought I might try to find a few children’s books for the child, if that’s ok?” you ask Mando.

“Are you trying to teach him to read? Is he ready for that?” Mando sounds curious, but not skeptical in any way.

“No, not yet, but I know he likes hearing stories,” you explain, “and I’m not sure how much more I can keep inventing ones to tell him.”

“Have you just been making those stories up yourself?” He nods in approval, seemingly impressed. “You have a good imagination.”

“Oh, um, thank you.” You’re caught off guard there for a moment, as you hadn’t realized he’d paid much attention to the stories you tell the little one.

“Yeah, I liked the one you told him about the magic frog. It was funny.” He surprises you again. Not only was he listening, he remembers the silly story you made up, and he liked it.

“Thanks,” you say again, stunned by his comment, but it’s his next suggestion that totally floors you.

“You should write them down, make your own book.”

“Make my own book?” The idea would never have occurred to you.

“Why not? Maybe you can even get the kid to draw pictures for it. You can get him some coloring pencils too.” Mando turns and hands you some extra credits. “I need to take care of some business, now, but you two will be safe here. Meet me by the fountain in 30 minutes. Do not be late.” He punctuates that last statement with a point of his index finger and then turns to go.

You watch him head towards a cantina and then just stare down at the credits in your palm. How is he so nice but then also kind of scary? And why does it make you ‘feel’ things? You shake your head at your own silliness and then look down at the little guy and say, “Well, let’s go find you something to color with.”

Perusing the stalls, you find plenty of items to fill up your bags and empty your wallet. You discover a great notebook with plenty of space for writing and pictures. The more you think of the idea of creating your own little book with the child, the more excited you get. You find a few children’s books too, so that you can be sure to keep the little one entertained when he’s tired of drawing. Cognizant of the time, you start to head to the fountain in the center of the market, Mando’s designated meeting spot, when you smell a delectable aroma. The baby smells it too and immediately begins whining and reaching out his little hands. You head to the source of the scent to see several types of kebabs at a nearby stand. You still have some credits and are preparing to order but the little one is too impatient and before you know it, two kebabs are floating to the pram.

“Hey! You have to pay for those!” The man behind the stand yells at you.

“I was; I mean I am,” you quickly tell him, “I’m sorry, he’s just so sneaky and fast sometimes.” You offer him a smile, hoping to smooth things over. What’s more, you pray the man thinks the child just grabbed the food and that he didn’t notice anything magical about it. “How much are they?”

The man looks you over for a moment and then his demeanor changes, “Well, for you, mama, I’m sure we can work out a little deal.” He leers at you.

“That’s ok,” you say uncomfortable at the look in his eye, and you let your smile drop from your face, “I’ll just pay the regular price.”

“Ah, c’mon, there’s nothing like a little discount among friends.” He steps out from behind his stall to stand right in front of you. He reaches out and brushes a hand down your arm, “You’d like to be my friend, wouldn’t you?”

You take a step back and say, “I’d just like to pay you for the food.”

“We can call it even, if you give me a little kiss.” This gross creep moves closer to you again, this time leaning down.

“I have credits.” You tell him, attempting to sound firm while you start to step back again, but he anticipates your move and reaches out to grab your wrist pulling you up against his body. You push on his chest, trying to pull away when you hear the sound of a blaster priming and then a raspy modulated voice says, “Let her go.”

The man drops your arm instantly and you can finally back away from him. You’re very grateful to see Mando with his weapon pointed directly at the man’s head. The man holds his hands up, “We were just having a friendly little chat.”

“Didn’t look friendly to me.” Mando deadpans, but he holsters his blaster now that it’s clear you’re safe. He comes over to you, placing a hand on the small of your back and turns you to walk away with him.

“Hey! She still needs to pay me for the food,” the man protests.

“What did he want for the food?” Mando asks you.

“A kiss,” you reply sardonically.

Mando shrugs, then turns back to the stall, approaches the man quickly and then just head-butts him hard with his helmet. The creep lets out a loud yell of pain and collapses to the ground.

“There you go, a kiss from a Mandalorian.” Mando drawls, before turning and striding back over to you.

Oh damn! That was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen and you feel your body flood with desire. Ok, so maybe that was a blatant show of male posturing, and as an educated, modern woman, you probably shouldn’t be so aroused right now. But some primeval part of your brain has taken over, and the only thought you have is how great a protector Mando is and how much you want him to protect you. You can’t even say anything to him right now because you’re just replaying the moment over in your head. It isn’t until you realize that Mando is saying your name, repeating it, that you finally snap back to reality and remember to thank him.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Mando is saying, “Are you ok?” He asks you slowly to make sure you’ve understood him. It’s possible he’s already asked you that but you were too swept up in your cavewoman thoughts.

“Oh, yes, yes, I’m fine,” you reassure him, “That creep just made me uncomfortable, but he didn’t hurt me. But, thank you again.”

“You’re sure?” Mando asks, a bit doubtful. What are you supposed to tell him? That your dazed look is because you’re turned on by him right now. Super inappropriate, having a major crush on your boss! You take a deep breath and remind yourself yet again that Mando is your employer.

“Really, I’m fine, thank you.” You’re pleased that you managed to get that out in a normal sounding voice. Mando considers you for a moment.

“Why didn’t you pull your blaster on him?” He wants to know.

“I don’t know,” you tell him truthfully, “I guess I’m just not used to reacting that way.”

“Hmm, we’ll need to work on that.” He seems satisfied at that and starts walking back towards the Crest. You force your feet to follow him, telling yourself to pull it together.

“Is that really considered a kiss from a Mandalorian?” You can’t help your stupid mouth from blurting out your question.

He laughs, surprising you because it’s the first time you’ve heard it. “Technically, yes, we call it a Keldabe Kiss.” He chuckles again and then says, “But there is a much softer version too between lovers.”

Ok, you almost become a puddle hearing him say the word ‘lovers’, and thankfully he’s still amused by your question that he doesn’t seem to notice your mouth dropping open and your feet stumbling a little. Instead, all he says is “Let’s get back to the ship, kid’s got the right idea, I could use something to eat.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later, Mando powers up the engines and you figure you’re off to the next planet, but instead he keeps the ship in the atmosphere, taking you away from the town. He lands in a clearing near a forest, and says, “This will be a good spot to practice.”

“Practice?” You’re confused.

“Yeah, I told you we’re going to work on your reaction to threats.” He says this in a matter-of-fact voice, “Plus, I know you said you could shoot, but I want to see how you handle that blaster.”

Sighing internally, you put the holster back on and collect the blaster from the weapons locker before following him down the ramp. The baby toddles down the ramp too, curious to see what’s happening.

“Alright, Miss Top-Marks-in-Shooting, let’s see you hit that tree.” Mando’s tone is rather chipper as he points out a large tree directly across from where you’re both standing. It’s a very easy target; he must think you exaggerated your skills.

You draw the weapon smoothly and shoot, just as you were trained to do, hitting the tree with ease. You fire four shoots in a small cluster pattern, to show that you are capable of accuracy.

Mando nods his head once, “Ok, now hit those five trees in rapid succession.” He points to a line of smaller trees further away to your left. You turn and successfully hit all five in what you consider to be a decent pace.

“Not bad, but see if you can go faster.” He instructs you. You try again, hopefully quicker this time. He nods when you look back at him and then points out a new target. You both keep repeating this pattern and he offers some critiques as you shoot, but generally, he seems satisfied.

“You did well,” Mando tells you after a bit, “You ever hit a moving target?”

“Uh, no.” You look at him cautiously, wondering what he has in mind. Your eyes must show how anxious that makes you, because he says, “We’ll work on that another time.”

You can’t help but let out a small sigh of relief. You figure practice time must be over for now, but then he says, “Let’s work on that reaction time for when someone is in your face. Just let me tell the kid first.”

Mando walks over to the little one who has been sitting on the ramp watching you shoot. “Ok, kiddo, this is just pretend. You understand? No one will get hurt, so no powers, ok?” The baby coos up at him and Mando nods.

“Gotta make sure he doesn’t try to fling one of us into a tree.” He says to your bemused expression. Mando returns to face you and steps close until he’s practically touching you. Your heartrate immediately picks up and your body starts to feel hot.

“I want you to draw your weapon on me, but do not shoot me,” he says definitively.

“What? No, I can’t do that, Mando,” you tell him in protest.

He reaches out lightning fast, grabs your wrist, and hauls you up against him in a similar manner to the jerk in the marketplace. Your positioning might be the same, yet this time you don’t feel creeped out, no, instead you like it, your traitorous body even pushes you a little closer to him.

“Draw your weapon on me. I’m a threat to you.” Mando tells you in a gravelly voice. Stars above! You have to bite your lip hard to keep from moaning. What is wrong with me? You realize he’s not going to let you go until you draw the blaster and so you finally comply with his order.

Mando releases you with small chuckle, as he says, “Ok, let’s try that again only not in slow motion.”

“Wait, wait, I’m not ready.” You’re panting like you just ran a race.

“That’s the whole point,” he replies, “Threats don’t just wait until you’re ready to shoot them.” You could swear he’s smirking at you under that helmet.

“No, I mean, give me a second to imagine I’m being threatened,” you are trying to buy yourself time before he decides to touch you again. “I need to visualize it.”

“Are you saying I’m not threatening enough?” Mando sounds skeptical and maybe a little insulted.

“No, I mean, of course, you are, you’re very threatening and wanted men everywhere should fear you, but I don’t fear you because I know you’ll never hurt me,” you explain to him in attempt to cover up the fact that you’re so damn attracted to him right now.

“You’re right; I would never do anything to hurt you.” He nods in agreement. “But wanted men everywhere should fear me, huh?” He sounds amused by that.

“Yes, yes, you’re very scary.” You tell him, rolling your eyes slightly.

“Ok, so pretend I’m someone you do fear.” He advances toward you. This time you think of Lieutenant Sauckel, an odious man from Imperial Intelligence that you despised. When Mando grabs you again, you imagine Sauckel’s black eyes and yellow teeth and draw your blaster as Mando pulls you to his chest.

“That was better, but still too slow.” He makes you try over and over, and each time you picture another terrible Imperial officer, Commander Brack, Major Frick, Junior Lieutenant Hess, and then finally Ensign Kerrick Hoven, the man who broke your heart and betrayed you. Imagining Kerrick’s smug face appears to do the trick, because it’s the fastest you’ve drawn the blaster yet, and you manage to wrench your arm away from Mando for the first time.

“Good!” Mando praises you enthusiastically, “That was really good.”

“Thanks.” You’re pleased to hear his words of encouragement, but your voice doesn’t show it. Picturing Kerrick again is enough to send you into darker emotions and you feel anger and sadness swirl in your stomach. Your face must give away your unhappy thoughts, because Mando suggests you stop for the day.

You stow your blaster in the holster and then head over to the child who’s been thoroughly entertained watching you both pretend fight. You reach down to pick him up and hold him close to your chest in a hug. There’s just something about his sweet little presence that makes you feel better. You’re smiling again when you pull away and head back into the ship. Mando follows you up the ramp and he’s quiet but you can feel him watching you as you stow the blaster in the weapons locker and remove the holster from your waist.

“Everything alright?” He asks you.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m good. I-, Thank you for taking the time to work with me on that. To practice, I mean. I know you’re very busy.” It really does mean a lot to you that he took time out of his schedule for you and you feel your heart swell as you think about his protective nature.

“You’re welcome,” he says, his voice a little softer, “Your safety is important to me. Plus, you need to be able to help keep the child safe too.”

“Yes, of course,” you nod in agreement.

“It’s helpful that you’re a good shot.” He praises you again, and this time you smile at his words.

“Thank you,” you reply sincerely. While you haven’t seen him shoot, you know he’s clearly an expert and it really does mean a lot to hear him praise your skill.

You turn back to the child, “I think it’s playtime now, what do you say, buddy?” He chirps in agreement and you head over to his small stash of toys and place him on the floor so he can start pulling out his favorites. Before you clamber down to join him, you feel Mando’s hand cup your arm just above the elbow. You turn back towards him with an inquisitive look. He just seems to stare at you for a moment, still holding your arm before telling you, “I’ll going to get us on our way to the next planet.”

“Ok, we’ll be alright down here. I’ll bring you up some dinner later.” You give him another smile and a quick nod.

“Good,” is all that he says and then he gives your arm a little squeeze before heading to the cockpit and you can’t help but feel a little fluttering in your stomach at that touch.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rest of your afternoon passes swiftly as you and the child take his plushies on a heroic quest across the metal wonderland (the hull) to the black cliffs of mystery (a stack of crates) where you must find the golden treasure (a box of cookies). It’s a much more enjoyable game of pretend seeing as you’re not imagining Imps threatening you. It puts you in a cheerful mood and you’re still grinning to yourself when you bring Mando his dinner tray. You feel a pang of regret for him that he’s missed out on the fun afternoon with you and the child and it’s compounded by the thought of him eating his dinner alone too.

“Mando?”

“Yeah?”

You want to ask if there’s any way you could keep him company while he eats, promising to face away from him the entire time, but it feels too pushy to ask him for that. Besides, you’re probably just projecting your own feelings onto him. He’s likely much more comfortable knowing that you and the child are safely shut away from him downstairs and there’s no way he can break his creed while he eats. So, you just tell him, “I hope you enjoy your food.”

When you head back downstairs, you’re mentally kicking yourself for getting too attached. Your job is to take care of the child and make sure his needs are met. It’s nice of you to take care of Mando a little too, but he doesn’t need you to keep him company or worry about him being lonely. I’m being pathetic. You turn your attention back to your little green charge and decide it’s time to give him a bath and get him ready for bed. Still though as much as you try, you can’t stop your thoughts from wondering back to Mando. It’s hard to forget what it felt like pulled up against his chest while you were practicing your self-defense. And you may have replayed the whole head-butt scene in your head a dozen times. Stars! Am I really so desperate that I’m falling for the first man who’s nice to me? You try again to push images of Mando out of your head and focus on the baby. It works until he’s sound asleep in his little hammock and you don’t have a distraction any more. Maybe you can just grab your holopad and read up in the cockpit. That way you can satisfy your need to be close to Mando but also keep from bothering him. You make your way up the ladder, making sure it’s ok to enter the cockpit in case he still has the helmet off, before flopping down in the passenger seat on Mando’s right. You sit there and fiddle with the holopad trying to find a story that will entice you enough to keep your eyes on it, instead of tossing glances at the armored man sitting next to you. Turns out it doesn’t matter though because Mando feels like chatting.

“Kid get to sleep ok?” he asks you.

“Yes, he was pretty sleepy after his bath,” you reply.

“Probably tired after that epic adventure you went on too,” he huffs out a laugh, “I heard you doing all the voices for the toys.”

“Oh, yeah,” you’re a little embarrassed by that as you know you can be pretty goofy when you’re pretending with the child, “He really seems to like it though.”

“Sure he does, I could hear him giggling too.” Mando confirms for you. “I’m glad he’s having this time to be a child. I don’t know much about his past, but I don’t think he’s had a lot of fun in his life.”

“Well, I’ll try to make sure he does something fun every day.” You already love the little one so much, anything you can do to make him happy brings you joy too.

“Who were you picturing when we were practicing your reaction time?” Mando changes the subject abruptly.

You take a moment to process his question, and then tell him, “Just some Imperial officers from my past.” You shrug, “I figured that would be good motivation to draw a blaster.”

He seems to consider you for a moment, and then asks, “What about the last time? Who was that?”

“Oh,” you try to let out a little laugh to ease the discomfort welling up in you, “That was the man who broke my heart.”

“An Imperial officer?” Mando sounds surprised at that.

“He wasn’t an Imperial officer when I first knew him. He was in the graduating class before mine. We dated when we were in school together and we stayed in contact after he graduated. He’s the one who convinced me to do the exams for the ‘research group’.” You make quotation marks with your hands when you say those last two words.

“He mislead you?” Mando asks.

“No, he didn’t know what it really was then either. He had only just heard about it and was trying to get a job there and convinced me that it would be great for the two of us to work together.” You pause there not sure if you really want to keep telling Mando this story.

He’s curious though, as he asks, “What happened when you both found out you were working for Imp Intelligence?”

“We were both shocked and we turned to each other for comfort. It was intense, because I still had old feelings for him, and at the time, I believed he was the only one who understood how I had been deceived because he was right there with me. For a while, it felt tragically romantic, like we were two people clinging to each other in the midst of a terrible situation.”

“So, how did he break your heart?” Mando questions softly.

“I didn’t realize how one-sided our love affair had become. I thought he shared my horror for the Empire and their actions, but little did I know, he was buying into the Empire’s message more each day. As I was trying to disrupt the intelligence, Kerrick was weaseling his way closer to the officers, trying to spend time with them or impress them with his work. They awarded him the rank of Ensign when he turned me in for sabotage.” You can’t help the tear that manages to sneak out and slide down your cheek. You look out to the stars as they swirl by you in hyperspace.

“What was his name? His full name?” Mando asks.

“Kerrick Hoven, why?”

He ignores the question and asks, “Is he still alive?”

“As far as I know, yes.” You’re not sure why that matters to him.

Mando just makes a little hmm noise and then says, “No wonder you drew your blaster so quickly.”

“Well, that’s my sad story of heartbreak. How about you, Mando? You have a heartbreak story of your own?” Now that you’ve bared your sad past to him, you’re curious to hear about his.

“No.” Is all that he says.

“No? Nothing?” You push back a little; he must have something to share.

“Not really. Never get too attached or involved with a woman.” He punctuates this with a shrug.

“What about when you were a bit younger? No love affairs?” You can’t stop yourself from being curious about his romantic past; you just want to know a little something about it.

“I’ve had lovers, but nothing long-term or serious.” he states, “Relationships don’t really go with being a bounty hunter.” He sounds rather blasé about his love life or lack of one, as if he doesn’t spend any time thinking about it at all.

You feel your heart drop at that and all of your fantasies about the two of you being together someday seem exceedingly ridiculous right now. Of course he isn’t a man who gets into relationships, and if you became his lover, it would probably be a short-lived fling that would burn itself out once the novelty of new passion was gone. You feel foolish and tired. The fun of hearing about Mando’s love life has dissipated completely for you. So you change the topic and ask, “Where are we headed to next?”

“Bespin” Mando says. “It’s a mining planet with a city high up in the clouds in the upper atmosphere.”

You listen politely as he tells you some other facts about the planet. It sounds interesting enough, but you’re not really paying that close attention as you’re still somewhat wrapped up in your emotional reaction to his dismissal of relationships. You take a deep breath to center your thoughts and then focus in on his words, telling yourself that this is for the best, that you need to let your stupid crush die and just do your job. If you can’t do that, you’ll just set yourself up for another heartbreak, and what will that get you?

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

Thank you for reading! Link to Chapter 3, Lust Actually. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in future chapters.

Tag list: @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11​ @theravenreads​ @nicotinebirds​ @boomtownboy​ @nova646 @sleepwithacommunist @mackycat11 @som3thingcr3ative

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfic #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin x female reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin fanfiction

[eyayah-oya]

I’ll Hold You Tight, Now and Forever

Waxer/Boil Rating: G Inspired by @cacodaemonia latest artwork

           Waxer loved mornings.  He loved waking up and getting to see the sun rise and he loved breathing in the fresh, crisp air as he went on his morning run.  Even the cold mornings filled him with a quiet joy that he’d so rarely felt before in his life.  Maybe it was the idea of new beginnings or fresh starts.  Maybe it was the way morning always invigorated him. Part of the reason Waxer loved mornings was definitely the way Boil always grumbled, his hair an absolute mess until he managed to wake up enough to get ready for the day.  Sleepy Boil was always clingier in the mornings, and Waxer never hesitated to let him cuddle in the mornings.

           Still, there was a lot to do today.  The entire town of Nabat had volunteered to help Waxer and Boil plan their big day, which was more than welcome since nearly a hundred vod’e were arriving throughout the day.  Cody and Obi-Wan would be first, as they had volunteered to help set everything up and organize sleeping space for all of the visitors.  If anyone was qualified to handle the logistics for a group that large, it was former High General Kenobi and Marshall Commander Cody.

           With a yawn, Waxer stretched and reluctantly untangled himself from Boil’s warmth.  Boil would need to get up soon, but it didn’t hurt to let him sleep in for a little while longer.  Since the war ended, he took the time to sleep in as often as possible and could be as grumpy as Commander Cody without caf in the mornings.  It was ridiculously adorable, not that Waxer would ever say that out loud.

           Waxer leaned over and gently kissed Boil on the forehead and then got dressed in his favorite sweater.  Numa’s aunt had made it for him when they first arrived on Ryloth, and it was the softest, warmest thing he’d ever owned.  Once he’d gone to the refresher and brushed his teeth, Waxer walked up the stairs and into the kitchen where he immediately set about making a pot of caf and some breakfast.  (Waxer was quite proud of the fact that he had finally managed to learn how to make a few meals for Boil.  He didn’t really care what he ate, but Boil loved how food tasted.  It was important that Waxer knew how to make at least a couple of things that were tasty.)

           As he moved around the kitchen, Waxer hummed the song that they’d been learning over the past few weeks just for today.  Apparently, it was an important tradition for the Twi’leks. Waxer just felt honored that they considered the two of them close enough to be allowed to perform the kind of ceremony that Twi’leks held in such reverence.

           “Is that caf?” Boil’s grumpy voice called from the stairwell.

           “Yup.  It’s nearly done, and so is breakfast.”  Waxer set two plates of flat cakes drizzled in a sweet fruit sauce on the table just as the caf maker chimed.  He turned to retrieve two mugs from the cupboard, only for Boil to come up behind him and wrap him in a warm hug.  Boil slowly ran his palms up and down Waxer’s arms, soothing and perfectly warm.  He couldn’t help but lean back against Boil’s chest, melting at the soft, tender intimacy of the moment.

           “Morning,” Boil rumbled as he pressed his nose against Waxer’s shoulder.

           “Good morning,” Waxer said with a soft smile.  “Made flat cakes.  They’re on the table with that syrup that Numa likes so much.”

           Boil merely hummed and squeezed him a little tighter. Waxer turned his head just enough to brush his lips against his temple.  Not many people got to see Boil this affectionate or vulnerable, especially in the mornings, and Waxer treasured every second he got to spend with him.

           “Do you want your caf?” he asked, reaching up to comb his fingers through Boil’s hair, messy from sleep.  Boil allowed the touch, melted into it even, as he nuzzled Waxer’s shoulder.  He wrapped one arm around his waist, while the other rested on Waxer’s hip, drawing him closer and half-turning him towards Boil.

           “Later.  Just wanna hold you a bit longer.”

           Waxer could only smile and revel in the close contact. They wouldn’t have any time to be alone together until that night once Numa and her aunt and uncle arrived.  They needed to savor the quiet while it lasted.

           It was moments like this that Waxer had come to treasure the most since the war ended.  Never had he expected to be able to stand in a kitchen he owned along with Boil, swaying gently as Waxer hummed quietly.  They got to see Numa every day and had found a family with her aunt and uncle and the rest of Nabat.  And later today, Waxer and Boil would get married in front of their new family and their old one using both Mandalorian and Twi’leki traditions.

           “Are you ready for today?” Waxer asked once he finished humming the traditional wedding dance.

           Boil reached up and pulled Waxer’s hand from his hair, tender and caring and so full of love that sometimes, Waxer thought he might cry from it all.  With a lingering kiss on his shoulder, Boil raised his head and pressed their temples together. “Absolutely.  Do you think Numa will agree to add a little charm representing her to our Kalikori?”

           “I hope so.  Nilim said she would be “indescribably happy” and would probably “jump off the walls in her excitement”, so I think she will,” Waxer answered, attempting to mimic Nilim Bril’s voice as he quoted Numa’s uncle.

           Boil snorted, though whether he was amused at Waxer’s impersonation or the very adorable image of Numa vibrating in place as she attempted to think of something to add to their kalikori, Waxer didn’t know. Nor did it really matter.  All that mattered was that Numa had convinced Waxer and Boil to get married and the day had finally arrived.

           “Did you ever imagine that we could have this?” Waxer asked after a moment of simply being.

           “We’re clones, Wax.  I wasn’t sure we would even make it to the end of the war.  But when you talked about wanting colored pillows and a tooka and to see Numa again, I started to want it just as much as you did. The wedding stuff came outta nowhere, though.”

           Waxer laughed.  As clones, weddings had never been an option, so they’d never even thought about getting married when they’d finally been recognized as citizens and given the same rights as everyone else in the Republic.  Not until Numa asked if he and Boil were married and then promptly began to plan their wedding when they said they weren’t.  There was no stopping Numa, and he and Boil weren’t even going to try.  Besides, the ceremony would be touching if what Numa’s aunt said was true.  And it was always nice to see Cody and Obi-Wan and countless others.

           Turning fully in Boil’s arms, Waxer kissed Boil, lips still curved with joy-filled laughter.  He pulled away and bullied his soon-to-be husband over to the table.  “Eat up.  The flat cakes are probably cold by now.”  Waxer filled their mugs with caf, fixed perfectly to their tastes, and sat down across from Boil.

           Before they could start eating in earnest, Waxer reached across the table and squeezed Boil’s hand.  “I’m glad we’re getting married,” he said softly.

           Boil returned the squeeze and there was a soft look in his eyes that never failed to make Waxer melt into a puddle.  “I’m glad, too.  We would have been together anyway, but this somehow makes everything seem more real.”

           “More like we’re people and can have a chance at a peaceful, normal life,” Waxer nodded.

           A knock thundered through their small house, and Waxer immediately got up to go let in Numa, her aunt, and half the town elders. He murmured a soft “I love you” against the side of Boil’s head as he passed, and then their day went from peaceful to chaotic in preparation for their wedding.  Waxer couldn’t help but beam.

             (A newly fashioned kalikori sat on their bedside table, two small pieces of armor hung from the arms.  One had a stylized Kom’rk class Mandalorian fighter painted, with the rest of Boil’s batchmates’ names etched around the design.  Waxer had added his own batchmates and the various squadmates they’d lost over the years.  Men they’d gotten close to and considered brothers.  Connected to both pieces of armor and dangling below was a tiny tooka charm, painted the same shade of green as Numa’s skin.  A perfect representation of Waxer and Boil’s family, past, present, and future.)

#clone haven sotm #clone/clone #clone shipping #boxer #waxer/boil #clone trooper waxer #clone trooper boil #tooth-rotting fluff #they're so adorable #i'm melting #help

[timelesslords]

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole.” and/or “Is that blood?” “…..No?” for the prompts please

thank u💕

send me a sentence starter and I’ll fill it for Percabeth

Annabeth Chase was just about ready to murder her boyfriend. 

Capture the Flag night had started innocuous enough. Athena and Poseidon cabins had allied themselves, as was usual these days, and Ares was their biggest opponent. Annabeth had a stellar plan, a foolproof plan, some might say, a plan that all but guaranteed them to win. 

Except for the fact that her idiot boyfriend couldn’t resist abandoning his post the second the field looked clear. It was a trap, it was so obviously a trap that Annabeth had no idea how he hadn’t seen it. 

She had to give Clarisse some credit. Using one of their captured players as bait while also exposing the flag just a tad— it was exactly the type of thing that would draw Percy away from his post, to get him to abandon the plan. 

They’d still won. Trap or no, it would be hard not to. But as soon as Annabeth realized Percy had abandoned his post, a very distinct mixture of anger and fear starting building in her gut. 

And watching him run back to the blue team’s side, flag in hand, flushed with success, had only caused it all to boil over. There’d barely been time for his stupid, excited grin to slide off his face at seeing her expression before she stormed off. 

He followed her. She’d expected him to. 

“You left your post,” Annabeth said, before he could even ask.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. We still won,” Percy said, jogging to keep up with her. 

It’s not about winning. It wasn’t even his compulsive need to play hero either, though that would have been enough to make her mad too. 

“You didn’t follow the plan,” Annabeth snapped, refusing to look over at him even as he caught up to her, matching her pace easily. Curse him for being taller than her. 

“Look, I saw an opportunity—”

“You saw a trap that was tailor-made for you—”

“An opportunity,” Percy repeated, cutting her off, “An opportunity to save one of our players and get the flag, and I took it. And we won. So what’s the big deal?” 

What was the big deal? Just that his stupid savior complex wouldn’t stop playing out over and over again, even in the smallest ways. He didn’t even realize he was doing it sometimes, like just now. It wasn’t about Capture The Flag, not really. It was about the fact that he felt the need to throw himself in the most dangerous situations so someone else didn’t have to, even when it was just a game. 

And there were plenty of times in his life, plenty of opportunities past and future for him to do the exact same thing when it wasn’t a game, when the consequences were very real and very dire. 

She hated how mad it made her, because what was she supposed to say? I’d rather you let some other sap take the fall so you can live into your twenties? 

And how was she supposed to tell him any of that when he was looking at her all smug and expectant? 

“Forget it, you’re a fucking asshole,” Annabeth spat, doubling her pace. 

“‘Beth—” he started, but he should have known better than to call her that when she was pissed at him, because her glare alone was enough to shut him up. 

“Annabeth,” he tried again, “Come on.” 

Annabeth stopped, whirled around, just about ready to give him a piece of her mind when she noticed a small spot on his shoulder. Some of the anger building in her chest deflated. 

“I— is that blood?” 

Percy glanced down at his shoulder. The bit of his orange camp shirt that was peering out from the gap between his chest and shoulder armor was starting to get stained a sticky brown color. 

“...No?” he said, glancing back up at her with guilt in his eyes. All in all a thoroughly unconvincing lie. 

“Percy,” Annabeth sighed. 

“Clarisse nicked me with Maimer, it's not a big deal.” 

It wasn’t a big deal. It really wasn’t. He’d probably gotten Clarisse back easily and they’d both laugh about it tomorrow. 

Only, Clarisse wouldn’t have had the chance to use Maimer on him at all if he’d stuck to the fucking plan instead of throwing himself into the line of fire. And the next time he did this, what if it wasn’t just a cut? What if it was something much worse? 

“Don’t stop being mad at me just because I’m bleeding,” Percy said, noticing her shift in demeanor. 

“You don’t want me to stop being mad at you?” Annabeth asked, one eyebrow raised. 

“No—” Percy said, running an agitated hand through his hair, “I mean obviously I don’t want you to be mad at me, but I barely even know why you’re mad at me and unless you tell me now you’re just going to be more mad later once I’ve stopped bleeding.” 

“I’m still mad at you,” Annabeth said, but she’d already stepped forward, loosening the strap of his armor with quick practiced fingers. He let her do it, standing statue still. 

“I’m sorry your plan didn’t get the credit it deserves,” he said, finally, “It was a good plan.”

Maybe you should use it next time rolled through her head, but then he might think that that’s what she cared about when that wasn’t it at all. 

“I don’t care about getting credit,” Annabeth said, moving on to the other side of his chestplate, undoing the left strap the same as she’d done the right. “I don’t even care that we won.” 

She saw his eyebrows jump slightly in surprise, but he managed not to say anything stupid in the next few moments, which had probably taken a lot of self-control.

“What do you care about, then?” he asked, shrugging off his chestplate. Most of the bloodstain had been hiding itself beneath his armor, and now that it was off it looked much bigger.  

“You got hurt,” Annabeth said, eyes refusing to leave the patch of blood on his shirt. 

“You were mad before you realized I was hurt,” Percy pointed out, “More mad, actually.” 

“You wouldn’t be hurt at all if you’d ignored that stupid kid that got himself caught and stayed at your post,” Annabeth said, folding her arms over her chest. She still wasn’t looking at his face, but she could see his expression shift in his periphery, understanding starting to roll over his features. 

“Ah,” he said, and Annabeth knew he understood, or was starting to. She felt a lump forming in her throat, but she swallowed it down. 

“Would it kill you to let someone else take the fall? Just once?” she asked.

“Annabeth…” 

“It’s not just this, you do it all the damn time,” Annabeth said, well aware that she sounded like a whining brat and not caring at all, “I don’t want to get sucked into some other stupid prophecy or a stupid quest, and I don’t want you to think you have to just because you’ve got the best chance of making it out alive. I just want us to survive long enough to go to college, is that too much to ask?” 

She finally looked up at him, still trying very hard not to cry. Any trace of humor had vanished from his face, leaving it uncharacteristically resigned and serious. 

“No. It’s not,” he said.

“Really?” Annabeth asked, voice small, still not quite believing him. 

“No, you’re right, I—” he sighed heavily, eyes dropping to the ground, “I guess I’m just used to doing that, I don’t even really think about it.”

“Maybe you should,” Annabeth said, digging the heel of her sneaker into the dirt, arms still crossed over her chest. 

“I will,” he said, and it sounded like a promise, “We’ve both done enough, and I—I’m not saying I’ll be perfect at it, but I am saying I’ll try.”

Annabeth took a deep breath in, letting it out slowly. Trying was good. She could work with trying. 

“Nothing world-altering,” Annabeth said, glancing up at him again. He was already smiling softly.

“Nothing world-altering,” he agreed. 

She was still a little mad at him, and they were both gross and sweaty and he was still a little bloody, but she stepped forward and hugged him anyways. He hugged her back easily, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“So really, Capture The Flag is still fair game,” he said, as soon as she was safely in his arms. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Annabeth said, but it came out with more laughter than she’d intended it to.  

“At least fix me up before you do?” Percy asked hopefully. 

“Fine,” she said, wiggling out of his embrace and tucking herself into his side instead. He wrapped an arm around her waist easily. 

“But I better not have to next time,” she warned. He just smiled, pressed a kiss to the top of her head. 

“You won’t. I promise.”  

#percabeth #ty for the prompt! #I was hoping someone would send in the blood one lol #percabeth fic #percy jackson #Annabeth chase #percy x annabeth #annabeth x percy #heroes of olympus #hoo fic #pjo fic #i imagine this sometime post BOO pre-apollo series #anon #prompt fill #hoo #pjo

[vagrantblvrd]

AU where Luke and Leia are the children of the queen of Naboo and powerful and well-respected Jedi Knight, just about the age to marry and it’s this Responsibility hanging over their heads.

Their parents would never marry them off to someone horrible, but that’s not the point, and anyway, anyway, they know their duty.

(It breaks their parent’s hearts, but barring the same sort of Very Specific and Unique events that conspired to allow Padme to marry Anakin the best they can hope for is to like their future spouses, so.)

But then!

Conspiracies and the whatnot, and whispers of war spreading across the galaxy thanks to some faceless warlord pulling strings from the shadows and so on.

Worlds that co-existed, thrived, suddenly at one another’s throats and out of fear for their children’s safety they arrange for them to visit dear friend Bail and Breha on Alderaan.

(There’s meant to be a celebration, eligible suitors for Luke and Leia while keeping them far from skirmishes that have taken place too close to Naboo.)

Unfortunately Leia gets sick just as they’re about to leave, nothing too worry over, lose sleep over, but travel would only make it worse so she’s to stay behind while Luke and leaves for Alderaan on schedule.

(He visits her, the night before he leaves. Sneaks into her rooms the way he used to when they were younger and supposed to be asleep hours ago but young and foolish and the kind of reckless rebellion of the young and so on.

Leia’s tired, still recovering but she still manages a smile, a laugh, when Luke tumbles in through the window a though their parents haven’t been training them since they were young.

Politics, of course, but their father is a Jedi Knight and their mother is the queen, and anyway, anyway, any clumsiness they show these days are deliberate, so.

They talk, aware this may be one of the rare chances they’ll get like this again, what with their duties and responsibilities and privileged as they are the universe is far from fair.

Luke smiles, jokes, but there’s a flat tone to it that Leia hears all too clearly and Luke -

“I have a bad feeling about this,” he says, wry twist to his mouth.

It’s a childhood joke borne of the stories their father and his former mentor would tell them at bedtime, well-worn phrase that heralded the kind of adventure that made them into legends, and now -

Leia grips Luke’s hands tight in hers because she does as well, dread a heavy weight in her chest.

“Don’t go,” she tells him, knowing he has no choice in the matter. “Luke, please.”

It’s on her face, in her voice, her yes, and there’s nothing they can do.

So.

Luke smiles, jokes, reminisces with Leia about the adventures they had running around the palace and its grounds and causing no end of trouble to their minders when their parents were busy until Leia falls asleep and Luke slips out the window and back to his own rooms without waking her.)

Leia knows long before word reaches Naboo that Luke’s ship was attacked in transit, all hands lost.

(Knows when their father senses it too, his rage and grief enough to send her to knees, draw the tears she refused to shed until then. She’s Force-sensitive, yes, but her father and brother are stronger, and if he’s so certain Luke is gone, then there’s no hope left for her.)

BUT THEN.

Luke’s not dead, of course he’s not, what kind of story do you think this is?

As it turns out, Luke’s ship was attacked, but one of his guards, escorts, manages to get him to an escape pod and away from the ships painted to look like one of Naboo’s allies turned jealous and bitter and angry over years and some insult or other.

(Conspiracies on conspiracies and so on.)

Lands on a planet, rocky and desolate and very much alone, injured.

Stumbles out of the escape pod, emergency supplies held tight in hand and absolutely certain he can’t stay there. Can’t wait for rescue to come, not knowing if whoever attacked his ship might find him first and finish the job that claimed his ship and the lives of people he’s known since he was young.

Manages to get a decent ways away from the escape pod before exhaustion and his injuries lay him low.

Cave in the distance he might be able to seek shelter in, assuming there are no native predators or otherwise living there, and he almost, almost makes it before he passes out.

Comes to however many hours later to a voice he doesn’t know pitched low and annoyed, but the hands checking him for injuries - he hopes, would be the worst luck to be robbed, looted, after recent events - are surprisingly gentle.

“What?”

Luke said that out loud, didn’t he.

“...Yes.”

Luke would laugh if it didn’t feel as though his head might burst, result of his skull meeting with a bulkhead at inadvisable speeds, and that had happened before the escape pod landed, so.

“Sorry,” Luke mumbles, because he does have manners. “But if you are robbing me I’m afraid I don’t have much to offer.”

There’s a long pause then, whoever is there with him so still Luke has a moment to wonder if they’ve left, offended by Luke’s words or disappointed he’s not worth robbing and then -

“Hmm.”

Luke frowns, risks opening his eyes and sees a kneeling beside him, oddly shiny.

“’Shiny’.”

Luke squints, tries to make out the figure, but it’s difficult as there seem to be two of them, and -

“I think I might have a concussion,” Luke informs the oddly shiny figure, and passes out again.

Later, however many hour later, he comes to with that same annoyed voice in his ears, but now there’s a fire merrily burning.

Nice, because it’s nighttime now, and cold and -

“You’re awake.”

As far as observations like that go, it’s incredibly unimpressed.

“Hmm,” Luke hmms, fuzzy memory of his oddly shiny companion doing the same, and also Luke being a natural-born smartass,

(Hereditary, he’s been told, along with stubbornness and fondness for eschewing things like common sense and a flair for the dramatic.)

There’s a sigh, long and heavy, and then the sound of the oddly shiny person moving closer, shadow falling over Luke that he can’t see with his yes closed the way they are, but, well.

His father is a Jedi Knight and he and Leia take after him in noticeable ways.

Luke opens his eyes and thinks oh, and hmm, and Leia is going to kill me, because his companion is indeed oddly shiny.

Or, well.

Perhaps not so odd, what with the armor and all.

Din - because of course it’s Din - is super unimpressed with Luke and his everything and Luke is just ??? because Mandalorian???

Not known to be BFFs with Jedi or Jedi-in-training, like Luke???

But Din can be excused for not partaking in this old feud/rivalry/animosity between them because Luke isn’t dressed as it befitting someone of his position, no.

He’s wearing the clothes he prefers on long trips when the are no other dignitaries along because to start with, they’re comfortable? But also Luke likes to tinker??? Little projects and such and maybe his father sent along a speeder or some other tinker-able vehicle to keep Luke occupied on the trip, use when he gets to Alderaan or...whatever.

Doesn’t look like the royalty, especially after recent events, and nothing to mark him as the prince of Naboo, or a Jedi-in-training and sworn enemy of the Mandalorians, and really, it’s incredibly, amazingly convenient, but it is what it is.

Din grumbles and complains, but he stays with Luke until he’s able to stand on his feet and even walk a fair distance without falling on his ass, and sighs when Luke invites himself along later that day when he says he has business elsewhere,

And then the two of them traveling to...somewhere, Din didn’t volunteer that information and Luke was too grateful to be headed away from where his escape pod crashed and potential search parties (doesn’t feel like trusting to the fact they’d be friendly towards him) and so on.

Doesn’t chatter incessantly as the annoyed set of Din’s shoulders heavily imply, because Luke is still injured and while his head isn’t an agony at the moment, it’s hardly a joy to deal with.

But, he does talk.

A lot.

About everything and nothing, off on a tangent here, there, wander far and wide the better to annoy Din into forgetting what questions he asked Luke. (The ones asking who he is, how he got there, and where the hell he’s going next, because Din’s patience lasts only so long.)

To Dins quiet horror, however, he actually starts to like Luke???

Like.

Annoying, yes, with the talking? But he doesn’t complain about all the walking they’re doing, or sleeping conditions when they make camp for the night and so on.

And, alright, sometimes it does get a bit lonely out here - conveniently far enough away from settlements or cities where someone would definitely recognize Luke - but he doesn’t tell Luke that, goodness no.

They run into trouble, after a while.

People who took part in the attack on Luke’s ship and other baddies on Mandalore connected to them and it’s a matter of bad luck meeting worse luck, and anyway, anyway.

There’s a fight, and some guns with the pew-pew shootout and Luke being the one to save Din’s life, escaping with him to some abandoned mine or underground tunnels, something and -

“Ah,” Luke says, breathless from the running and hiding and saving Din’s life and then hauling him somewhere that was supposed to be safe, even with the help of the Force.

(His head is killing him again, nowhere near healed enough to expend as much effort as he has just now, but it that or die, and he’d rather not get Din killed as well since the man’s only shown him kindness - and his special brand of charm - and anyway. Yes.)

He’s expecting it to be the people who ambushed them, but to his surprise, wariness, dread, it’s a Mandalorian. (Armor’s a dead giveaway and all.)

One who cocks their head when they see Luke’s face, blaster dipping slightly at the sight of him.

Luke tries for a smile, but Din groans, low, pained, and the best Luke was able to do was check the wound wasn’t life-threatening and slap a patch-job bandage over it before they made a break for it, and -

“I don’t suppose it would be asking too much if you had medical supplies, would it?” Luke asks, expecting to get shot for his trouble - sass, snark - but the Mandalorian holding them at blaster-point huffs out a laugh and holsters said blaster.

Jerks their chin towards a side tunnel and strides off, clearly expecting Luke to follow, and after a moment’s hesitation - no way to know if the Mandalorian is taking them to their deaths - but no better option available to them, so Luke follows.

(Murmurs an apology to Din when he groans again, guilt heavier than Din’s arm slung over his shoulder, the weight of Din and his armor, knowing he wouldn’t be in this situation if he’d left well enough alone after stumbling on Luke. So.)

Mystery!Mandalorian leads Luke to a room with medical supplies stored neatly. Clean and well-lit and after getting permission - nod of Mystery-Mandalorian’s head and wave of their hand that seems more amused than mocking - Luke sets about properly treating Din’s injuries.

Fumbles a bit, because Luke’s still injured himself, over-extended himself in the earlier fight, and it’s catching up to him now they’re somewhere arguably safe.

(No one actively trying to kill them, anyway.)

Mystery!Mandalorian watches as Luke tries to et his hands to stop shaking - stress, injury, exhaustion, any of a dozen reasons and he swears, low under his breath because now isn’t the time -

He startles when Mystery!Mandalorian takes the medical supplies out of his hands, didn’t notice him moving close enough to do so, and allows the hand on his shoulder that guides him into sitting on a stool as they do for him what he can’t in that moment and looks after Din.

Watches quietly, closely, but Mystery!Mandalorian knows what they’re doing, and truthfully Luke knows if they intended them harm there would easier ways, more efficient ones than this.

So.

He watches Mystgery!Mandalorian tend to Din’s injuries, and blinks up at them stupidly when they turn back to him, head tilted just so.

“What?” Luke asks, and Mystery!Mandalorian huffs out a laugh, quiet breath of laughter and then it’s Luke’s turn to be treated.

Careful, gentle hands and Luke’s mind drifts while Mystery!Mandalorian cleans and dresses a blaster burn on his shoulder, graze courtesy of a shot he hadn’t seen coming, attention on Din instead and he knows if it were a normal (...somewhat) normal situation he’d get a lecture on that lapse.

(A lecture, his father’s face stern, and under it worry, concern for him Luke’s never doubted, and after that his mother and quiet, soft words interwined with the same firece love his father has for his children. .)

As it is...

“Thank you,” Luke says, hopes Mystery!Mandalorian hears the things he can’t find the words for, the gratitude he feels.

Mystery!Mandalorian studies him for a long moment, Luke returning their regard best as he can even as he feels his mind going slow, stupid, as exhaustion rolls over him.

He can feel Mystery!Mandalorian watching him, them, unexected guests, visitors, complications, and there’s another sigh.

A gesture towards an unoccupied medical bed, slight tilt of his head that feels of that same brand of amusement from earlier.

Luke eyes it longingly because he’s tired, isn’t he, too much happening in too short a period of time and this feeling in the back of his mind that something is happening.

Whispers and rumors building towards something catastrophic if left unchecked and murmurs though the Force he’s known all his life.

“Rest,” Mystery!Mandalorian says, gentle, kind. “I’ll keep watch.”

It shouldn’t be a reassuring as it is, shouldn’t feel like Luke is breathing his first full breath since the alarms on his ship started wailing, intangible dread he’d felt once they left Naboo’s made real.

And yet...

There’s something about Mystery!Mandalorian he can’t help but trust, and Luke’s mind is tired, muddled, clear thought a struggle but the way the Force coils around them is enough to set his mind at ease.

“Thank you,” Luke says, and the words aren’t enough to articulate what he means, but it seems to be understood anyway.

He makes his way to the medical bed, and it isn’t long until he falls asleep, swears he hears Mystery!Mandalorian say, before he does, strangely soft, fond.

“You really are just like your father, aren’t you?”, and with no little amusement, “Skwalkers.”

And then shenanigans???

Luke waking up to Din staring at him from his own medical bed, at a loss regarding their situation, everything, and annoye (at himself???) about it, because Luke saved his life, didn’t he?

Saved it, and saved it again by getting them to safety and out of the hands of whoever attacked them, and that’s about the time Mystery!Mandalorian shows up, and Din is -

Not thrilled???

Doesn’t recognize the armor, person, regarding the two of them with this underlying amusement. (It rankles, that amusement, leaves him wrong-footed.)

Still, he follows Luke’s lead when he insists Mystery!Mandalorian is a friend - “Well,” Luke allows, at the look Din gives him when he says that. “He hasn’t tried to kill us. Yet.”

Which.

Fair, if not a ringing endorsement, but it’s not like they have much choice in the matter when Mystery!Mandalorian tells them to follow them, and off they go.

Underground tunnels and such until they get to some sort of base.

Other Mandalorians and Din is like oh, no, because these ones he does recognize.

“Resistance,” he says to Luke who’s picked up on his unease, gaze flicking to Din’s behind Mystery!Mandalorian’s back as they’re led down corridors to meet with what must be leadership.

Because Mandalore and unrest and that same something Luke’s known about his whole life and the way it affects the universe around him and just, yes.

Mystery!Mandalorian cocks his head as the lift they’re on descends, listening in, and still that amusement.

“Indeed,” he says, and something about it snaps Luke’s attention to him, makes Din...wary.

Just as well the lift stops, doors sliding open and then more corridors that seem to go on forever until they reach a set of doors.

Mystery!Mandalorian glances back at them for a moment, and huffs a quiet laugh at whatever he sees, and then they’re pressing forward.

It’s...not what he was expecting.

An office of some kind, with a holomap table off to one side and monitors and consoles beside it. A stripped down version of the control room they passed by floors down, and a slight figure in armor, head bowed over the holomap table.

Mystery!Mandalorian clears their throat, a courtesy, and the armore figure lifts their head, looks over at Luke and Din.

At Mystery!Mandalorian, and there’s a look exchanged between the two, silent conversation before Mystery!Mandalorian glances at Luke and Din again.

Sighs, and reaches up to remove their helmet, crooked smile on their - his face - at the way Luke goes so, so still beside Din.

Silence stretches long enough for Din to feel it, the weight of the revelation even if he doesn’t understand it.

“Hello, Luke,” he says, tired, aching.

Sharp inhale, and Luke tears his eyes away from Mystery!Mandalorian to look at Din, something so very wrong with the smile on his face.

“It’s Ben,” he says, and his voice cracks as he looks back at Mystery!Mandalorian, laughs at something Din doesn’t understand, something that makes Mystery!Mandalorian wince, even as he holds Luke’s gaze when he looks back at him. “Old Ben.”

Din frowns, because the man is older than them, Luke, that much is certain, but surely not old enough to have earned a title like that.

Because, look, alright.

Look.

Obi-Wan and sekrit missions because everyone knows trouble’s brewing, and a duchess of Mandalore contacted Padme, and things kind of just. Grew from there, to the point Obi-Wan went to Mandalore as an emmisary, ostensibly for political reasons, but really to help root out what information he could with Satine’s help and things went wrong.

Had him, and Satine, presumably killed in an uprising, no longer a threat to an unknown enemy.

Until the resistance took root, grew, and other such things.

Satine and Obi-Wan at the head of it, getting what information back to Padme, Anakin they could and everyone agreeing it was best for the time being if they stayed dead.

And then Luke’s ship being attacked and everything that followed, and anyway, anyway welcome to the resistance Luke Skywalker and friend, glad to have you.

Luke is understandably confused, angry at having been left in the dark, and angrier still that he has to admit to the necessity of it.

(He understands, but he’d still mourned for Obi-Wan, his father’s former mentor, teacher, and beloved uncle to Luke and Leia. He understands.)

And then there are briefings, because it’s very much a war the resistance is waging, against a common enemy and while Luke pay close attention to everything he and Din are told, he watches Obi-Wan, Satine.

Thinks oh, of course, when it hits him why the way the two of them interacts seems strangely familiar, known, because it’s the way his parents are, isn’t it?

Familiarity and trust, a knowing, and that little knot of anger buried deep in his chest at the deception involving Obi-Wan’s supposed death all those years ago unravels until he’s no longer breathing around it.

And then!

Shenanigans in which Din very much tries to NOT be part of this madness, because no, okay, no.

Simple bounty hunter and so on, and Luke don’t look at him like that, it won’t work -

So of course that’s when things go to hell and the base is attacked and Luke is taken and Din finds himself staring “Old Ben” down in the aftermath because this may not be his war to fight, but Luke is an idiot.

“Well,” Obi-Wan says, corner of his mouth quirking. “He does take after his father that way.”

Dramatic Rescues and Dine being So Done with everything, but also, like. Being heroically injured by shielding Luke and Luke’s pale face and fear in the back of his eyes as he leans over Din to keep him from bleeding out.

Striving for calm, soothing Din in between yelling for help, Obi-Wan and the others on their way, and Din laughing at him because he was told Jedi didn’t panic.

“Shut up,” Luke says, laugh all wrong. “I thought nothing could get through Mandalorian armor?”

Well.

Things go fuzzy for a bit, Din remembers pain and blood and yelling - a lot of that - and then he wakes up in a medical center somewhere.

Not the resistance base, but he doesn’t recognize it.

“Idiot,” is the first thing he hears, and then, “Stupid,” and so on, and when he turns his head Luke is glaring at him.

He must make for a terrible Jedi, Din thinks, because Jedi aren’t supposed to have attachment, are they?

Dangerous, terrible, and yet.

“You are, yes,” Din says, voice haorse, more of a croak, and when he laughs at the affornted look Luke gives him for that it hurts - still healing and all - but so very worth it.

And then, okay, and then.

It comes out that Palpatine has been building a base of power for himself for years, slow patient, and setting his enemies at one another’s throats to weaken them.

Conspiracies on conspiracies and Din watches Luke as his father - his father, mother, and sister who hasn’t left Luke’s side since they arrived - tell them.

(Because, you know, because. Luke’s family and secrets weighing heavy and of course, of course Leia would not be held back, would not just let Luke’s death go so easily.

Would investigate, relentless, until she stumbled over everything and her parents and a shared look and she gets it from you, you know, and me? you have to be kidding, and I get it from both of you, now tell me what’s going on right now.

Adventures, because Skywalkers. A chance meeting with a scruffy smuggler and his long-suffering Wookie friend, and a rickety, rusty freighter

.Hey, that’s no way to talk about a lady, and as if you’d know, and don’t encourage them, Padme, and Of course not, Anakin, and heavy, resigned sighs because Leia has always been terrifying like her mother and somehow more stubborn.

A resistance - “Rebellion,” Obi-Wan says, glint in his eye when Anakin looks at him, “seems more fitting don’t you think?” - growing as well in secret.

Both brought into the light with recent events and untold battles ahead, and just.

It’s a lot.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Luke says, and Din doesn’t tense at his voice, quiet, something sad to it under his amusement.

Din hmms, glances towards Luke.

So much has happened since they meet, learned of things far bigger than them, and still -

“We’re meant to be enemies,” he says, a Mandalorian to a Jedi, albeit one still in training if what Luke told him is true.

Luke cocks his head, and still crosses the clearing to sit beside him.

Hmms, right back at Din and Din bites back a sigh, watching Luke from the corner of his eye.

With everything that’s happened, they’ve learned, the old grudge seems petty in comparison.

Also, Obi-Wan and Satine, and it hardly seems important anymore, long before his time as it was, and while Luke’s certainly many things, he’s never felt like an enemy.

They sit in companionable silence for a while, calm, cool of the night and so much between them they don’t have words for yet, and none of it unwelcome.

When Luke gets to his feet, holds his hand out to Din, he doesn’t have to think about it when he takes it. Lets Luke pull him to his feet with that surprising strength of his, and falls into step with him just as easily.

And then they have Adventures and death-defying shenanigans and such. Steal kisses here and there and never put a name to this thing of theirs, but it’s strong enough to last through a war and to the other side of it.

Would-be Empire scattered and broken and a good bounty hunter’s experience is invaluable in stamping out the remnants.

Almost as much as a Jedi Knight who earned their title through countless battles and conflicts, steady familiar presence at his side.And really, really, it shouldn’t surprise him so much when Luke gives him this soft little smile when Din comes home after a solo mission, small green gremlin of a kid he’d found (rescued) in his arms and knows their little family has gained another member.

(And again and again, because Luke’s just as bad as him and Finn and Rey are fine on their own, but Grogu? An absolute nightmare and evil mastermind and Din doesn’t care what Luke says, the small green gremlin child gets it from Luke’s side of the family.)

Also, though.

The day Finn and Rey met Poe (Ben a little confused, bemused, blissfully unaware of what he was witnessing) signaled the beginning of the end and Luke is absolutely laughing at Din, don’t think he doesn’t know what that looks like by now. >:(((((((((((((((((((((((((

#star wars nonsense #dinluke #technically not a fic #vagrant fic #i absolutely wandered away from the main plot with this? #but yes #/o\ #long post

[tanoraqui]

AU where I gently tweak character ages to my whim so that when Jame is outcast, the next time Tori sleeps and reaches out for her reflexively in his dreams...he can’t find her of course. She’s lost in the dark somewhere. But he wanders the edges of that darkness searching, crying as he can’t let himself be seen to do while awake…and he stumbles into Kindrie’s garden

Tori is seven years old and dreaming. He wanders around, admiring the many pale-flowered plants, before he notices that one of them isn't a flower at all, but a white-haired, blue-eyed toddler sitting quietly in the corner.

(I don’t think it’s at all normal to slide from dream to soulspace at the age of 4, but this is Kindrie, who is just a little bit of a prodigy - and, of course, Tori, likewise.)

Tori nearly backs away in disgust, filthy shanir ringing in his ears in his father's voice (and this isn’t even the shanir he wants to see, wants with every lonely, not-quite-guilty-yet fiber of his being.) But the toddler’s eyes well up with tears at his disgust and Tori has never interacted with a baby before but he’s always been responsible. So he wipes the sneer from his young face and tentatively sits beside the boy, and asks what's your name, is this your garden, are there any adults here? (Kindrie, yes, a shy look toward the faint impression of a woman's face in a mossy wall.) Are you lonely, too? ...Do you want to play?

Tori wakes up before he gets much farther than explaining the strategies of tic-tac-toe. He doesn't go back the next night, because he wakes up inexplicably exhausted, like he hasn’t slept at all. He dismisses it as a half-forgotten dream.

But soon enough there’s another night - when Ganth raged at dinner, when the other half of the bed felt especially cold and empty - when he goes looking for the peaceful little garden again, and finds it after only a little bewildering wandering. Kindrie is there, and lights up to see him.

Maybe they just play tag, and water the plants - or water plants and end up splashing water at each other, Tori drawing Kindrie into not flinching at the sudden movements… Or maybe Tori asks, “Do you know how to play marbles?” and Kindrie says yes but points out that that there aren’t any marbles here, and Tori, with all the confidence of a young lord, says, “Well that’s dumb,” and conjures some marbles to play with. Because it’s a dream, and you can do that in a dream! (It’s a soul and most people can not do that in a soul, but the children who will one day be Creation and Preservation don’t know that.)

And then! They just! Hang out! No less often than once every few weeks, and sometimes every night for nearly a month. When they're young, it's more effort; it takes Tori days to regain his strength each time. When they're older, they both have more nights too busy or anxious to sleep, or too hurt and weary to choose anything but dreamless dwar.

By day, Tori keeps swallowing down his father's poison, but by night - obviously he, Tori, isn't a shanir. Obviously. it's Kindrie's dream garden. But Kindrie is - well, he's just a little kid (Tori thinks from the ripe age of 3 years older). He doesn't have claws or anything; he's not dangerous like Jame was. And by mutual unspoken agreement, neither of them talks in detail about their waking lives, but if Tori were to mention his father's view on shanir - well, Kindrie has been drinking his own poison since birth. Bastard, worthless shanir brat, and all the curses of the priests and their benefactress... He wouldn't argue, I think, with anything Tori said.

(As for that benefactress..she nearly catches them once, for sure. She's surprised to see another dreamwalker, but her reflexes are good: she flings a curse at Tori that would hit most souls like a well-aimed arrow, or at least like a discreet tracker tag. It bounces off his back as he dashes away; he barely notices. Kindrie is terrified. A door has developed over the years, from frequent use, between here and Tori's Haunted Lands keep. It's always been concealed behind a curtain of vines, but after that incident with Lady Randir, he hides it so thoroughly that Tori has difficulty finding it from the other side, next time he visits.)

The first time Kindrie follows Tori back through that door is when Tori, age 12, has broken his arm falling out of a tree, and been put sternly to bed but left too restless for proper dwar. Kindrie has learned enough in his classes for young could-be-priests to realize that this isn't a dream, but (guiltily) he hasn't told Tori, because Tori - best and only friend, and something like an older brother - will freak out about shanir things, and possibly never come back. This is the worst possible outcome.

But right now, even dreaming, Tori is cradling his arm with remembered pain, and Kindrie knows that when he grows up (if he grows up), he's going to be a healer (he has already been made so exquisitely aware that his talents lie in healing, himself if no one else). So he convinces Tori to take him back through the door to explore Tori's dreadful keep, and together they gather the ladder and hammers and etc. required to repair the few fallen beams.

(Ganth roars when Tori wakes up with an arm far more healed than one night of dwar sleep should have healed. Filthy shanir, monster! But he calms without delivering more than a few extra slaps. Tori dances desperately around the truth, because his dreams with Kindrie - best and only friend, something like a younger brother - are something they've never needed to swear to keep secret. The kendar who'd examined the break in the first place says, "Lord, my eyes are growing old, and Torisen is young and strong - maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought. A fracture, not a break. And he slept well.")

(Not a lie, just barely not a lie.)

(But these are kendar who would, in a couple years, every single one of them swear to take any dishonor onto their own accounts so that their young lordan could escape this place. It's not the first not-a-lie, and it won't be the last.)

"How can I?" Tori asks, agonized, surrounded by gentle white flowers, in one of the rare times they speak explicitly about the things they endure by day. Though Tori still doesn't give his full name, nor his father's, and Kindrie's given little more detail of his location than that he's studying to be a priest. He's never named the woman against whom he sometimes locks his doors so tightly that even Tori can't get in.

"One of us should escape," says Kindrie, who's 3 years younger but plenty old enough to be bitter.

(A few days after that, waking, Ganth demands that Tori drink a cup of wine with a drop of blood in it, "To my health", and something dark and rotten will take root in Tori's soul-keep. But it's so small, and hidden for now, not to mention ineffective, that Tori doesn't notice - and Kindrie hasn't come over to help clean up since the near-disaster of that broken arm.)

Less than a year after that, Kindrie is having a particularly bad day, the sort where even in his garden, he's doing little more than curl up in a silent ball. Tori sits nearby, sketching a map of the Southern Host's camp, so as to remember his new environs better. Unprompted, he says, "You know, I don't actually mind people thinking I'm a bastard."

"That's because you're not," Kindrie says, quietly into his knees, but just a little waspish.

"Maybe," Tori concedes. "But also it's..." He waves his hand at undefinable concepts, because he'll never be good at introspection. "Everyone assumes things, about me, about Lord Ardeth - assumes the worst, assumes the least of me. But it's not right at all, it's just because they hear the word bastard and think those things - so who's to say they're right about any other bastard?"

Another day, Tori is restless, pacing, and wearing armor even here, and won't say why. He doesn't need to - he's been keeping Kindrie abreast of the events with the god-kings, Karnids, and brewing war (though not every detail - not how the high priest spoke to him). If only as a listening ear at which to talk it all through, figure it all out.

He still doesn't, truly, overall mind people assuming he's Ardeth's bastard. But he hates the stupid games around that and being a Knorth at the same time, the spying and the constant not-quite-lying - and tomorrow, they reach Ukakarn, with enemies unknown.

"Kindrie," he says abruptly, can you keep a secret on his tongue - but that's a stupid question because all of this is secret, and always has been. "Would you mind knowing my name?"

"Tori?" Kindrie says, answer and question, blinking as his attention is pulled away from the flowers he's been meticulously winding around a trellis.

"Torisen," Tori says, with that same abruptness. "Torisen Knorth, son of Ganth Grey Lord." And because he cannot bear to unburden himself without offering something - "Lord Ardeth knows - that's why he's been mentoring me, and spying on me, this whole time. But I think he did mean it, when he said he wants to help me regain my father's seat - that's why I mean it, when I say I'm quite sure he'd help me get you out of this place" (the priests' college) "if you want. He could send for a new healer to attempt Dari's rotten teeth..."

He trails off in the fact of Kindrie's odd response: avoiding Tori's eyes, a small smile that he's failing to suppress.

"What?" Tori says, maybe more sharply than he should.

"It's just...my grandmother was a Knorth. I heard someone say it, once, when they thought I wasn't listening." Kindrie's mouth keeps trying to smile, but his glance is anxious, because the last thing he wants is to sound like he's angling for something. Like he's bringing this up - or worse, making it up - because he, like Lord Ardeth, wants some in on the hypothetical future highlord. He's known this for years after all; he never mentioned it before because it was a treasure for just himself. By old, unspoken agreement, there's a lot they don't share about their waking lives.

But Tori lights up. "Really? Do you know who?"

"Her name was Telarien, I think."

Tori, who has studied his so-empty family tree, who has been alone since he was 7 - stops his pacing and turns with hands outstretched. "Why, then we're cousins!"

(Tori has offered this more than once, and each time Kindrie has declined - no politically machinated release nor clever trick, nor even (once, when Tori was in a particular Mood, and maybe thinking of his sister) some sort of rescue heist. Because the priests' college is terrible, but it's familiarly terrible, and who knows what greater disdain and torment might be out in the rest of the world?)

And then came Ukakarn.

Tori doesn't show up cradling his hands, or the blood on them, and weeping, the next night, his dire keep under siege next door. He doesn't flicker briefly in and out, as his torturer disallow him true rest. He doesn't come to Kindrie's garden at all, because he has been taken into the bowels of Ukakarn, which lie in the same shadow that consumes the land north of the Haunted Lands - the same shadow, unbeknownst to any of them, that swallowed his sister.

But he's not dead. Kindrie can tell, can feel, that he's not dead. And Kindrie is a healer (in training) and this is his best friend and cousin and rightful lord (however illegitimate the blood claim may be, for the latter two). So he doesn't hesitate a moment before plunging into the darkness that has swallowed the place where Tori's soul usually looms.

It's a little bit like swimming, through shadows thick enough to choke on. It's a bit like finding the will to get up in the morning, struggle that that often is. But Kindrie, though only age 13 or so, has a great deal more expertise than Tori, age 7 did, and more natural talent as well. Off in the physical world, the priests deem him truly comatose this time, but he breaks through to Tori's haunted soulscape - running with cracks of fire, as though about to explode. Overlapping with a grander house, a manse whose dark hallways Kindrie doesn't know. He wanders, searching desperately, pressing against not shadows but the end of his own tether.

He only finds Tori when he catches a glimpse of a slim, ghostly figure he thinks is him - but her armor is white and her hair is long, and when Kindrie follows her, they end up in a cell that's dank yet too-warm, with Tori crumpled and chained to one wall. Kindrie watches the woman break those chains - then she looks over her shoulder and meets Kindrie's eyes, hers bright silver, and he knows this must be the sister Tori has let slip mention of - older, somehow, tender and wroth at once.

The surprise breaks his focus, sends him careening back into the shadows, and to the safety of his own hidden garden.

Kindrie is a bastard, except that he has a cousin. He's a rotten little shanir - yes, the best healer in his generation, even if he has no other prizes to his name. He's worthless and useless and unwanted - except that he has a friend whom sometimes he can still make smile, who has never been just a dream, who leaves the flowers of Kindrie's soul-garden blooming a little brighter every time he helps tend them, and who has scattered the place with marbles and books and even a sword. Kindrie has cleared away some of these, and kept others, hidden as carefully as the door behind the vines, and never once mentioned to Tori that this is a weird thing to be able to do. Also, illegitimate though he may (seem to) be, Kindrie is a Knorth and Tori - well, he was scared to leave, and he did it anyway.

So, in the fashion of Knorths, Kindrie stages his escape from the priests' college that night, about seven years earlier than canon, and he makes his way as fast as possible to camp of the Southern Host.

Nothing else changes about Ukakarn, except this: Rose Iron-thorn doesn't die, because Tori's hands aren't too badly injured to keep their grip on her, because Kindrie walks, clumsily rides, and pleads his way onto illicit trade caravans going down the valley, he spends as much time as he can in Tori's keep - no longer lost in shadow, but still cracked with flames, eroding with exhaustion, dust-drenched for lack of water. Tori is no help - if he notices at all, in more than a daze - but patients rarely are.

(Rose isn't in the water to guide their boat through the sea, but Kindrie, for lack of any proper sleep himself, keeps Tori going, and Tori keeps his few people, and all together, they find the safe shore.)

Tori has told him about the Caineron commander of the host, so Kindrie goes directly to the god-king of Krothifir. Quite frankly, tfw a moderately unhinged 13-year-old kencyr with a shaved head (for not being tracked by description) bursts into your royal court and starts insisting that a precious few of your army have survived the dread fortress that captured them, and are even now in desperate need of a rescue party in the near desert. Please believe me, Kindrie begs, I know it from a dream (a perfectly normal, if rare shanir trait - though it is on the tip of his tongue to shout at the kendar guards in the hall that this is their future highlord dying in the desert out there, and why aren't they moving already.

Kroaky lets Kindrie convince him to make a royal visit to the optomancers' Eye, and they are of course just in time to watch Tori's little group straggle back into camp. Exhausted though he is, Kindrie dashes off right then, maybe with a tipsy wolver at his heels. Krothen, alas, takes longer to get down the cliff - a king needs pomp and circumstance, after all. Gendar Caineron is dead before either arrives.

Once Harn is back on his feet and in command, he quietly adds Kindrie to the lacking ranks of a medic squad. Within a month, Kindrie has picked up the nickname "Whitey", for his growing-back hair and, of course, mirror to Blackie. (I'm sure the boys try to keep it subtle, and let the story be that Kindrie just happened to have a vision of these escapees...but it's not like an ever-growing proportion of the host isn't already politely not commenting on the fact that their Blackie is clearly a full-blooded Knorth.)

...and then they lived happily ever after, the end

(except Tori still won't admit to himself that he's a shanir until after Jame has metaphorically kicked in the door of the Kencyrath and less metaphorically set multiple parts of it on fire)

#kencyrath #kencyrath chronicles #kindrie soulwalker #torisen black lord #torisen knorth #my fic #ficlet #...a nearly 3k ficlet shut up

[cosplayinamerica]

Deku from My Hero Academia // Cosplayer: atarashiraven // Photo: @tsunderee_

So I went back and did some digging and found my first full Deku cosplay. And OHMYGOD I'M SCREAMING. I didn't think I improved so much cosplaying Deku. But I can really see a difference. A glow up. It goes to show that no matter what kinda cosplayer you are, famous, professional, beginner, moderate, advanced, little fan base. Doesn't matter.

Cosplaying is fun and there's always room for improvement. Cosplay is for everyone no matter your skin color, your figure, your ability or disability. Whether you can put on makeup like a pro or don't know what you're doing, its a process. And honestly back at the time this picture was taken I just wanted to be around like minded people and have fun, and I was experimenting w/my makeup. Cosplay is not a competition, its a passion, and one that you can feel happy in improving and doing new things.

I wanted to cosplay Deku mainly because he sparked something in me. I had been on a break with cosplay. Focusing more so on school and wondering when the next character that I make a huge connection with would come along. After all, I was feeling like maybe I was losing that cosplay spark. But something about Deku really made me wanna cosplay even more. Seeing him work hard to achieve his dreams and goals made me wanna do the same. I just resonated with him. He's always looked down upon only to prove people wrong that he can be the best in his own way! And that’s how I wanna be! 

Photo: @brittanyfournier

Since I had no idea how to crossplay I spent hours researching, I actually bought my first cosplay and didn't really make any modifications. Not until I bought his suit. I made my own leg and arm pieces because I like the way it fit and looked on me better. I went out of my way to buy a yellow backpack, his notebook, his provisional license, and school ID to really bring him together. And then paired it with red shoes that light up!

I had a lot of positive responses with cosplaying Deku! Everyone really loved the jacket, how my shoes lit up and all the little details! And when I went to the my hero group meet up I felt really apart of something! It felt special! And a lot of teens ans kids wanted pictures with me. I was called cute quite a bit! So that was a plus! I do remember that I bought a bunch of merch that day and I bought a Bakugou body pillow, and a Bakugou cosplayer literally walked by me with a smile and said "nice pillow Midoriya." And it took me a minute to register why he said my pillow was nice.

Photos: @tsunderee_

Bunny Deku came in October 2019 when the Bunny Deku trend was finally trending within the fandom. A lot of artists were drawing him but I didn't see a lot of cosplay at the time. So I decided to cosplay Bunny Deku and he just kinda stuck around after my friends and my boyfriend saw me cosplaying him. They kinda see me as their little Bunny Deku.

Bunny Deku 1.0 as I like to call the first rendition of him was made using white bunny ears, a white bunny tail, green rit-dye, a low heated blowdryer and a styling comb. I used my old First Deku cosplay and the clothes in my closet to really piece him together.

 I went to Wasabi-Con and Anime Festival Orlando as Bunny Deku! And the response was great! Two of my favorite cosplayers at WasabiCon (Akrcos and inspectorlemon) really lifted my spirits by saying I was quite the adorable bunny Deku. They even asked how I made the ears! At AFO I was dragged into a MHA group too, and they were nice! Overall it was a very nice experience!

Photos: @tsunderee_

I have been steadily improving my cosplay! I'm working on improving the leg armor pieces, I've made bunny feet to go with Bunny Deku, I'm working on a one piece suit, bought some pretty sweet Fila shoes because I think Deku definitely deserves designer sports shoes, I plan on ordering another full one piece suit but in a zentai suit, and I bought I guess you could say a designer Deku bunny set from LittleLuxies who is really popular in cosplay community, and I do plan on improving the gloves sooner or later. I noticed that my cosplay makeup and connections have improved a lot! At first I was just some young girl who really didn't understand how much went into it. But now it's my passion so I'm always improving and taking notes!

My future cosplay plans really involve improving my current characters I cosplay and also bringing back characters that were popular in my childhood back to the spotlight!

Currently I have a lot of cosplays lined up for cons in the future. And I'm even learning to work with different sfx makeup so I can do more characters that people typically don't bring to life at cons. I wanna be a cosplayer who's known to cosplay anything and everything! From well known to obscure characters! I also plan on doing couple cosplay with my significant other sometime in the future. Which will be a ton of fun! And I wanna keep inspiring people! Especially as a black cosplayer I think its important to inspire other black people and even POC. There needs to be more of us out there because we do exist and cosplay is for everyone!

https://linktr.ee/atarashiraven

#Deku #Deku cosplay #MHA #MHA cosplay #poc cosplay #poc cosplayer #black cosplay #black cosplayer #cosplay #cosplay interview

[gondowan]

Over Your Shoulder

Pairing: Paz Viszla x f!Reader

You're used to working for others. As a freelance armstech, you flit from contract to contract, never staying too long in one place. Although the freelancer life is fun, you kind of wish you could trade it all for a little bit of stability. As the maker would have it, that stability shows up in the form of one (1) Paz Viszla.

Tags/Warnings: nothing right now, but future loving degradation, Good Communication Is My Kink, daddy kink, and other sexy consensual shenangians. Reader has slight self esteem issues.

Notes: I haven’t written for fun in forever, but new year new me! If you know me in real life never bring this up because I will combust lol. I was going to fire off a brief smutty one-shot pwp thing but of course I couldn’t resist adding ~ b a c k s t o r y ~ so here you go. Subsequent updates will probably just be pwp.

Chapter 1: All The Grass is Greener Everywhere You Look

Nervousness, you assumed, was a regular feeling for anyone who was newly married. Doubly so for the new spouse of a Mandalorian. Unlike the rest of the galaxy where marriage vows were somewhat loose, Mandalorians took their vows very seriously. Forever, generally meant, forever.

Your relationship with Paz Viszla was strange in and of itself. As a freelance armstech, you hopped from planet to planet offering your repair services, never staying in any one place for too long. While on Bothawui, you had let slip to a client that you were headed to Nevarro next. Greef Karga, the head of the Guild, had put you on a retainer for services to guild members for a few cycles. The pay was good, and he had promised you a steady supply of commissions from the local bounty hunters who frequented Nevarro in need of new weapons and repairs on top of the already nice stipend.

The Bothan, a short humanoid by the name of Eesk, perked up when you mentioned Nevarro, and the next day he came over as you were on your way to the spaceport.

“Can I ask a favor? Do you mind making a delivery for me while on Nevarro?” he asked, pulling a datapad out from his robes.

You looked up, eyes narrowing. Bothans were famous for their information network, and were instrumental to the destruction of the first Death Star, but still, you were understandably nervous. “ Eesk, I’m not interested in looking for trouble. I don’t need the New Republic or any Imp remnant breathing down my neck for delivering that for you,” you said.

Eesk laughed, “Relax, I promise you this isn’t serious. Just deliver this to a Mandalorian on Nevarro. It’s nothing classified, I’m just returning a favor for a friend,”. He slid over a stack of credits. “I’d take it to him myself, but unfortunately I’m held up on New Republic business”.

You reached over and tucked the datapad into your bag along with the credits, “Fine, but you owe me”.

“Next time you’re here, drinks on me.” he said as he walked away.

It was only until you had boarded the transport ship that you realized Eesk had never actually told you were to meet this Mandalorian. ‘Oh well,’ you thought, ‘he’s not getting these credits back’. You leaned your head against the wall of the ship, tired from hauling all of your luggage to the spaceport, and fell asleep.

You were three standard weeks into your contract with Greef Karga and the Guild, and still no Mandalorian had shown up to collect the datapad. It was nice to be somewhat settled in one place for longer than a week, and you had enjoyed the steady stream of work. You had also learned from Karga that the Mandalorian covert scattered from Nevarro, and he hadn’t seen one in a while. For all of their information trafficking and spy network, perhaps Eesk had gotten it wrong for once, and you didn’t really care to ask. After all, it would be nigh impossible to miss a person wearing head to toe armor, especially on Nevarro.

One morning, as you had returned from your walk to the lava plains, you discovered the door to your apartment was unlocked. Strange. Not a good sign. None of your alarms were triggered either. Carefully, you pulled your blaster out its holster before quietly pushing the door open.

“There you are. Been looking all over for you.”

A large man, clad in blue armor and covered in more weapons per square inch that any other being you had ever seen, sat next to your workstation. Despite the blaster pointed at him, he seemed unperturbed, posture open and relaxed.

“What do you want?” you asked, blaster raised, "You picked the wrong house to rob,". You had fended off your fair share of robberies, the expensive equipment you lugged around as an armstech was attractive to petty thieves, and not cheap.

“The datapad.” he said.

“I take it you’re the Mandalorian that Eesk spoke about.”

“Correct,”.

You rummage through your toolkit and dust off the datapad. “Here you go Mr. Mandalorian, although I suggest next time you knock during business hours. Breaking and entering is reserved for long term partners, and you haven’t even bought me a drink yet”. You wince a little inwardly, maybe this dry spell was affecting you more than you thought.

You tap the edge of the datapad on the Mandalorian’s chest plate. “Oh and you might want to get the blaster strapped to your thigh checked, those scorch marks are usually a bad sign,”.

The blue hunk of armor stood up and took the datapad from you. “Thank you for this,” he rumbled before heading out the door.

“Ah, so you do have manners,” you teased before moving to shut the door.

You can’t see the expression on his face, but you hear the huff of a laugh through his modulator accompanied with a shake of his shoulders.

You were pretty sure you’d never see him again.

Wrong.

The next day right as you returned from dropping off a box of repaired pistols, there he was again, blue armor and blank expressionless helmet, sitting in the same spot next to your workstation.

“Can you fix it?” he asked.

You gaped at him for a second, before remembering the comment you made yesterday. “I can take a look,”. You cross over to your workstation, turning on the light and the magnifying glass and grabbing your toolkit. It was an easy but time-consuming fix, and you quickly busied yourself with disassembling the rifle.

“You’re not from Nevarro,”. A question, posed as a statement.

You didn’t look up, “Nope, I’m just passing through.” Hmm, that power cell did not look too good.

“Where is home for you?”

“Nowhere,” you said matter-of-factly as you tinkered away, “Like most people, the Clone Wars and the Empire destroyed what little of a childhood I had. Got taken in by a kind armstech who taught me the trade, and now I hop from planet to planet making a living. What about you? I heard about what happened to the Mandalorians on this planet,”.

“Also nowhere,” the man grunted, and he remained quiet. You finished your work, and handed him the blaster, butt end first.

“You owe me two drinks now, breaking into my place like that.”

He took the blaster from you, two gloved finger tips drawing a line from the middle of your forearm down your wrist. An unnecessary movement, he could’ve just taken the blaster. You gulped. He put the gun back in its holster and leaned forward.

“I might, if you ask nicely. I saw the way you sized me up the first time,”.

You swallowed, mouth going dry. “It’s uh, part of my line of work. Gotta make sure everyone’s packing-- I mean, everyone’s weapons are in tip top shape.” Your stupid lizard brain, at it again.

He cocked his head to the side, “I’m sure it is,” the mirth evident in his tone.

Every evening thereafter, the blue Mandalorian showed up at your doorstep, a new weapon in hand for you to look at. It was nice, you had to admit to yourself. A consistency in your otherwise inconsistent life, and you grew to enjoy his company. What you couldn’t handle however, was the escalating tension between the two of you. He would occasionally stand behind you, his big, all-encompassing frame brushing up against your back, and lean over you to ask about this or that. The first time you thought it was an accident, but then he followed up with an oh-so-casual touch of your wrist, and you were pretty sure it was on purpose, but you also couldn’t tell if that was wishful thinking on your part. Occasionally the two of you would strike up a conversation, but for the most part he sat in a comfortable silence while you worked. When he came over the fourth night, large gattling gun in tow, you decided it was high time to try to get to know him better.

“Uh...would you like to stay for dinner?”, eyes looking down on the (ancient) gattling gun, trying to keep your voice light.

He paused and shook his head “I can’t,”.

Oh, an immediate shut down. Great. Well it was worth a shot.

“Not for the reason you think. I can’t remove my helmet in the presence of others, that’s part of the creed,”.

That made a lot of sense. You hadn’t come across many Mandalorians in your travels, but all of them were rather cagey about their armor and helmet. You had assumed it was due to the value of beskar, but this was the first time you had heard about this creed.

You looked up at him. “Don’t you ever get lonely?” you blurted out, the words forming on your tongue before your brain could shut you down. “Nevermind-- I’m sorry I-”

He interjected, “Sometimes. There are some exceptions though,”.

You leaned forward. “Such as?”.

A pause. He stepped forward, tipping your chin up with a finger.

“ Would you care to find out?”

Ch 2 here

#paz viszla #paz vizla x reader #paz viszla x reader #2021 new year new me #and by new year new me i mean i will write the kinky caretaking fic i want #the mandalorian #mono writes #THE LAST TIME I WROTE IT WAS FOR MASS EFFECT LMAO #this is way too much buildup #but whatever!!!!! #over your shoulder fic

[seventfics]

Lionhearted

Written for @witcher-rarepair-summer-bingo

Prompt: Talking in your Sleep Relationships: Cirilla/Morvran Voorhis (+ background Emhyr/Geralt) Rating: T  Content Warnings: None Summary: Before her future reign can begin, Cirilla has to commit to the trust exercise that is an arranged marriage. If only her sleep would be peaceful.

Read on AO3

* * *

“...Cirilla?”

Ciri stirs fully awake at a gentle touch over her shoulder. It is a miracle she does not lash out instinctively and break something. Her limbs feel tight, aching by how tense they’d become in sleep. The faint shadows of a nightmare still dance behind her eyes. She hears the clopping of hooves, the horses of the Wild Hunt approaching—the cold blast of winter hits her as if naked in the snow.

Pure imagination. The bedroom is warm-lit by a hearth. It is summer, and she is safe. She is more than safe.

The touch that rose her pulls her back from the lingering vision of doom. She turns to light eyes, pinched in worry.

“Sorry..." She draws the sheets closer, her wild hair a fan over her face. The room is warm, but a chill runs under her skin all the same. "Did I disturb you?”

Morvran studies her. He sits a comfortable distance away from her. The monstrously-large bed makes that easy. “Not really.”

Slowly, her muscles unwind from their tense curl. A minute passes, and she’s tired again. “Don’t let me keep you awake,” she says rolling on her side, and then, almost a whisper, “you know, you can call me Ciri.”

* * *

The final battle is over. It has been for a peaceful few years. And yet, her mind stays restless, ready for the next enemy to come tearing through her life. So far it’s only been arrogant old men with predictable ambitions, which is pitiful compared to the ageless Aen Elle that had chased her through time and space, and the world-ending White Frost waiting at the end of it all. Really, they should step up their game if they want to make her sweat.

Her dreams made of frost and blood do most of the work for them. It's inescapable. Exhausting.

Every time she wakes from snow clogging her lungs, she sees Morvran had stirred awake in the night, and she apologizes with genuine-felt guilt.

Her husband is always polite about it, which is hard for her to accept at first. Experience tells her to expect a confrontation, or a fight about affecting him with her sleeplessness. But Morvran—she discovers quickly into their spousal arrangement—is quiet company, even if sometimes he seems a little on edge himself. A soldier's nervousness lies behind his gaze. The General without a war to fight. At least she’s not the only one struggling with peacetime.

They say that marriage forges a bond between two souls. That is what her father—of all people—tells her on one of their joint-breakfast mornings.

“There is a responsibility there," Emhyr says with enviable composure. "He is the only one’s opinion you must consult and rely on with matters of state.”

Ciri nearly scoffs. “Not even yours then?”

“Not even mine. Do you not trust him?”

She thinks long after that, a little angry with his nonchalance. Of course she doesn't. Of course it's not that easy. Ask any other lady or princess what their marriage gave them and see if any one of them bring up the word trust. Her father is biased. His own marriage had been sown by destiny's hand.

And yet, after the whispers of dark dreams rouse her at night, she does trust Morvran to be near, to remind her with his presence that she is no longer a child running from great and powerful enemies anymore. She is the daughter of the Black Sun. Nothing can touch her now.

Would be nice to sleep well again on her own soon, though.

Emhyr accepts her silence and sips his tea while it is still warm. He doesn't say anything about the dark circles under her eyes, and she doesn't talk about why they're there.

Geralt visits not a day after, the first time after her marriage, and he sure won't let it go unaddressed.

“I'm fine, Geralt. Haven’t slept well is all.”

That is all she's willing to say, not wanting to bother him too much when he'd arrived so happy to greet her. But it’s Geralt. He knows her better than anyone. Better than she knows herself.

"Haven't slept? You know what that does to your clarity of mind. And are you doing anything about it? Is it the mattress? I tell you, they make them too soft in the south. You need a little firmness to stop you when you're tossing..."

His fussing calms her heart. The opposite would be just as true. If he panics, all her own worries neutralize as she remembers how to think straight for him. They are each other's pillars.

So he frets, and she waves him off, feeling a little better by the second.

Tea together in the garden is a relaxing surprise activity with him, although now that he's brought up the topic of modern furniture and poor craftsmanship, Geralt is grouching about how uncomfortable the chairs are.

“They’re meant to keep your spine straight," she says, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, and it’s crap. Doesn’t fit all of me.”

“That’s because you’re carrying fifty pounds of armor and steel. You might not want to rest all your weight on it actually.”

Geralt purposely leans back on his chair, the wood giving an alarming creak. “Are you calling me fat?”

She laughs at him so hard the Impera keeping guard from the garden's entrance twitch their heads to them. They act like a sign of joy from her is a terrifying dragon come to burn the palace down.

“I miss that,” Geralt mutters with a fake pout.

“What? My laughter?”

“Your…ease with it. I know being empress is nothing to scoff at." At the mention of her future court, Ciri touches her imperial diadem—both a symbol of her patrimony and a wedding band. Geralt tracks the gesture. The sigh he gives is heavy and long. "I mean, shit, this whole marriage thing attached to it isn’t what either of us planned for."

The metal warms under her rubbing thumb. "None of what's happened in our journey ever has been."

A witcher's path is unpredictable. One lives by the day and learns to adapt to what comes. And she's doing that still. Adapting like a witcheress. Soon, she'll have to start thinking more like an empress.

"The General," Geralt starts, and she refocuses on him and the serious set of his brow. "He’s a good man at least. A little…eccentric I think, but he is one of the better ones in Emhyr’s court.”

Now it's her turn to grumble, “I know. It’s annoying. I wish I could have a reason to hate him but he’s so…ugh, mannerly!”

This time Geralt laughs, and for a moment, Ciri is a witcher’s child in the wilds again, punting her father’s shoulder for a dumb joke he's pulled at her expense.

She stops suddenly when a familiar figure, all shoulders and dark colors to contrast his light hair, comes through the garden gates. 'Speak of the devil' might be a rude thought to have, yet it perfectly encapsulates how luck draws its cards on her this morning.

“Geralt of Rivia!” comes Morvran’s happy voice. “I thought I heard the rumble of bickering servants on the way here. Now I understand what displeased them so.”

“I’m not wearing their black-and-white cotton traps and you can’t make me.”

Ciri blinks between them. It surprises her how well Geralt gets along with him, and how openly joyous Morvran is being about his company—and yes, she would call him joyous even as his face is subtle in expressing it. Breaking courtly address would normally upset her recently-made husband no matter the suspect. And yet Geralt, who does not mean to do it intentionally, receives no such berating speeches on etiquette and formality. Actually, Morvran shakes his hand the northern way of greeting. Maybe he's good at adapting too.

“Of course not, sir witcher," Morvran says with his other hand raised in acquiescence. "There is no dire interrogation to fulfill at this hour.”

"Don't threaten me with a free clean shave again." To her, he offers a parting, “Alright. I've taken up enough of your time, I’m gonna head out.”

Her heart sinks at the cursory goodbye. This is her father in all but blood leaving her secure little bubble once more, to be a witcher without her. She is not a child anymore—he doesn't ruffle her ashen hair, though she dearly wants him to for old time's sake. It would mess up her diadem and the intricate plaiting of the braids behind her head.

She is not a child anymore, and yet she is already melancholy at the quick turn of his back.

"See you later, Geralt." Her words are a promise. We will see each other again.

As he steps into the flower path that winds back to the guards, Morvran calls out, “His imperial majesty is currently in a meeting.”

Geralt stops. He looks, for some reason, abashed. “What? Why are you telling me that?”

“I thought you would be privy to that information." Morvran shrugs in dismissal. "Va faill."  

It's almost funny how fast Geralt stomps out of the garden. As Ciri observes the exchange, all her previous heartache is swept under the rug. There is something she's not picking up. Fortunately it's not all she has to talk about to her present, lingering company.

“It’s weird that you two actually get along.” At her words, Morvran turns to her with open surprise.

“Geralt of Rivia is a genial man," he says, his hands meeting behind his back as is Nilfgaardian custom in public. "I believe anyone would be glad to refresh their acquaintance with him.”

Ciri, who was not raised with said customs and is instead being tutored in them with little success, snorts. Loudly.

“You just like that you can rope him into joining a riding competition on a promise of free food.”

Under all his Nilfgaardian powder, Morvran blushes. She can see it in his ears.

She laughs at him too.

* * *

It’s another night of bad dreams. Her memories have toyed with her enough that now she is witness to futures she cannot control. Geralt alone on the Path, the Empire at war with itself from her negligence, all of her old friends, her family, broken apart and dying as she lives on.

She wakes slowly, not in a startle or a choked breath. Her body aches worse than if she had.

Morvran is already awake beside her, a frown set upon his lips.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep?”

Between waking and the dissipating fear of her nightmare, Ciri is caught completely off guard. “I...didn’t, no.”

He doesn't explain any more, choosing to give her space as he's done for previous interrupted nights. Part of her wants to ask more. She wants to hear what she had said—what nightmare had she been speaking into existence. Did he recognize anything? Did he want to ask, but simply refrain out of properness?

Whatever it is she uttered in fever sleep, she lets it go. Talking about it now would be worse, somehow. Like making her nightmares a real, concrete thing.

Sleep still fights her long into the night. It does not come a second time. Which is good, as she opens her eyes to a timely assassination.

The weapon under her pillow slides into her hand not a breath later. She always keeps something sharp and deadly there. Good habit, both her fathers would say, for different reasons.

Before the assassin can strike, Ciri blinks in between time. They are dead where they stand, frozen mid-step, collapsing the very next instant time moves for her.

In the commotion that follows, everyone wakes. The emperor looks as regal and rested as always and Ciri envies that as her hair resembles a rat’s nest, mussed from the fear-sweat of her haunted sleep. At least Morvran is just as unkempt as her. They make quite the competition for most messy bedhead, side by side. And though the hours stretch on, from private meetings to argued suspicions, Morvran looks in his element. Her element.

Put an enemy in front of them and they will beat it down until it’s rid of.

Her mind is driven to this new task. Securing entry points, questioning any guards that had slack. Her edges feels frayed—sticking to Morvran like a shadow as they move from room to room, servant to official, order to action, way past sunrise. Her angry expression turns any worried servant away from asking for her imperial majesty to eat.

The assassin had tried to kill him. And no one seems to be that concerned since her own head is still attached to her shoulders. Not even Morvran.

Things calm down well past noon. They both return tired and dry-eyed to their arranged room.

She touches his sleeve and holds his weary gaze. “If you die I won’t forgive you.”

Morvran nods, like she makes sense. “I would never plan on it. It would upset your father.”

For a second, Ciri doesn’t know which one he means, and that makes her smile stupidly, at its pure truth.

She wipes her grin off before Morvran has a chance to politely appreciate it.

* * *

“You’re antsy.”

Ciri hums, taking a bite of her deviled eggs. “I'm not antsy.”

“You are bending the good fork.”

She stares down at her hand and finds that Emhyr is right and the fork is just a little twisted at the neck.

"I'm sure someone's job is to fix it. Just, call them."

Nothing in her posture or her expression could possibly tell Emhyr what sits heavy in her head, short of him being a mindreader. And yet, somehow, he pieces everything together correctly to ask, “Would it be so terrible for you to like him?”

Ciri sighs, looking up at the ornate chandelier, begging it to crash down on her and get her out of this conversation. Because she already does like Morvran, quite a lot, and it is terrible. She would hate to admit to her father that he is right. He’ll never live it down.

Of course, she doesn't need to say anything at all. Her godsdamned mind-reading father already knows. When did he learn to read her so effortlessly?

...Has he been consulting Geralt?

However it may be, Emhyr clears his throat and straightens his fork on his side of the breakfast table. “Some people," he says as she sulks internally, "are fortunate and marry the one they love. Others find a way to make it work.”

At his following pause, Ciri straightens in her seat to meet his gaze. His silences are always weighty and grave.

“I hope that he is worth the work,” he ends.

Then the moment passes, and he's eating again. Leaving her to contemplate alone what it means that her father, the emperor, might actually want her to be happy with the man who would share her rule once she is officially crowned. It's...it's trusting. It's too much to think about so early in the morning.

Being who she is, however, Ciri returns to the source of her sulk and the many questions it created.

“So, have you spoken with Geralt?”

Emhyr drinks his tea very slowly. “Of course not. Had he anything important to relay to me?”

“Maybe,” she shrugs. “I'm sure you know he came to visit recently, but you don’t ask me what we talked about?”

“Whatever it is you two get up to does not concern me.”

She hums, sipping her own tea. “It’s funny I guess, I thought you asked of him through Morvran.”

Emhyr sets his cup down, narrowing his eyes in thought. As he studies her, she keeps on sipping her tea until it’s finished. “Just curious,” she adds before parting for the day. Give him something to puzzle over that isn't her.

* * *

'Did you know you talk in your sleep?'

Only two nights of the next seven does she stir awake. Not from bad dreams, exactly. Not from dark memories or anxious fears either. Ciri rubs her face now, frustrated, pulled from sleep again for no apparent reason.

Morvran is awake beside her, as he always is. His face is not pressed with a frown, though. She can't stop thinking on his words so casually spoken the night an assassin tried to take him from her, and settles back onto her enormous pillows.

“...What did I say this time?”

“Oh,” he blinks at her, and it’s sleepy and lazy, not at all very general-like. “Something about a swallow. That you miss it. Did you used to own a bird?”

She closes her eyes briefly, oddly at peace with her sleep talking. He had listened to her secret fears for all these nights, her haunted screams, and made them his own secrets.

If she could trust him to know that, then, it is not so difficult to trust him with the more simple things.

“No. Swallow was the name of my sword. I carried her with me everywhere.”

“Ah. Where is she now?”

“I gave her to Geralt before I came to be here. A witcher’s sword is not something I can wield from a throne.”

He touches his hand to her cheek, the first time he’s breached courtly etiquette with her. It is warm and callused.

“I am confident that sir Geralt keeps Swallow sharp and oiled so that the blade stays strong. I am...sorry,” he says with more awkwardness.

She covers his hand with her own, a little laugh escaping her when he blinks rapidly at her returned touch, like he had not expected it at all. “It's alright. I entrusted her to him.”

Marriage forges a bond between two people.

#morvran x ciri #rarepair summer bingo #tt #myfics

[beelas-bees-art]

Mcyt sketch dump 1(?)

Wanted to practice fleshing out some designs for characters but obviously I can’t fit much on one canvas :’D

Let me explain some design choices! (Warning: I get rambly):

EVERYONE ON THE SMP IS A SHAPESHIFTER! YEP! I DON’T MAKE THE RULES! Some people just don’t like to change their appearances much! :)

Let’s start with Big T: This Tommy is during his alliance with Philza and Technoblade, he dons a uniform like theirs and wears his blue shirt, his gold chain resembles his discs so he always knows what he’s fighting for! Braces and face scars for ~character~ (i’ll probably forget to draw them tbh) During his time in the arctic he forms a raccoon tail! He sometimes forms fangs to 1. look cool or 2. be intimidating. Doesn’t shift much but definitely changes clothes lots.

Next, Skeppy! He wears a box on his head! He only takes it off around Bad because underneath it’s revealed that he’s encrusted in diamonds! He covers up most of his body to prevent the rest of the SMP from finding out, only Bad and Dream (blackmail) know. He’s afraid if the SMP finds out, they’ll hurt him. In combat there’s many unspoken rules, one of them is to not aim for Skeppy’s box, if it does get knocked off however, he will crash to the floor to cover his face. The diamonds also fit with him being one of the richest people on the SMP. As with everyone, there’s certain characteristics you can’t shift away, either temporarily or permanent, so the diamonds are stuck on him. (Like with animal or mob characters, if they shift to be human they will still have some animal characteristics) Doesn’t shift much. 

Awesamdude! Not much on him, he’s a creeper donning gold armor and a crown he found in the older days of the SMP, he switches out for netherite sometimes but prefers gold. Can’t explode or he loses a canon life. Paws pads :3c  Doesn’t shift. (by choice).

Bad! Literal demon, also, literal ray of sunshine. Only wears casual attire around Skeppy, when his hood is down you can see his halo. Wears glasses when relaxed or crafting. Can become VERY SCARY. Eggpire Bad is very sad when he’s alone. Doesn’t shift outside of dangerous situations.

Lastly, TUBBOOOOOOOOOOO! Tubbo is a character who shifts ALOT, he loves shifting! For examples: Under Schlatt’s administration he subconsciously shifts to look like Schlatt, also does it in casual situations or under distress. As president he wants to represent a brighter future for his citizens so he shifts to have bee characteristics (and no he doesn’t sit on his stinger although he can use it without dying) When he’s happy he’ll subconsciously shift to Tubbee. Tubbo has a very positive relationship with shifting unlike most citizens on the SMP.

That was alot but it was fun! Maybe recc me characters to draw? I’d like to do more! :)

#mcyt #dream smp #tommyinnit #skeppy #awesamdude #badboyhalo #tubbo #my art #sketch #drawing these were fun! but i love explaining my thought process way more :)) #I KNOW. i talk alot. can you believe i wanted to say more #i wanted to talk clothes too but i held off #i will cry if this flops

[i-donot-forget]

Second Conversation - Lance

Eldarya New Era Words : 1437

Maturing means having to deal with people we don't like ... for now. I hope to continue translating these conversations and I hope you like it

#Eldarya conversaciones

Before dawn, those moments of intense darkness before the light bathes everything. The silence in the hallways was clear proof that everyone was asleep, until the sound of careful footsteps from someone in full armor was the first announcement of a new day. Three gentle knocks on the door of the last Aengel were enough to put the young woman on alert, she quickly noticed the lack of sun and imagined an urgency, but the surprise she was taken was the fact that Lance was on the other side. She looked at him strangely and it was evident in her face that she had not yet fully awakened, she seemed to doubt if he was really there or if she was still sleeping. After what seemed like an eternity of strange looks, Lance deigned to speak.

- Good morning Erika, I came to find you to train. -

The young woman narrowed her eyes suspiciously, she leaned out the door and looked in both directions, the corridor was deserted.

- What time is it? -

She asked sleepily.

- It's almost 4 am. -

- Almost 4am !? Are you crazy? -

- Then I'll go find Mathieu. -

- When the man was about to leave, Erika whispered to him under her breath. -

- Where? -

- Outside the C.G, by the gates. -

The young woman closed the door, got dressed and took the opportunity to see the time, barely 04:09, without knowing why she suspected that Lance had a reason for such "dedication." The tapping of her sword on her thigh was already an imperceptible sign of security, somehow being without "her" was like being "off duty" as if just by wearing it on her waist she was already prepared for everything, even when she wasn't.

She left the C.G and when she saw the calm she was glad for a moment to think that they all slept safely in their beds, her return did not imply more for her than a short nap that considerably reduced her underdeveloped combat skills, the future promised her incomparable power, but it was a bit disappointing and almost embarrassing to have to accept her current state. She used to think that her powers were like “winning the lottery”, while now her inability to use them felt like "losing the golden ticket", so she had put aside her pride a bit by appealing to maturity, one step was to accept Lance's training.

When crossing the doors it was still night so it was difficult for her to glimpse the Lance's figure a few meters from the door looking towards the coast, his posture was upright and imposing, resting his hands on his sword as if it were part of him. He turned towards her and watched her movement until she was in position, both with their weapons drawn and at a safe distance, Lance was the first to advance, he gave her time to move and defend herself, but Erika had her mind elsewhere, It took him less than half an hour to put her face down on the ground, Lance stopped and sighed.

- You're not very good under normal conditions, but you're so distracted now that I'm wasting my time. -

He stabbed his sword into the ground, expecting her to respond with her usual animosity, but nothing, for a moment it seemed like she was going to say something but Erika held back.

- Come on Erika, why don't you say what you're thinking so we can train? -

- Why did you look for me? You know I can train with Jamon, even with Matheiu. -

- Huang Hua said that a little "push" would be good for you. -

Erika was silent for a few moments, thoughtful, although she improved every day nothing seemed to be a sufficient advance, her memories of 7 years ago only increased her frustration, always in danger, always the one that has to be rescued, always in the infirmary, always on the edge…

- I didn't think that she… -

- Won't you tell me you're surprised that Huang Hua cares about you? I thought you would be used to it. -

- I'm not so sure lately. -

Lance returned to his fighting position, Erika immediately imitated him, this time it was she who charged towards him, the combat was taking more shape, it was evident that she was serious, when the sky began to clear Erika was at her peak of concentration and Lance had noticed, subtly raising the level with each blow, each step, until an intruder entered the scene, the girl was distracted and Lance used the opening to bring her down. She was slightly annoyed when she saw who it was, she managed to make out Matheiu's figure out of the corner of her eye before his opponent caught her eye.

- Concentrate, forget about the rest. -

Erika restrained herself from looking to the side, she stood up in a defensive posture, breathing deeply, tightening the grip of her sword with both hands and sliding her left heel across the floor to ensure the greatest possible momentum, she could see how Lance analyzed her every action. They continued fighting and Erika was surprised when she could understand Lance's peculiar way of teaching, unlike Jamon who gave her clear instructions and corrections, Lance didn't say a word, but she had already caught the rhythm, when she made a mistake in a posture or taking her sword, how to attack or dodge, Lance charged directly at her weaknesses. If her posture was wrong, he would attack first; otherwise, he would only defend himself until she made a mistake.

The first rays of the sun came accompanied by curious eyes that stopped to enthusiastically observe the spectacle of the couple, obviously keeping their distance and silence, Erika understood then why Lance had come to look for her so early.

- Does it happen often when you train? -

- Sometimes, although I suspect that you are the one who attracts the most attention. -

- Why? I thought you were the strongest in the C.G. -

- I am the most powerful of the C.G. -

- You may believe it, but I clearly remember the battle on the beach ... you're not that good. -

Erika sneered with an insolent humor at which Lance only smirked.

- That was an exception… -

- Oh yeah? And why would it be an exception? -

- Because you two set me up, you attacked me by surprise, 2 against 1, not forgetting that you caught me off guard. I thought that you're just a human. Don't worry, it won't happen again. -

Now it was he who made fun of her, they kept their swords clashing with intensity but without getting tired, Erika had not been wasting time since her awake, every day she made an effort to increase her resistance, her strength, agility,she learn from the lessons, she wasted almost no energy or made unnecessary movements and Lance squeezed his advances.

Erika still had the energy to continue when Lance stopped training, they had a day ahead and it was time to eat, and it was not a bad idea to maintain that feeling of vigor. They sheathed their weapons and walked together back to the C.G in complete silence, as they passed through the market, a young man stopped Lance to consult him on some mission. At that moment she felt him, she did not need to look for it in the crowd, she knew exactly where to look. Their eyes met, drawing a smile full of melancholy, she deliberately avoided thinking about him, there were too many painful emotions, thinking about him felt bad, he was like a stranger, but for some reason, none of that mattered, a small part inside her still loved him and hated herself for it.

Leiftan broke eye contact and his face tightened, he frowned slightly, or maybe she just felt it, she tried to follow Leiftan's gaze and stopped in her tracks when she noticed he was looking at Lance, they both seemed to challenge each other, Erika remembered the times she had seen them collide with each other, they never exchanged more than a few words, at least in her presence. They had a past together, they knew each other, if Leiftan had ever shown his true personality, without masks or deception, it was Lance. Betrayed by her thoughts and natural impulsiveness, she blurted out a question that should have stayed in her head.

- How did you meet him? -

Erika kept her gaze on the Aengel when her words landed, she turned to Lance who seemed like he couldn't believe what she had said, before he managed to stammer an excuse Erika fled in terror without saying anything else.

#eldarya #eldarya new era #eldarya fanfic #eldarya lance #lance #eldarya conversaciones #eldarya conversations

[criticofallthings]

Hi it’s 4:43 AM and I’m back with another t h i ng. AKA apparently I write Destiny 2 fan fics at at the pre ass crack of dawn now.

Presage mission + “another one for the trauma jar D2 meme” + a love for all things Drifter related bc this poor insufferable soft man is a total fucking gem and I will never, NEVER EVER forget about those tapes that he made for our guardian to find = this stuff below

no beta, so don’t come at me for grammar issues unless you’re gonna be nice about it.

WARMTH

Drifter saw the flashing notification before he heard it, the chime muted beneath the Gambit livestream. His ghost had marked it as a priority message, something important to get at. On screen a massive Taken ogre quivers into existence. Nice. Team A was doing great and unless Team B pulled off one Hell of an invade two times over he doubted they’d catch up in time to challenge Team A. His hand hovers over the message, but his eyes flick back up to the stream. Team A’s coordination has been top notch all match and now was no exception. Drifter watched as two of them casted their supers on the Primeval ogre and it’s envoys. Orbs of power litter the field. Moments later Team A’s titan flies from off-screen in one of the most electrifying thundercrashes he’s ever seen. Globs of exploded ogre cover his hidden cams, soon to dissolve into nothingness. Gambit sirens wail and Team B’s Taken are reigned back into their cages. “Alright alright alright, last match of the day and it was a good one for Team A. Team B? Not so much.” Drifter pauses speaking into the mic, a little drama, before continuing in his showman’s tone. “Ay, but that’s what tomorrow’s for! Come on back and queue right in. Drifter’s always hungry.” He ends with a chuckle that doesn’t rise to his eyes and as soon as the guardians transmat to their ships he closes everything down. A message alert pops up on his console again, marked red for priority and sent almost half an hour ago. Damn, he thinks to himself and runs a weary hand over his face. Drifter’s other hand is on the edge of the console, index finger tapping it anxiously. Fuck it, how bad can it be? Drifter opens the message, tension rising to his shoulders, but then he freezes and his shoulders drop. He traces a few words of the message, forlorn sadness easing the laugh lines and crinkles at his eyes away. A few taps and the console goes dark. Drifter turns away and stands for a moment at the door. He lets out a sigh before starting again, yanking off his gloves before trudging towards his cargo container room.

There’s a lantern hung on the hook outside of his cargo container, the interior dark. Across the snow that never seemed to leave the Derelict, he sees whispered hints of someone carefully walking or rather, half-gliding over it. Through the gloom he spies a small pile of stuff he doesn’t remember making and an obvious lump in his bed. As he draws closer Drifter sees that the pile is actually carefully stacked warlock armor and the sleeping lump in his bed, is The Guardian. Yet again. Drifter’s lost count how many times it has been since he first offered the Guardian refuge aboard the Derelict. The first time they took him up on his offer he found them later, sleeping in a corridor standing against a bulkhead. He let them be since it was an out of the way spot. Eventually he showed them his bed, the Derelict’s only functional bed and told them to make use of it. Until now they hadn’t and he would still find them sleeping in various places aboard his ship. Sometimes with or without some pieces of armor, but also never like this. In plain clothes, more or less, sleeping bag haphazardly pulled over them. So vulnerable. And so tortured.

In sleep, Drifter found that the Guardian was an almost entirely open book. Nightmares haunted them more often than not. Sometimes so strongly that the Guardian would thrash about while asleep, murmuring feverdly, occasionally coherently about what they relived in their dreams. Tonight seemed to be one of the Guardian’s more silent nightmares. No thrashing, no murmuring, but the tight grimace of their lips and furrowing of their brow betrayed the Guardian's silence, showed their distress. Drifter steps to the cot, gently pulling the sleeping bag over to cover them better. Task done, he sits at their side and tentatively brushes a few stray strands of hair from their face. As he does so, the Guardian visibly relaxes, some tension dispelled from their face. It pulls at him more than he thought, making his chest tighten uncomfortably.

“Don’t take your armor off around me, kid...I’m not someone you oughta get comfortable around.” Drifter can’t help but let the whispered words fall from his lips at the sight before him. It was all too tragic. Too fucked up. So much pinned upon one guardian. One person. His hand moves before he realizes it and softly he cups their face, thumb tracing their jawline. Beneath his hand he can feel the muscles twitch and then slowly relax from the strained clenching of their jaw. Another measure of stress slips from their sleeping face. Drifter lets out a breath he was unconsciously holding. For a moment he thought the Guardian was going to wake up. Another trace over their jawline and Drifter takes his hand from their face. Quietly he murmurs, “why are you here…” as the tips of his fingertips trail over their cheek. He pauses, feeling impulsive and...something else...when he glances at their lips. Drifter lets his fingers ghost over their skin, tenderly coming to a rest below the Guardian’s cupid’s bow. He lightly traces the shape of their lips, feeling it out. Soft and a bit dry. There’s a thin crease of dried blood where they must’ve split their lip during combat. Or maybe bit it open themself on a previous restless night. He’s seen it happen before. Once even their tongue.

Drifter closes his eyes at that memory, a faint tremble visible only in his hands. He just about had a heart attack when he saw the Guardian slouched over with blood streaming from their mouth, sitting just outside the Gambit transmat room. He had shaken them awake, and his shock only grew when he saw them open bleary eyes and wipe the blood off of their chin as if it was normal and summon Ghost. The usually talkative bot didn’t say anything, but the way it healed them instantly and then bumped their forehead before leaving —he knew. Drifter knew that this must have happened several times before. “Mind if I...sleep s’more...here?” Their sleep-heavy voice caught his attention again and Drifter lifted his hands from their shoulders. “Nah, kid.” Drifter stood up and half turned, waiting for them to do the same. “C’mon, hurry up! I ain’t so mean to not lend you a spot to sleep.” The Guardian rose slowly to their feet, eyes unfocused and mind miles away from here. Something in him stabs at the sight and Drifter can’t face them looking so...worn. He turns away. Shoving hands deep into his pockets he starts walking, pausing only once to confirm the Guardian was shuffling along behind him. He shows them how to get to the sole cot on the Derelict.

A hand on his wrist snaps Drifter out of the memory. He looks down to see the Guardian awake, eyes somewhat clear. There’s confusion in their expression and he feels their lips move beneath his fingertips. Ah. Hastily, he pulls his hand away, clearing his throat. “ ‘m, sorry...about that.” Heat flushes his face as he turns to avoid eye contact. It’s silent for a while. Drifter stares at the rivets holding a seam of the cargo container together when he hears the crinkle of the sleeping bag being moved. He does his best to look discreetly out of the corner of his eye, but is caught. Drifter holds the Guardian’s gaze until they break off to shift towards the wall. Lifting the sleeping bag they look at him directly and motion for him to lie down. “It’s too cold.”

Drifter freezes. His mind hitting a brick wall too thick to just power through. He’s stunned into a very rare silence. Uncertainty and confusion write themselves out upon his face. Seeing him be so still, the Guardian drops the sleeping bag to place a hand on his knee. “You asked...why I come here.” They speak slowly, as if unsure about what they’re saying and are figuring it out as they say it. “You...you don’t use me like everyone else.” They look away from him, cheeks faintly pink. “Zavala, Ikora, the Vanguard...they mean well, but...they don’t get to treat everyone as people. They need a killer? I kill. Answers? I seek. Someone who might survive the impossible? I survive. Unconditionally. Righteous things and unspeakable things... Because I am a guardian. I don’t have a name. Many ghosts just go by Ghost...I’m the only guardian without a name. There was just...never time for one, and…always so much to do. Lives to save. Futures to fight for…” They trail off, eyes slightly unfocused, perhaps lost in nightmares they haven’t escaped yet. “You bring Gambit, but it’s never a real pressure to join.” Their hand slips from his knee, becoming a loose fist on the cot.

The coiling thing in Drifter’s chest squeezes painfully. He shifts, almost stands, but then changes his mind. To Hell with it all. Shucking off his pauldrons, he shrugs out of his duster and kicks off his boots. Awkwardly, Drifter lays down on the cot —it’s made only for one after all— but gives up on trying to leave space between him and the Guardian. Laying on his side, he shoves an arm under the pillow and motions for the Guardian to come closer. They move over slowly, a little unsure now. Drifter grabs the sleeping bag and covers them both with it. He’s left that arm out, unsure on how much contact would be wanted. When he feels the Guardian shivering, Drifter almost stops himself from draping that arm over them. But he doesn’t stop himself. Instead he gently pulls them close to him until their back presses against his chest. They feel oddly cold despite being recently asleep. Drifter summons a measure of solar light over his skin, just enough to let soothing heat roll off. He feels the Guardian relax, shoulders dropping the tension that had remained.

Minutes pass and just as Drifter thinks they’ve fallen asleep, the Guardian quietly speaks. “It was so cold there...and twisted…” His arm around them tightens protectively for a moment. “Where did you go? Recent mission?” The Guardian nods slowly, voice a little louder, but twice as worn out as before. “Presage...the Glykon.” Drifter hums a short acknowledgement, turning over their words in his head. He was aware of the Vanguard operation, already heard snippets of Osiris live on comms reporting tidbits back to the Vanguard. The Cabal ship was a house of horrors. Thinking on what he knew of it, Drifter came to a sudden, sinking thought. “Did you…?” He isn’t able to finish his question, half knowing what the answer would likely be. Again, the Guardian slowly nods. The tightness in his chest returned with a sting before the Guardian spoke their confirmation, a small tremor rolling through them at the memory. “...alone.” Drifter holds them close, knowing no words could ease the turmoil in the Guardian’s mind. He holds them and keeps his Light near and solar-filled to stave off the Derelict’s iciness. Eventually the Guardian’s breathing levels out and Drifter can tell they’re sleeping. Several hours later he drifts off to sleep as well. When he wakes in the early morning, Drifter opens his eyes to see the Guardian’s face next to his, still asleep. It’s the first time he’s seen them look so at peace.

#its fucking 4am #destiny 2 #destiny 2: beyond light #Drifter/guardian #nonbinary guardian #any gender guardian tbth #fanfic #destiny fanfiction #what am i even writing #warmth #fuzzy feelings #destiny drifter #destiny guardians #presage #another one for the trauma jar meme #freeform #actually I don’t know what that means #help me I don’t know how to pick good tags #edited #to include a read more break #because I wasn't allowed to on mobile #yep typing this all on mobile was a mistake #but i'll do it again #The Drifter #The Guardian #Season of the Chosen #destiny fic #72nd_Cataclysm

[argylemnwrites]

Facts, Fibs, and Futures

Pairing: Mal Volari x MC (Raina - f!human)

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow (Chapter 4)

Word Count: ~3300

Rating: PG-13 (innuendo)

Summary: A evening of games, cards, and fortune-telling gives Mal a better understanding of Raina.

Author’s Note: Wish I had time to do more for @bladesappreciationweek, but happy to have at least snuck this piece in under the wire for Day 7 - MC/wildcard. It’s a little bit about my MC, a little about the gang in their early days, and a little glimpse at some early Mal/MC flirtation.

“...And so I convinced the Contessa of Ditorilla that I was merely a figment of her imagination, conjured up by her deepest desires.”

Raina couldn’t help but snort as she caught the tail end of the undoubtedly false story Mal was spinning for Nia and Tyril as she walked towards them on the deck. She’d been staring at the horizon, trying to calm her stomach. She didn’t want to admit it and give Mal more of a reason to see her as naive, a kit with no experience, but the truth was that the rocking of Gerhard’s ship on the waves left her fairly nauseous. She hoped she would get used to the sensation soon, but in the meantime, she had to resort to attempting simple solutions. Hopefully, the hour she just spent by herself along the railing would be seen as her just wanting to take in the ocean. Not that that would make her seem any less like a damn kit.

“Based on Raina’s reaction, I am going to go with ‘fib’ on that tale.” Tyril’s voice floated through the air, drawing Raina out of her introspection.

“Come on, Kit. It’s bad enough that you are shockingly skilled at this, but now you have to ruin it for me when you aren’t even playing?” She stopped and glanced over at Mal, tipping back in his chair, one foot braced against the deck, the other resting on the edge of the table where he was sitting with Nia and Tyril. When they made eye contact, he winked at her before placing his hand on his chest in mock pain.

“Raina, you should join us!” Nia called out, twisting around in her chair to flash a bright smile.

“Yes, please do,” added Tyril. “This… ruffian has convinced us to play some sort of game where we have to determine whether a statement is the truth or a lie.”

“Yeah, Fib or Fact,” Raina said as she sat down in the free chair between Nia and Tyril, “but you aren’t really playing unless you are drinking.”

“See! Thank you! I told you guys this was a drinking game!” Mal cried out, gesturing across the table to Raina with a flourish. 

Tyril shook his head briskly. “I do not understand the human fascination with needing to create banal games to drink.”

“I don’t know; I think it’s just a fun way to pass the time.” Raina glanced over to her left and gave Tyril a little shrug.

“But we know Elf Boy here would rather die than have fun.”

Tyril opened his mouth, but before he could respond, Nia cut in. “Please, we can’t be at each other’s throats constantly.”

Tyril glanced between Nia and Mal, the openingly-mocking grin plastered on Mal’s face clearly fueling the fire that Nia was trying to extinguish. After a few tense and silent seconds, he gave a terse little nod. “Fine, but if I have to listen to any more stories of his romantic... conquests, I make no promises.”

Nia let out a little sigh. “Good. Well, maybe we should pick a different game anyway, since Raina is always right at this one.”

“Is that so?”

Raina smiled and tilted her head to the side. “I’m very good at reading people. Particularly his Magnificence over there.” She gestured across the table towards Mal, who plastered a fake shocked expression on his face, eyebrows raised and eyes wide, as he mouthed “Me?” before grinning and shooting Raina a wink.

“They played quite a bit on our journey to Port Parnassus,” Nia added. “I think Mal only got her four or five times.”

“Well, nevermind then. Let’s keep playing,” Tyril said, leaning back slightly and crossing his arms, the corners of his lips quirking upwards as he glanced back at Mal.

“Nah, don’t want to offend your delicate sensibilities with my more scandalous accounts,” he responded, waggling his eyebrows.

“Does anyone know any other games we could play? I don’t know if I want to gamble again.” Nia said, clearly trying to move past any sniping between the two males of their little party. 

“Awww, priestess. Didn’t enjoy your first taste of betting?”

Her cheeks flushed as she shook her head. “I don’t think it’s for me, Mal.”

"Just you wait. We'll bring out your wild side one of these days," Mal said, winking at Nia before giving her a very genuine looking smile. "Since cards are out, does anyone have any other ideas?"

Tyril didn't move to suggest anything, sitting still, his arms still locked across his armor. Nia kept glancing around the group, a hopeful gleam in her eyes that made it clear that she was counting on someone else to offer up an idea.

Raina found her mind drifting to Kade. He always knew how to entertain a group. He could tell stories, pull out random facts and tidbits of info. He just kept the conversation flowing.

"Maybe we can still use the cards," she said, tilting her head to the side. "My brother would sometimes use the deck to tell fortunes. I think I remember the basics."

"I can do you one better than that, Kit. I happen to be a fortune telling expert." Mal was grinning widely as he shuffled the deck while he stared her down.

"Really." Tyril's deadpan answer conveyed extreme skepticism.

"Yes, really. Are you doubting my skills?”

“As a rule, yes. But doubly so here, seeing as you lack any ability to channel the Light.”

“Don’t need your Light to do this, just pure intuition. So how about it, Elf Boy? Want a chance to glimpse into your future?”

Raina thought Tyril might unsheathe his blade right there, but after a moment he merely shook his head and pushed his chair back as he stood up rapidly. “I’ll pass. Goodnight, Nia. Raina. Vagrant.” And with that he was off, heading below deck without a glance back. Nia looked worried at his rapid departure, but Mal seemed utterly unfazed, leaning forward and letting the front legs of his chair fall to the deck as he spun to face Nia.

“What about you, priestess? Care to see what’s in store for you?”

“Oh! I think I would rather just watch, if you don’t mind.”

“I guess that leaves you, Kit. You up for it, or are you scared of what the cards might hold?”

Raina laughed, leaning across the table and grabbing the cards from his hand. “Oh, I definitely want to see this.”

Mal chuckled in response. “Alright, you’re going to need to pick out seven cards and-”

“Lay them out in a row in front of me; I know.”

“Wow, talk about pushy! You aren’t even giving me the chance to explain how this works to poor Nia.” Mal’s tone was light and carefree, making it clear he had no qualms about letting her get started.

“Seeing how much you love to hear your own voice, I just figured I would actually get to work while you talked her ear off,” Raina replied, throwing Mal a teasing smile as she shuffled the cards and placed one slightly to the left in front of her.

Nia giggled as Mal clutched his shirt and gasped in exaggerated shock. “Raina, you wound me.”

“Something tells me you’ll survive that devastating blow. Nia, have you ever seen this done before?”

She shook her head, watching as Raina placed cards down one by one in a row.

“It’s pretty simple, really,” Raina said, shuffling the deck again before selecting her next card. “I’m supposed to select seven cards that ‘speak to me’ and place them face down in front of me. The first two are said to represent elements of my past, the middle three my present, and the final two my future.”

“Does it work?”

“Of course! Don’t you trust me? Would I make something up?”

“Constantly,” said Nia, causing Raina and Mal to both burst out laughing.

“Slowly but surely, we’ll get you out of your Drakna shell, priestess. It’s inevitable,” said Mal before taking the remaining cards back from Raina. “You happy with your seven?”

“Just get started, Mal. Let’s see if you can back up your bragging with some action.”

“What type of action are you interested in, Kit? Cause I can do a lot-”

“-That’ll make Nia feel real uncomfortable. So how about we stick to the fortune telling for now.”

“For now? Oh, I can work with that,” he said with a wink before pointing to the card Raina had set further to the left. “Alright, first card here is the Base Card. It reflects your origins, your roots.” Mal flipped the card over, showing a village burning, humans crying in the streets, causing Raina’s breath to catch in her throat for just a second.

“The Destruction,” she finally said, trying to hide her shock.

“Yeah. Obviously not a very happy card. In this position, it usually means death and tragedy.”

It was a very fitting card for someone orphaned in a bandit massacre. Raina didn’t quite know how to process it. She didn’t put much stock in things like this. In fact, when she’d watched Kade do this before, he’d never had something so… perfect come up. He usually had to spin things with some very nebulous interpretations to make the cards even remotely work for the person in front of him. But Mal had stumbled into an accurate first card for this reading, and he knew nothing about that part of her past.

“Raina, is that-” Nia started, but she stopped abruptly. Raina glanced up from the card to see Mal shaking his head subtly. Given his reluctance to discuss his own history, it made sense that he could recognize a similar desire in her at this moment.

“Keep going.” Raina said after a few seconds of tense silence. Mal only paused for a second more before he kept going.

“Second card is the Core Card. It is still about your past, but it focuses more on the personal, the fundamentals of your personality more than your background.” He turned over the next card and started laughing as what could best be described as two elves in a very intimate embrace was revealed.

“The Passion. Tell me, Kit - you have a lot of heartbroken lovers pining for you back in Riverbend?”

Raina chuckled, glancing up and staring Mal straight in the eye. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“Absolutely,” he said without missing a beat, causing Raina to laugh in earnest and Nia to cough into her Bristlegreen tea.

“Let’s just say I have no objections to your reading so far,” Raina said with a smirk. Mal joined in laughing at that, while Nia’s cheeks flushed very dark.

“I think I might turn in,” she said, placing one of her hands against her cheek, her bracelet catching the moonlight.

“Aww, sorry priestess. I promise this is the most scandalous card in the deck,” Mal said, giving Nia a contrite little nod.

Nia glanced between Mal and Raina before shaking her head. “No, it’s alright. I’m rather tired, and something tells me the innuendo will find a way to come back with you two.”

“Nia, we’re sorry.”

“Yeah, we can keep it clean… or at least mostly clean,” Mal added with a little shrug that was probably meant as an apology.

But Nia just shook her head. “It’s fine. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” She gave them both a gentle smile before standing up, waving as she made her way below deck to their shared quarters.

“And then there were two,” said Mal. “You want to keep going, or do-”

“Of course,” said Raina. “You promised me a glimpse at my future. I expect you to deliver.”

Mal grinned before shifting his hand towards the third card positioned in front of Raina. “This position is the Breaking Card. It’s supposed to represent the turning point that takes you from your past to your present.”

“Kade always said the Breaking Card represented the transition from childhood to adulthood when he did this.”

Mal shook his head. “Sometimes that’s the case, but it is more about growing up in the abstract, not literally aging.” He flipped over the card, revealing an unbalanced scale.

“The Unjust? What is that supposed to mean here?”

“It is usually interpreted to mean an imbalance and loss of stability, an upsetting of how life had been. Sometimes it refers to political upheaval or a change in power structure, but it can also be more personal, like a messy break up or the loss of the family business-”

“Or the entrapment of a brother in the Shadow Realm?”

He glanced up at her, wincing a little bit. “Uhh, yeah. That would apply here.” He moved as if to grab her hand, but apparently thought better of it, dropping his fingers to the table and tapping them restlessly a few times instead. “Do you want to stop, Raina?”

She shook her head. “This reading feels shockingly accurate. Who would I be to turn down a chance at knowing my future?”

He nodded, then moved to the middle card. “Alright, so the middle position is considered the Drive Card. It reflects the biggest event of your present.” The card he flipped over showed white light pouring from above colliding in the center with dark smoke from below. It was the Morality, the card that everyone who did readings like this interpreted as a conflict between good and evil forces.

“Well, that’s easy enough to interpret. Battle between light and dark has to represent our taking on the Shadow Court. Keep going.”

“Woah, I thought I was the one doing this reading, Kit.”

Raina smiled and shrugged. “I told you Kade liked to do this around the tavern. Besides, I’m far more interested in the outcome of the Drive Card,” she said, tapping next to the sixth card.

“Ahh, yes. The Reckoning Card. But first we need to see your Key Card to figure out what part of your present is going to be most important for your future. Shape your journey going forward.” He revealed the Twins, a male and female orc with nearly identical features.

“Well I knew the accuracy couldn’t last,” Raina said with a little laugh. “I know for a fact I don’t have a long lost twin waiting for me out there.”

Mal shook his head. “No one interprets this card so literally, Kit. It usually thought to indicate meeting someone with a… similar soul.” He paused before finishing that thought, almost as if trying to find a less emotional phrasing.

“I’m surprised your head didn’t explode from saying something so sentimental.”

“Hey, I don’t make the rules! I’m just the messenger.”

“Uh huh. So I’m going to meet someone very like me and they’re going to define the rest of my life?”

“Yeah, that’s a fair interpretation of this card in that position.”

“So, you’re saying I’m going to meet someone else with a drive for adventure and to see as much of the realm as possible and what? Go into business with them?”

Mal took a sip of his ale without breaking eye contact. “Possibly. The key card is usually read in a more passionate light than that, though.”

“Is this considered a romantic card then?” Raina found herself staring at Mal, unable to break his gaze. 

“For humans, yes. The Key Card in general is often considered to be a romantic card. Or at least it usually gets interpreted that way.”

“So I’m going to fall for my fellow adventurer?”

He kept looking right at her as he said, “Well, that would be the most common way the Twins are read in this situation.”

Things suddenly felt tense and loaded, far more expectant than they had any right to be. Not wanting to dwell on the implications of that card, Raina looked to diffuse the moment. “Of course, given that my Core Card was the Lovers, it might just be that I flirt with this adventurer until the next best thing comes along.” Raina knew she was ignoring the fact that the Key Card was supposed to carry the reading from the present to the future, but she didn’t know how to process the depth of such a statement. Not now, when so much was left to do to defeat the Shadow Court and to save Kade. And certainly not when she was staring at the person she felt more similar to than anyone else she’d met in a long time.

Mal seemed to sense her desire to not address the realities and details of such a prediction, instead laughing at her joke. “Love ‘em and leave ‘em your style, too?”

She smirked as she gave him a coy little shrug. “No comment.”

“Fair enough. I want stories later though, Kit.”

Raina waved him off and shook her head. “Just finish my reading, Mal.”

“A valid subject change, I’ll grant you that. So, you already told me that you know that the Reckoning Card represents the eventual outcome of the Drive Card. Ready to see how things go on your mission of doom?”

She rolled her eyes, but nodded. With how attuned this whole reading had been, she found herself eager to see the next card, almost believing it might actually represent their future.

Mal pulled the card toward him, drawing out the reveal. “Huh,” was all he said before placing the card face up in front of her.

“The Double-Edged Sword?”

“Yeah.”

“Does that mean we defeat the Shadow Court?”

Mal shrugged. “This card usually reflects either a desired outcome at a high price, or a wish come true that causes a new set of problems.”

“So not exactly the greatest card for the Reckoning Card.”

“But not the worst either. It’s often portrayed as a mixed outcome. Most tellers would interpret this as reflecting success when it comes to the Shadow Court, but either after suffering some steep consequences or having to traipse through all three hells. That sort of thing."

“Well, I guess that’s better than outright defeat.”

“That’s the spirit! Surviving by the skin of your teeth is all you need, anyway! Easy success is overrated.”

“And highly unlikely?”

“Yeah, that too. You ready for your final card?”

“Hit me with it.”

“Alright, so the final position is the Unwinding Card. It’s supposed to represent the overall course of your life once you’ve fully moved out of the present.” Mal flipped the final card over, showing a golden, gleaming, cup, letting out a little whistle as he saw it.

“The Golden Chalice feels like a good card here.”

“It’s a great one, Kit. It represents comfort, pleasure, contentment. In this position, it’s basically saying your life will be filled with all you could want in the future.”

Raina nodded. “Well, at least it seems like no matter what the Shadow Court deals us, we come out of it alright. Unless you are just an awful fortune teller.”

Mal chuckled at that, sliding the seven cards back into his deck. “I make no promises for the accuracy of these predictions.”

“Where did you learn how to do this anyway?”

Raina noticed that he swallowed roughly as he tucked the cards back into his sack. “That’s a story for another time,” he said finally. “You ready to call it a night?”

She shook her head. “Not just yet."

"You want any company?"

Raina gave him a smile and nodded. “Sure, that would be nice.”

And so he moved over into the chair next to her, following her gaze as she looked up at the stars. The silence was comfortable and easy and for several moments, she just soaked in the night sky.

“So really, how many jilted lovers are we talking for you?” Mal’s teasing question pulled Raina out of her thoughts. 

She laughed and shook her head. “Let it go, Mal. Some facts are just better left unmentioned.”

“Fair enough, Kit. Fair enough.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Perma: @walkerswhiskeygirl @octobereighth @kimmiedoo5 @mom2000aggie

Blades: @marshmallowsandfire

Mal x MC: @anotherbeingsworld​

#bladesaw #mal volari #mal x mc #tyril starfury #nia ellarious #blades of light and shadow #blades fanfic #choices fanfiction

[dodecademons]

Thoughts

Alright you critical nerds, it's time for some evaluation. We had a WHOLE week to sit on some moments that happened and even draw up some theories. Doubt anyone would see this but I need to release my thoughts. This will include some shipping moments, so if y'all trying to bring your discourse in here. Kindly hop off me cause I don't need you bothering me. Feel free to share thoughts though.

Caleb

This guy is up to something. Liam is really good at dropping subtle hints without anyone picking up on it until later in game. He keeps bring out that wand, from Calianna, and stained glass. At first I just thought he would use it to channel his magic but he just kinda fiddled with it. Calianna said "a lot of the wood just burns and blackens, some of it becomes extra strong and is especially good at channeling fire magic" in her letter so I thought maybe he was having this sense of self thing. The stained glass came from the cathedral I believe, the one where Yasha was saved but idk. He also made a little cat statue. Liam does these things on purpose and I wanna know what it is. Idle pondering? He mentioned the Traveler and the Storm Lord when talking to Yasha so IDK ANYMORE. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe he'll charge into the Soltryce Academy and kill Trent, who knows.

Yasha

The coat. It works with light armor and Yasha still has her bracers. Her stats would essentially stay the same if she took the breastplate off and used them instead. If the breastplate is the one that Oban gave her, I can't remember if she kept it on, then I feel like she would toss it. Also, sexy coat. On that note, is she no long fallen? Will she finally step out of the -1 into the nice solid 0? She has her wings now and before Matt described her skeletal wings as these dark, scary things that made "the white tips of her hair go completely black" and her eyes to. Aesthetically, hot. So with her new angel wings is her hair going to turn white? Or maybe like naturally over time the ends crawl up. Does she have a halo in her future? Unrelated note: I'm also kind of wondering if maybe she'll do what she said she would do and visit Zuala's grave. Is it where her tribe is located? Killed on sight or what? Would she take the M9 with her or maybe if it's like a far in the future thing she'll just take one or two peeps. I'm just excited to see how this angel things is handled and if any dynamics change.

Jester

The Traveler is donking up and Jester is noticing. Her friends are supportive of the choices SHE makes. But she still seems to be making choices for Artagan because she has this deep connection with him. BUT, and this is a big but, she's being hesitant and questioning more and more as time goes on. I'm legit wondering if she's going to pull a Fjord and just symbolically throw her sword in the lava. Or maybe literally, there's a volcano and Jester is unpredictable sometimes. Regardless, she is STRESSED out and although the M9 are being supportive, I feel like maybe she's waiting for someone to tell her what to do so this will end. Maybe she'll stay, maybe a change in relationship, maybe she'll leave completely (there's more than one option there). I just want the precious soul to be happy.

It's shipping time

Beauyasha

Alright sapphics, you've been getting fed these last few episodes. Yasha flew, Beau was a stuttering mess, and they were both awkwardly flirting. Is a kiss in store for us? Thoughts? I don't really mind if there is one or not I just want them to talk. About anything really, just a sweet little moment about whatever. If there is a kiss though, who would initiate? The obvious choice is Beau, she has made the first move on every girl she has been with (that we've seen). Yasha is getting more confident in her advances though, and after that Zuala moment I think that's a sign to go in guns a blazin. Before the Zuala dream she was flirting more and more with Beau and after that flight and those longing looks I can see anything happening. I can picture them going on short flights for then next few days, assuming nothing major happens and they just spend some days waiting for TravelerCon, and just existing. Yasha getting to use to her wings and Beau wanting to go for the flight. Maybe they practice some sentinel babe battle moves. Yasha drops Beau from like 50ft and Beau just superhero punches taking no fall damage. I have this cute moment in my head but that's for another time. They both have things to think about and I'm excited to see what Marisha was hinting at last episode (106).

Fjorester

They had a sweet moment. Like Fjord really put his feelings out there. Something that he was terrified of doing for a while. He doesn't care about a bunch of randoms but he would do anything for Jester. Which could be written off as a friend just being concerned but nahhh, he had a slip of the tongue moment with his little "i woul- WE would..." and that's pining folks. I was thrownback to the moment where Fjord kissed her on the cheek, IN THE HEAT OF BATTLE, and everyone had a stunned moment of silence. No idea where that's gonna go though since Jester is probably having an existential crisis because of Travler Con and everyone seems to notice. Fjord is sweet on her and although we have no idea where Jester stands right now with her crush on Fjord, since it's been a while since that was addressed/Veth didnt try and create a moment, I still think he is special to her and there is something there. Pursued or not, I see some subtle and maybe not so subtle fluffy moments happening.

#critical role #yasha #yasha nydoorin #caleb widowgast #caleb #jester #jester lavorre #beau #beauregard lionett #Fjord #fjord stone #beauyasha #fjorester #is that their ship name? #critical role campaign 2 #mighty nein #the mighty nein #m9 #thoughts #theories? #idk if I should tag spoilers #dungeons and dragons #dnd #tabletop #wlw