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#outside of course Gravity Falls :3

poniesart · 11 months

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[Image description: A series of images depicting a song-based comic about Stanley and Stanford Pines from Gravity Falls.

Image 1: The top panel shows Stan, a grey-haired older man in a suit, breaking out of handcuffs in an interrogation room. Lyrics to the left read "They tried the handcuffs, but they won't lock."

The bottom panel shows Ford, a similar man with less grey in his hair, wearing a sweater and jacket. He has a shock collar on that emits blue electricity. Lyrics to the right read "electrical courses, but they won't shock."

Image 2: The top panel shows Ford holding a gun, looking behind him and running. There is a "Wanted" poster of him, on the wall beside him. Lyrics to the left read "You pulled the fire alarm."

The bottom panel shows Stan holding a suitcase of money, looking behind him and running. Behind him is a police car with its lights on, and a cop laying on the sidewalk. Lyrics to the right read "You tried punching a cop."

At the bottom of the image, six busts of Stan and Ford show them aging over thirty years. Lyrics above them read "You're just too tired to stop."

Image 3: An all-black background. White text shows the lyrics "You old pine box." Below is a white outline of a coffin.

Image 4: The left panel shows Stan in a basement, looking down at a journal with his head in his hands. The top of his head is breaking open, and flower pot shards drift away. A plant with a few leaves grows out of his head. Lyrics atop the panel read "You old pine box, with your head full of rocks, sharp like a cracked flower pot."

The right panel shows Ford at a cooking fire, drawing plans for a weapon called a "quantum destabilizer" as he glances suspiciously behind him. Eyeballs with bat wings fly out of an open portion of his head. Lyrics atop the panel read "You old paper head, on your skull full of bats, there's no percentage in that."

Image 5: The top panel shows a younger Ford in the foreground clutching a journal. Behind him, Fiddleford, a man wearing circle glasses and a cultist robe, is walking away from Ford. Further back is Caryn Pines, a dark-haired woman reaching out to Ford. In the very back is Filbrick Pines, a man with sunglasses and a mustache. Lyrics to the right read "They called relations, but they declined. They called the fanclub, but they'd resigned."

The bottom panel shows a younger Stan in the foreground with a grim look on his face. He is walking away from a crashed car on fire in the background. Lyrics to the left read "Left your car in a field and some questions behind."

Image 6: A night view of the second stories of some buildings. In the middle building, Caryn is leaning outside the right-hand window. She has grey in her hair, and is smoking a cigarette and looking up at the stars. Text in the sky reads "Your mom thinks you're out of your mind."

End ID.]

Song: They Might Be Giants - Old Pine Box. Again, I recommend reading with the song playing!

Another year, another Gravity Falls lyric comic, because I am always in my feelings about it!! I could froth at the mouth for ages about Stan and Ford being more similar than they might think - self-isolating, determined, desperate - but instead I drew this.

This is another one I had cooking in the back of my head for, probably, years, because my brain makes so many connections between TMBG songs and GF. I hope you like it!!

#gravity falls #stanley pines #stanford pines #lyric comic #stangst #fanart #digital art #long post

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sky-is-the-limit · 2 months

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“𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒈𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒔..”

𝑷: 𝑲𝒚𝒍𝒆 '𝑮𝒂𝒛' 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌 𝒙 𝑭!𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓.

𝑾𝑪: 1,208 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒔.

𝑵𝒐 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔, 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆<3

Outside, a gentle breeze stirred the curtains, sending them fluttering softly against the window.

It was a peaceful night, the kind of night where time seemed to stand still, where the world faded away and all that mattered was the warmth of Kyle's body beside you, the softness of his lips against your skin.

As you laid in bed, naked beside Kyle, you could feel the warmth of his body seeping into yours. He had just returned from another mission and now he was finally home, safe in your arms.

The weight of his presence beside you felt comforting, reassuring, like a lifeline in the darkness.

Sergeant Garrick was gone and Kyle, your Kyle, was safe beside you.

The room was cast in a soft glow, illuminated by the gentle light of the moon filtering through the window. Its silver beams danced across Kyle's features, highlighting the delicate contours of his face, the chiseled lines of his jaw.

You traced your fingertips lightly over the scars that crisscrossed his arms, each one a testament to what he went through.

They seemed to catch the moonlight, gleaming faintly in the darkness. Perhaps it was just your imagination playing tricks but to your tired eyes it almost seemed like he was glowing.

Some marks were faint, like wisps of memories barely clinging to his flesh while others stood out boldly, jagged and deep, stark reminders of the pain he endured away from home, from you.

In the moon's soft embrace, they seemed to dance with a ghostly luminescence, painting intricate shadows across his skin. Despite the horrors they symbolized, you found them strangely captivating.

It was impossible not to when they adorned the body of a man whose very presence was like poetry in motion.

It was as though the divine had spent centuries perfecting every curve, every line, every spot. You marveled at how someone could look so breathtakingly beautiful, even after returning from hell itself.

You cursed them in silence, cursing the world for what it had done to him, for the terrors it inflicted upon his soul despite it being his choice.

And though you wished you could hurt them back, you never doubted, even for a second, that he had already taken matters into his own hands, eliminating those who wanted to harm him before they could inflict any more pain.

"What about this one?" You whispered, your voice barely breaking the silence of the night.

Your fingertip delicately trailed the deep, large scar on Kyle's shoulder that almost reached his collarbone, tracing its path with a tender curiosity, as if mapping out the constellations in the night sky.

For a moment, Kyle remained silent, his breathing steady and measured, as though he was caught between being awake and dreaming.

His touch remained on your back, caressing your spine so softly that it was a surprising how you didn't fall sleep.

"Attacked from behind." He murmured, his tone eerily calm despite the gravity of what he said.

Wrapped in his embrace, you couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of fragility that enveloped him whenever he returned from a mission.

Kyle hated it, of course. He would reassure you, his voice soothing, telling you that he was okay, that he was back in one piece and that no one was going to take him away from you, at least not in that moment.

Despite his words, your fears lingered like shadows in the corners of your mind.

You feared the phone ringing in the middle of the night, dreaded the thought of waking up to find the bed empty and his uniform missing from the closet. You feared those fears becoming permanent, nightmares creeping into reality.

And so, for the first few days after his return, you treated him like porcelain, as if the slightest touch might shatter him into a million pieces.

With a trembling breath, you whispered against his scar, a kiss so tender it barely brushed against his skin,

"I'm sorry."

It was a futile apology, you knew. It wasn't your fault, couldn't be your fault. Yet, the weight of helplessness pressed down upon you, a suffocating burden you couldn't shake.

It felt like you were apologizing for not being there, for not being able to protect him from the dangers that lurked in every corner. Irrational, perhaps, but the feeling lingered nonetheless.

His job was a choice he made. He had chosen this path, this life of danger and sacrifice and found his peace with it in a way that you couldn't comprehend. While he accepted the risks as part of his duty, for you, the worry, the fear, it gnawed at your heart like a relentless tide.

Those who preached about gender roles, about the man being the protector and the woman needing protection, seemed like nothing more than empty rhetoric to you.

Love knew no boundaries, no predefined roles.

When you loved someone as deeply as you loved Kyle, you would willingly face any danger, endure any hardship, just to keep him safe.

But reality was far less forgiving.

And so, the weight of that realization bore down upon you, consuming you whole as you sat in the darkness, waiting. Waiting for the door to open, for his footsteps to echo through the silent house, for the confirmation that the monsters he faced were put to rest, at least for the time being.

Not permanently, though. That was his choice to make.

"S'not your fault, baby. Never your fault." Kyle murmured and despite the weariness etched in his tone, he fought against the pull of sleep.

He refused to succumb, his determination evident in the furrow of his brow and the set of his jaw. He didn't want to leave you alone with your fears, not for a moment.

That was your man, determined to fight and protect you, even from the invisible dangers that only existed within the confines of your mind.

But eventually, exhaustion won out, and you saw the struggle fade from his features as he finally yielded to the embrace of sleep.

You glanced up at his beautiful face, softened by the gentle glow of the moonlight, it was clear that he was lost in a dreamland.

All you wished for in that moment was that his dreams were kind to him, that they offered him the peace he deserved.

In that moment, you promised to protect him as best you could. You vowed to guard his heart, to love him as he deserved. Through all of life's ups and downs, in sickness and un health, you swore to stand by his side, no matter what. You'd wait for him patiently, never losing faith.

Your pledge went beyond just keeping him safe physically. It was about preserving his kindness, his humor, his ability to love fully and honestly.

Kyle Garrick loved with a sincerity that felt like springtime warmth, like the innocence of a child. It was a love that knew no bounds, overcoming barriers with its purity and sincerity.

Even if you couldn't shield him from every danger, you knew you could at least protect what truly mattered. His essence, his spirit, his heart.

The very things that made him, him.

#THAT'S MY MAN HEY THAT'S MY MAN #kyle gaz garrick #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle gaz garrick smut #gaz smut #cod x reader #cod #call of duty

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sinner-sunflower · 7 days

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P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 19/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 20, PART 21

Another reminder that not all chapters are happening in continuous days. Sometimes a week or a month go by but I'm not gonna say that every chapter lajsdlajl

We are channeling our inner Lucifer who has no concept of time and feeling like the days are blending in with one another.

A short but SIGNIFICANT chapter

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Lucifer had never opened a portal so fast in his life. Hearing those outrageous words from Nifty made him sprung into action, not even caring that he's leaving Adam behind. He's pretty sure the guy will be fine even if he is bound within palace walls.

Maybe he should've asked Nifty to elaborate more because what the fuck does 'the sky is falling' mean?? But his daughter could be in danger so he'll figure it out there.

It was Charlie who calls for him as soon as he arrives.

Charlie: Dad!

Lucifer: Char-char! What's going on? I'm so sorry. Adam and I were busy and I put a ward on the palace and my phone was silent and why is Nifty saying the sky is falling?? Charlie-

Charlie: Dad! Just- come with me outside!

She all but drags him by the arm out the hotel doors to a sight he never thought he'd witness outside of Earth.

Lucifer: Wha- What in the unholy hell?

He feels breathless. It's horrifying but also.... so captivating.

From the heavens above, a cascade of meteors descended, their fiery tails of gold painting the skies of Hell. Each impact further damaged and eventually destroying the Pentagram barrier.

Screams ensue the moment the first meteor hits one part of Pride. Following that are continuous deafening crashes, the meteors struck with indiscriminate force, wreaking havoc on his denizens. Glass shattered, concrete crumbled, and chaos ensued as residents fled for safety, their once familiar surroundings now transformed into a scene of destruction.

One meteor veered off course, hurtling straight towards the hotel. Lucifer vaguely hears Charlie shouting for them to take cover and catches sight of Alastor putting up a shield for them.

He hears his daughter shout for him but he stays rooted in place as the object landed just a stone's throw away from where he stands.

When the dust clears, he feels himself freeze as amidst the rubble lay a figure, not of space rock, but an angel, a dead low ranking angel.

Now grounded in Hell and no longer have its majesty. It is mangled, burned, and broken.

Fallen.

Lucifer cannot speak as he keeps staring at the crumpled figure in front of him. Its once luminous wings now tattered and singed. He knows he should do something but what? His people are terrified and his city is getting the brunt of the mass Fall.

The King of Hell doesn't move when Charlie and the other sinners run to his side. He senses them freezing and someone vomiting (probably Vaggie-he can understand) because of the body. The angel bodywhatthe fuck-

Charlie: Vaggie! Dad!... why-what- is that an angel?!

Angel: Move, Vagina, I think I'm gonna be sick too.

Cherri: Way ahead of ya, Angie.

Husk is rubbing circles on Angel's back as the spider pukes out the his lunch. He wants to comfort Angel fully but he's all too distracted by the dead angel on the ground.

Alastor moves closer to poke the body, bringing his blood soaked finger to his mouth to taste.

Alastor: How peculiar....

Lucifer had barely begun to grasp the gravity of the situation when he felt something wet hit his face. He slowly reached up to the spot, fingers coming away coated in a golden substance. Confusion were written in their faces as they look back up as the liquid began to pour from the sky like rain.

His ears begun to feel like he's underwater- screams and choking sounds echoed throughout his city as the thick gold coats every single corner of Pride.

'No.'

He whispered, the realization hitting him like a delayed blow. As the metallic scent finally reached his nose, he collapsed to all fours, unable to stop his own gagging. He knew what this was, but he refuse to believe it.

'This can't be real.'

He could sense Vaggie in a similar state nearby, both of them struggling to breathe and think because this is angel blood.

Lucifer falls face first on the wet ground that's shimmering gold to the endless distance. He passes out from the smell before he knows it.

Heaven is falling.

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I feel like this is not what yall expected to happen as the beginning of the final arc.

A Supernatural reference? In 2024?

The blood rain is also inspired by that one quadrant in the 2nd Hunger Games movie. Because I, too, would gag and probably choke on my own vomit if I was suddenly rained on by human blood, or any blood for that matter.

We're finally getting there.

Let me know what you guys think so far!

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iamumbra195 · 10 months

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MY favourite bleach head canons in no particular order

1. the idea that all shinigami in gigai give off uncanny valley vibes

Basically like Isshin, whose not quite human but not quite shinigami, meets some of Ichigo’s friends when he was a kid like Tatsuki and she obviously met his mom before and she was nice so she wasn’t expecting much from his dad and then she meets him and her first reaction is ‘what the fuck is that???’

The kurosaki kids, who have grown up with their dad and have pretty high levels of reiatsu, don’t actually realize this while their human friends just instinctually avoid Isshin ‘cause they feel like something’s off about him

of course over time and with extended exposure to Ichigo’s reiatsu, the weirdness kinda fades away but anyone outside of Ichigo’s circle generally avoids all the shinigami that come to Karakura in gigai for those reasons

2. all animals hate shinigami except cats and crows

literally for no reason besides the fact that I like them

I love the idea of shinji with his creepy ass smile just perched on top of a telephone pole and if he stays still long enough, crows will start sitting on him XD

I also have cats that I love and I love the idea of Ichigo just chilling on his bed with an orange cat and doing the purring thing with it while he’s sleeping

And then when he goes to a pet store with Rukia because she wants to see bunnies, all the animals go ballistic anf they get kicked out XD

3. the visored + ichigo with animalistic traits

laying down on hot things because it feels nice on their skin and soothes something in their lizard brains

eyes that flash hollow yellow when they feel intense emotion (inspired the scene in the anime where Aizen says that hollowification is faster when agitated so emotions heavily affect their appearance

I like the idea that they get very tactile with people they care about (not in a romantic way) and they get into little wrestling matches over stupid stuff because that’s they’re idea of playing and bonding

Shinji gives cat vibes, you can’t even tell me he doesn’t just look at him. When cats make eye contact as they push something off the table- that’s him

I also really like the idea of the hollowification affecting their zanpakuto. Given that Ichigo was pretty much born with his hollow, he doesn’t notice the different the way the Visored do

Shinji’s whole standing upside down and reversing the gravity on himself, I like the idea that it came after his hollowification and if he wishes he can do it to others

Idk if there’s any jjk manga readers her but you know that attack kenjaku has where he makes you feel like you’re falling but you’re not really? He does it to Yuji a few times when he’s fighting mahito and I love the idea of Shinji having that ability, just completely fucking up their sense of reality and direction

I haven’t thought of the other visored abilities but from my other AU that I will never write, I mentioned that Kaien was hollowified as well so I love the idea of him just being completely obsessed with everything water related and having an affinity for any water type kido and being able to control minor amounts of water without actually drawing Nejibana and being able to breath under water

4. all zanpakuto spirits do commentary in their weilders head

but only ppl like Ichigo and Toushiro who have incredibly powerful spirits that they can literally talk to in the middle of a fight can actually hear

Like Zabimaru, haineko, and all the other zanpakuto are just constantly making fun or nitpicking the way their weilder uses them

But Ichigo is the only one who has to suffer through Zangetsu (Shiro) cackling in his head while Toushiro gets useful feedback and Ichigo’s just completely done with him

a sadder headcanon: all zanpakuto spirits talk to their weilders regularly however, the Visored because of their own fear of their hollowification have estranged themselves from their zanpakuto spirits and like Shiro is hostile with Ichigo in canon, the others are like ten times worse

5. If Ichigo every actually seals his zanpakuto, he’d be incredibly sensitive to reiatsu (I forgot to add this one the first time and I didn’t wanna make another post XD)

I personally love this little explanation of Ichigo’s powers and you know how Ichigo is just really shitty at sensing reiatsu at the beginning? Shinji commented on it a couple times and seemed pretty confused by it.

I think that part of the reason why he’s so bad at it-- especially after the SS arc ‘cause remember he was actually pretty good at sensing back then-- is because after he achieved Bankai, Hollow Zangetsu was in control rather than OMZ and with that switch in power came a significant uptick in his own reiatsu to the point where Ichigo actually feels like he’s being crushed by his own power and he can feel how close Shiro is for the first time and he’s actually scared of his own power

Hiyori even comments about how he’s scared of his own bankai because the distance between him and Shiro decreases everytime he gets stronger since Shiro gets stronger with him

Anyways, we’re not devolving into an analysis about Ichigo and Shiro but eventually Ichigo learns how to sense things properly even with his own reiatsu

So when he finally seals Zangetsu and he’s no longer covered by his own power because it’s finally sealed, he’s gonna be sensing things so much stronger and get sensory overload only it’s ✨reiatsu sensitivity✨

6. Souls in the Society age until they find an appearance both they and their reiatsu level is comfortable with (Another one because I’m an idiot and I forgot)

Excluding Toushiro’s weird case of appearanc shifting but I guess that could be attributed to his bankai’s weirdness that I don’t know much about

I don’t think we’ve gotten on actual explanation on how souls age so I’ve decided to apply this hc

Basically the reason why ppl like Unohana, who looks incredibly similar to herself from a thousand years ago, the only difference being how much less sinister she looks and how calm she looks

Plus, all the characters from the Turn back the pendulm arc barely changing over a hundred years is wild

I initially thought of it as comparing every decade a soul lives to ever year a human lives but that didn’t feel right so I chose this

#visored #ichigo kurosaki #hollow ichigo #hollow zangetsu #shiro #zanpakuto spirits #bleach #headcanons #shinji hirako #half this post devolved into stuff about him #shinigami #animals #uncanny valley #uncanny shinigami gigai

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jisungsdaydreamer · 10 months

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Stray Kids as Different Kinds of Shopaholics

Pairing: OT8 x gn!reader Genre: headcanon, fluff, crack Warnings: none

1. Bang Chan- The Idiot

You would think that Bang Chan would be the sensible one when it comes to shopping

This is false.

Unlike the other boys, he doesn’t really have super niche hobbies like art or dance, so he believes that he doesn’t need to spend so much money on such “unnecessary things”

He’ll even hoard coupons and try to use them, even though they expired months ago

But two seconds later, he’ll be whipping out his wallet to buy the most useless shit ever

He would 100% fall for stupid scams, like a self-stirring coffee mug or a “gravity-defying” umbrella hat

As long as they make “life more efficient”

But if you want to buy a book or socks or something, he’ll side eye you and scold you for buying dumb things, as if he just didn’t spend a fortune on an automatic shoe-tying machine

2. Lee Know- The Gordon Ramsay Wannabe

Now Minho is pretty wise with money, except when it comes to one thing

His kitchen

I can absolutely envision him wanting to have an immaculately stocked kitchen

After all, he likes to try making new and elaborate dishes, and he needs the tools for that

Minho will have no problem with buying the fanciest, most expensive supplies

He’ll have a bluetooth wireless cooking sensor to time his roasts from a distance, a soy milk maker, and that KitchenAid artisan mini stand mixer with the fancy beater

He’s so extra that he will even buy a juice extractor to facilitate his morning fix for green juice (gross)

Will get mad if you question his purchases.

3. Changbin- The Gym Bro

Every single exercise contraption known to man will go into his personal home gym

He needs fifty different kinds of weights,

Maybe even those arm exercise bands for when he’s “on a road trip”

Also spends a lot of money on nutrition

Like those organic seed packets or high-quality kale or something so he can make healthy stuff for himself

If you even open your mouth, he will immediately get defensive, explaining why each and every one of his purchases make sense and why you need them too to be healthy

4. Hyunjin- Ariana Grande

The “I want it, I got it” mentality

Going shopping with him has no budget. He hates that word

The kind of person who doesn’t bring a shopping list; he just strolls the aisles and buys anything he wants

Likes buying name brands: Gucci, Versace, Tom Ford, Chanel, and of course, Celine

Bougie bitch right here

LOVES jewelry and accessories even more than clothes; anything that glitters

Might ask you to go shopping with him sometimes just because he needs someone to help him hold all of his bags

Simply will ignore you if you ask him why he needs $5000 in new shirts when he’s already got a closet full at home

5. Han- The Real One

Surprisingly, Jisung would be one of the more practical shoppers

He has a normal budget that he follows religiously, because there’s only one thing that he really wants

Food.

Whenever he goes out, he absolutely must buy a drink. Probably boba, to sip on while walking or when sitting in the car

He’ll have “secret” hiding spots in his room for his snacks

Can’t cook so loves taking it as an excuse to always get food outside & he loves doing it with you

Loves ordering-in all kinds of meals as well, whether it’s pizza or butter chicken

Every morning, Jisung needs to buy his coffee at Starbucks and be all aesthetic, or else he can’t do his work

Pouts when you remind him that you literally have a coffee machine at home.

6. Felix- Santa Claus

Now Felix is also a little like Jisung, being a little more realistic

EXCEPT when it comes to his friends & family, especially you.

Will spoil you rotten will all sorts of gifts, from new clothes to perfume

And he insists on taking you on shopping sprees and showering you with new things you don’t really need

Receiving expensive chocolates imported from Paris or somewhere is a regular thing for you

And he’s even managed to get you a designer bag that even the richest people have to be on waiting lists for

Doesn’t get offended at all when you tell him that he needs to cut down on the spending; he’ll just cutely hold out a pretty dress for you to wear

And how can you refuse him?

7. Seungmin- The Mom

Doesn’t give a crap about being fashionable; definitely stingy when it comes to that

“But Seungmin, that hoodie is seven years old…” “Well it fits, so I can wear it.”

Will lecture people (Hyunjin) on their horrible spending habits

Meanwhile, he’d rather spend time in the cleaning sections

He’ll stock up on extra paper towels and wipes and other practical materials

The kind of shopper to absolutely ADORE sales, and will buy everything with a discount

Would buy snow gear in June just because it’s 5% off and will force you to try on a hideous sweater just because it’s in clearance or something

8. I.N.- The Guilty One

Can’t be trusted when given money to go shopping

You could give him your wallet to tell him to go buy milk and when he comes back, he’ll have his arms full of crap that you didn’t even mention

Is such a binge-shopper that he has no choice but to live simple

Because the moment he steps into Target or the mall or somewhere, it’s over.

You had to stop giving him your credit card and just hand him a limited wad of cash when you need him to run errands for you

TAGLIST @hamburgers101 @chansburgah @ajxreads @hash2013 @pixigreen @ana-marais98 @ohish @chizumiyoshi @lilydaisyyy @jetblackbelle @143hyunes

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222barbie · 2 years

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LIFE IS YOUR CREATION: 1 year anniversary

hey y'all! it's me barbie, long time no see ;) it's been one year since my first manifestation post and since my beliefs and my advice have evolved, i wanted to make an anniversary version of "life is your creation" ! i also am planning on making a part two so stay tuned !

have fun and enjoy reading <3

remember who you are (god)

remember, you are god. the creator of your world. and you have full absolute control over everything. god is limitless, god is capable, and god can do it all. you are the creative force and the operant power. and god can bring their imagination to fruition without the aid of any outside force.

and by external source, i mean that god does not need methods, god does not need techniques, and god does not need anything like that to manifest. you are everything you need.

you want to manifest fame ? you can do it. you want to manifest an sp ? you can do it. money ? you can do it ! a big mac, large fries, with 10pc nuggets with a large drink on the side ? ab-so-lute-ly.

you can manifest anything, anything, because you are a limitless masterpiece - an imaginative being that is a force to be reckoned with. who cares if you don't see a success story about what you want ? be the first. you think that god was watching to see if anyone else had manifested light ? no, he just did it because he was god.

you are the source of everything. so if you want something to happen in your reality it can certainly happen. start accepting and realizing that you can have everything you've always wanted since the only thing standing between you and your goals is you and your thinking.

start changing your perception of who you are and what you are capable of manifesting. you are capable of achieving your dreams because you are limitless and unstoppable.

the power of your imagination

as i said before, everything and anything is possible and there is nothing stopping you from getting your desires. nothing. your circumstances don't matter. if you want it you can have it.

the law of assumption is a law. it must conform, just like the rule of gravity. see, if i dropped a coin from a building it would fall, right ? so my reality would reflect my assumption if i assumed i was the person i wanted to be and stayed true to that idea.

don't underestimate your imagination. all you need is you. you don’t need methods. you don’t need techniques. you are enough already — all you need to do is assume you are the person you want to be, or that you have what you desire, then do nothing. creation is finished.

imagination creates reality. what are you imagining then ? who are you in your thoughts ? do you imagine yourself to be a nobody who only hopes their dreams come true ? or are you a god that already knows they have everything they want and that the 3D will reflect that ?

all the success stories that people have sent into blogs, or success stories by celebrities and famous people have all come from imagination. do not underestimate yourself or think for a second that it's impossible for you to achieve your goals. instead of comparing yourself to others and their successes, start applying the law to see for yourself that you are capable of manifesting your desires and more.

last year i was absolutely shit at math class, and i despised the thought of doing anything with math. this year i retook the course, and decided to change my assumptions on math in general. and i aced an entire worksheet that i thought was difficult, all from changing my assumptions and mindset.

i had a terrible time in math class last year (a shitty teacher too, oh it was horrible) and despised the idea of working with math in any way. i retook the course this year and made the decision to change my assumptions of math in general. changing my assumptions and mindset allowed me to complete the same worksheet (that i thought was challenging last year) with flying colors.

math has become actually pretty fun for me to do and i didn't stress about it at all. now i'm looking towards my next class (with a much better teacher i manifested) !

see, if i can do manifest something that i once thought was possible, so can you. trust me on this !

forever, life is your creation

again, life is your creation. you can manifest anything as long as you put your mind to it. so stop giving power to external things that don't matter. don't be so critical of yourself and overcomplicate every step of your journey. everyone manifests differently, so figure out what feels natural and fun for you. and remember, creation is finished. decide that you're doing everything right because your desires are already yours.

all of your dreams can come true, and i am fully confident that all of you can do it. i love youuu <3

love, barbie ♡

#posts #law of assumption #law of assuming #law of attraction #manifestation #manifesting #affirmations #law of abundance #how to manifest #neville goddard #self concept #manifestingmindset #manifesting money #eiypo

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gf-seasons-zine · 2 months

Text

Information About

Writers, it's your turn to shine/see the specific application guidances that apply to writing applications (same thing, really...)

Applications open April 1 (this upcoming Monday)! Of course there is always complete information on our carrd, but if you are curious to see the application guidance for writers here instead, we entreat you to read below the cut!

General Application Guidelines

1. PLEASE tag your content!

The zine will be completely SFW and will not feature ships but we understand some people may wish to submit ship art or content that might be less family-friendly in their portfolios.

All mods are 18+ but we don't want any surprises, so please describe your art in the boxes provided if required!

2. At least ONE of your pieces must be Gravity Falls themed or featuring Gravity Falls characters.

We would particularly like to see your work of Ford, Stan, Mabel, or Dipper as the Pines family is the main focus of this zine!

3. Check your sharing settings!

If sharing a Google Drive folder link for your portfolio, please ensure your folder's sharing settings are set to 'allow anyone with the link to view'. You can test this on an Incognito browser or a browser NOT logged into your Google account to make sure.

Mods will NOT be able to contact every person who makes this mistake to ask them for a new link to their portfolio and it is very likely your application will just be dismissed.

Writer Specific Guidelines

*~*~*~*A note from us mods to you, for transparency: ~*~*~*~*

We won't have space for long fics in the physical zine due to page limitations, but we would like to include more of your work in our digital zine where we will have unlimited space. For the physical zine, a maximum of two pages of writing per writer will be printed, whether it is for the diary entry OR the writing piece. The rest of the pages will be printed in the digital zine if you wish to write more!

Please submit 2-3 pieces that best demonstrate your style of writing.

1. At least one sample should be a minimum of 1,500 words. All three samples combined should not exceed 7k words. (If you would like us to read a particular chapter or extract of one of your fics you should copy that into a word document and put it into a folder in your Google Drive portfolio).

2. Samples should be in English as this is the language the zine will be published in.

It doesn’t matter what kind of English spelling or vocabulary you use (British, American, etc) as long as you are consistent.

3. We will judge samples based on characterisation, grammar, punctuation, flow, and plot.

4. All samples must be entirely written by you. AI generated content is NOT allowed and does not count. Previous zine works are allowed but please ask for permission from your mods to share first! We will not be sharing ANY applicants’ links outside of the GF Seasons Zine Mod Team.

5. NSFW works will NOT be allowed in the zine (this will be a family friendly SFW zine!) but you CAN put them in your portfolio.

If your pieces require trigger warnings, feature ANY ships, or feature NSFW content there WILL be a space for you to write this on your form and we expect you to do so. All moderators are 18+ but we wish to avoid any surprises.

Thank you for your cooperation and understanding (Yep, this was so important we included it twice!)

6. Two types of writing pieces will be featured in this zine- ‘diary entries’ from the perspective of Dipper, Ford, Stan, and Mabel; and ‘normal’ fics.

If you would be interested in contributing a diary entry for characters from the perspective of Stan, Ford, Mabel, or Dipper, please also provide a SHORT extract of how you think a diary entry by them might go!

And there you have it! Please let us know if you have any questions, and we look forward to checking out your applications! See you April 1st!

The GF Seasons Zine Mod Team

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Disclaimer: We are not affiliated with Disney in any way. The zine will be a charity zine with all surplus going to charity- no one will profit from this zine.

CARRD TWITTER RETROSPRING

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fireopal-tash · 6 months

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Me! Ready for Winter! ❄️🧣

Click the image for better quality UwU

Hi, everyone!

Can't say my name in real life, but I sure can call myself a fake name. You all know me by Fire Opal tash, or just Fire or Opal!

I know, I know, not exactly the best "meet the artist" 🎨 but it'll have to do haha

*** Any questions for me about me and what I do (but no requests), please, write it here! It would be so much easier for me ^w^

Anyway, I guess it's time to say what I like/don't like, etc, right? 🤔

Well...

What I like ✅

🧡 COLOR: Orange, Red, Yellow and Black!

🐯 ANIMALS: Tigers, Snakes and Dragons! xP

🎬 SHOWS/MOVIES: Steven Universe, Gravity Falls, Leverage, Bones, Criminal Minds, Doctor Who, House, A Nightmare On Elm Street, Pokémon, Detective Conan, etc!

🎵 MUSIC: Anything that isn't heavy metal, to be honest ^w^' I just feel like it's more noise than music (sorry for those who do like it)

🍦 FOOD: Pizza, Chocolate, Ice-cream xP

💐 FLOWERS: Poppies (red ones), Sunflower, Roses, forget me not, etc

🍁 SEASON: Autumn and Winter UwU

♐ ZODIAC SIGN: I'm Sagittarius! (for those interested!)

What I don't like ❌

🐜 Ants 😫

💥 Bullies/Violence 😤

🥦 Vegetables and Fish (sorry not sorry)

💄 Wearing makeup

🏙️ I don't like going out that much... The outside world and the people drain me 😭

💭 I hate don't being able to remember...

🧟‍♂️ Zombie movies/TV shows. I find them repetitive and boring 😅

Now... What else?

▫️I'm from Spain! 🇪🇸

▫️I won't say my age cause I don't trust anyone ;3

▫️I'm blonde, as the drawing indicates xP

▫️I usually prefer to wear comfy outfits, mostly in blacks. Although... I do prefer jeans over any type of pants. And always with black shoes!

▫️I have two dogs. One is a Shiba Inu, called Uzzi; and the other is White Westie, called Uri

▫️I'm both a writer and an artist, but mostly an artist!

▫️Favourite Ship? Stevinel all the way! But that doesn't mean I don't like others, of course!

-> I like Ruby x Sapphire, Amethyst x Pearl, Peridot x Lapis, Connie x Steven, Greg x Rose. You know, the usual xD

-> But I also like Jasper x Peridot, Jasper x Pearl, Jasper x Lapis, Garnet x Pearl x Amethyst, Pearl x Bismuth, Pearl x Peridot, Pearl x Lapis, Pearl x Rose, Spinel x Volleyball/Pink Pearl... Etcetera.

And that's only from Steven Universe!

From Gravity Falls I like:

-> Bill x Dipper (I was a kid, what can I say xD)

-> Dipper x Pacifica

-> Mabel x Pacifica (really like this one)

From Doctor Who:

-> Rose x Doctor (any of them) FOREVER!

-> Jack x flirting xD

From Harry Potter:

-> Harry Potter x Tom/Voldemort (again, I was a kid xD)

-> Ron x Hermione

-> Ginny x Harry (not much tho, sorry)

-> Remus x Sirius

-> Remus x Tonks (not much)

From anything Mario:

-> Luigi x Bowser

-> Daisy x Luigi

-> Mario x Peach

I think I know what I like in a ship... Human x not human (joke no joke!) 😮

And many, many others. I'm quite okay with most ships, although there's for sure some that I wouldn't be able to like at all.

Anyway, that's all for now! Ciao ciao! 👋🏻👋🏻

#fireopal-tash #me #original character #original art #oc #oc artist #art #arte #artwork #illust #illustration #digital drawing #dibujo digital #digital doodle #cartoon style #blonde character #red scarf #meet the artist

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ckret2 · 1 year

Note

How are ford and dipper interacting with Bill. (especially after their ptsd due to how he hurt them)

So "how are they interacting with Bill OVERALL" is a big question—and one i've already touched on in a couple previous asks—so to shrink the question to manageable size, I'm gonna interpret this one more as "talk about any Bill-related trauma Ford and Dipper might have and how seeing him again impacts it."

I actually don't think either of them necessarily developed PTSD (although Ford has worse odds). Not because they didn't go through traumatic experiences thanks to Bill, but rather just because not everyone who goes through a traumatic experience develops PTSD. Some excerpts from the National Institute of Mental Health:

It is important to remember that not everyone who lives through a dangerous event develops PTSD. In fact, most people will not develop the disorder.

Many factors play a part in whether a person will develop PTSD. Risk factors make a person more likely to develop PTSD. Other factors, called resilience factors, can help reduce the risk of the disorder.

Some factors that may promote recovery after trauma include:

Seeking out support from other people, such as friends and family

Finding a support group after a traumatic event

Learning to feel good about one’s own actions in the face of danger

Having a positive coping strategy, or a way of getting through the bad event and learning from it

Being able to act and respond effectively despite feeling fear

The Pines are part of a close knit family that shared in Weirdmageddon, and 3/4 of them were puppeted, hurt, and/or manipulated by Bill and can commiserate. They also have friends in Gravity Falls they can talk to about their Bill experiences. Although Ford and Dipper are ashamed of being fooled by Bill in the past, even during the course of the show they started helping each other process that; and all four of them have reason to be proud of how they faced Weirdmageddon. They all ultimately responded to their fears by taking action. The family's in a good position to get through the aftermath with minimal lingering trauma!

The biggest potential issues are their physical isolation from their support network, and Gravity Falls' Never Mind All That Act hampering people from talking with each other; but if you assume they're still regularly talking with each other on phone or online and that people are still willing to talk in private amongst friends about Weirdmageddon, I think they can get around the majority of those issues. (Plus, realistically, the Never Mind All That Act would hamper recovery from trauma; but since it was clearly intended to be a funny cartoon joke about life going back to normal, I don't want to narratively treat it like a serious thing with serious consequences.)

(I'm also on the fence about headcanoning whether Dipper & Mabel tell their parents; Dipper spends most of summer trying to tell the nearest adult relative all about the weird stuff in Gravity Falls and Mabel immediately writes to mom & dad about the new gruncle that came out of a magic portal, I don't see why they'd stop that when they get home. Odds the parents get the kids therapy is like 90% but odds they'd let the kids go back next summer is 5% so... *makes a weighing scales gesture*)

So I think they'll get through with minimal trauma-trauma. But the scars of the incident can show on them in ways other than full-blown PTSD.

The worst of it Dipper experiences is nightmares. Sometimes about Bill, sometimes about being stuck outside his body while it sleeps below. Admittedly, nothing to sneeze at; few things are more terrifying than waking up, disoriented and in the dark, from a nightmare about a guy who can actually invade nightmares—you can spend the next half hour asking yourself "what if it was real?" But if you've got a sister in the next room to reassure you it wasn't real and a grunkle in a weird time zone you can call at 3 am to hear he's had similar dreams for thirty years and they never meant anything... eventually a half hour of fear becomes five minutes of fear and the dreams become annoying instead of terrifying.

If anything, being in the Shack with Bill helps Dipper deal with the nightmares—it's reassuring to be able to wake up from a Bill nightmare, bellow "GET OUT OF MY DREAMS YOU FREAK," and hear back from the floor below, "I'M NOT IN YOUR DREAMS, I'M WATCHING TURNER CLASSIC MOVIES WITH ABUELITA."

Even his dreams about out-of-body experiences have decreased since coming back to the shack—that's probably a sign of healing, right?

(One of the things Bill plans never to admit to the humans: he still has a sizable amount of dream-related magic, and he's started shoving Dipper's soul back in his body whenever Bill sees him astral projecting because he's sick of getting blamed for Dipper's "nightmare" when he wakes up.)

Between Dipper and Ford, Ford's the most likely to actually get PTSD—specifically because at the outset, he got the least emotional support. After he found out Bill's motives, he was trapped alone in his house for weeks, afraid that the world could end if he fell asleep, until the point that he was hallucinating Bill in other people's eyes—if it was a hallucination.

That extreme sleep deprivation, that paranoia, that terror, and most of all that isolation from any support—THAT sure could trigger PTSD.

But Ford's had thirty years to process that, all while traveling through a multiverse full of people like "oh, THAT Bill Cipher? Oh yeah we totally sympathize, that's the exact kind of thing that guy would do." Getting dumped into the multiverse probably gave him a better shot of healthily processing the experience than he could have had on Earth. (Note that he's not checking people's eyeballs when he gets home from the multiverse.)

On the other hand, I do believe he's got some noteworthy trauma from thirty years in the multiverse, but never mind that! (You could arguably call that "caused" by Bill—but I don't think interacting with Bill conjures up memories of traumatic multiversal travels for Ford. He didn't see Bill during those 30 years. His mind sorts them in different boxes.)

The biggest negative psychological impact Bill left on Ford is trust issues. When he first returned to Gravity Falls, that was more global—TRUST NO ONE. Those trust issues have shrunk a lot—now it's just "don't trust Bill." Bill could tell Ford the sky is blue, and he'd have to go look to make sure Bill isn't trying to keep Ford from finding out that the sky's turned pink.

Upside: this makes it almost impossible for Bill to mess with Ford's head. Ford is all but mess-proof. Everything Bill says carries zero weight with him. Downside: this makes it almost impossible for them to carry on a conversation.

(Bill's the only one who considers this a downside. He's looking for a way to twist Ford into regretting not listening to Bill. Maybe the next time the kids are in trouble, he'll go tell Ford first, and then he can feel all self-righteous when Ford feels all guilty about brushing Bill off and not helping the kids.)

#grunkle ford #dipper pines #bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #fanart #my art #about my writing #bill goldilocks cipher #(I think tumblr deleted my second illustration?? Somehow??? So i edited it back in)#(If there's somehow TWO of it now: blame tumblr)

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pinesfamilyguidetotheweird · 5 months

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Ford and Trauma™ Part 6 (The Weight of Guilt)

Here is Part 6 of Ford and Trauma™!

Last time, I brought up how even what can be perceived as the littlest of things can cause a bigger impact later in life. I’m sure there is a fair number of us still recovering from bullying.

For this part, we’ll be tackling something that had no doubt eaten at Ford’s psyche every now and again.

The feelings of guilt over his mistakes.

Mistakes are normal. It’s a part of life. Just some…make worse mistakes than others.

So, this was lightly tackled in Paaart…3, I believe? Harboring some flavor of survivor’s guilt during his travels.

There is more to it and it probably started not long after he learned of Bill’s true intentions. Once the realization set in, Ford placed blame onto himself for everything that led up to this.

The first was probably his treatment towards his friend, Fiddleford. Afterall, Ford needed help on rebuilding the portal and Fidds had the means. Ford had Fidds come all the way to Gravity Falls, leaving his wife and young son back at home, under the promise that he will return in a few months.

He never did, losing his mind. And while it was Fidds' choice to use the memory gun to erase his own memories, Ford was the one who drove him to it. Ford had robbed a brilliant man of his mind and family, a wife of her husband, and a child of his father.

This is all your fault, Sixer…

Furthermore, were there other victims of Ford's mistakes?

It is confirmed that to an outsider, the person that Bill is possessing can sound like the person. (To others, Bipper just sounded like Dipper and since we weren’t seeing from Blandin’s point of view, we just heard his voice rather than Bill’s)

The only sign of Bill possessing someone are the eyes. Yellow eyes with slitted pupils.

Had people lost their eyes because of Bill?

This is all your fault, Sixer…

Sure, the reaction could be just a product of Ford’s sleep deprivation, him hallucinating eyeless and bloody sockets on the faces of strangers, but what he is feeling is very real.

To him, people are suffering so Bill could get to him.

Let’s fast forward to when Bill has Ford in his clutches in the Fearamid.

I have very little doubt that while Bill administered physical torture, he also implemented mental torture and just because Bill couldn’t enter Ford’s mind, using his words could still yield a similar effect. Pretty much weaponizing victim-blaming.

This is all your fault, Sixer…

Now, post-Weirdmaggedon.

Stan had to lose his memories to save everyone from Ford’s mistakes, which only added to his feelings of guilt, especially when he remembers his treatment towards his brother since returning to his home dimension.

How could he have treated his brother so horribly after everything he has done for him?

How could he have let their father kick Stan out over a stupid science project?

And then comes his rash proposal towards Dipper, asking him to stay and become Ford’s apprentice. Sure, it was Dipper’s choice to accept it, but the fact remains…and it inadvertently caused Bill to finally get his hands on the rift and set a course for the end times.

Plus, Ford had learned about Bill possessing Dipper during Sock Opera.

His young niece and nephew had to suffer because of Ford’s actions.

Sure, things have gotten better, now that Bill was gone and Stan got his memories back. But, thoughts remain. Emotions remain.

This is all your fault, Sixer…It’s because of you that Bill was able to get here…It’s because of you that all these people got hurt…It’s because of you that the world nearly ended...

You brought Bill here...You broke Fiddleford...You killed people...

You hurt Stan…you hurt Dipper…you hurt Mabel…

You have no one to blame…but you.

You deserve it...

Those...never go away.

#gravity falls #stanford pines #ford pines #grunkle ford #trauma #guilt

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theetherealbloom · 9 months

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THE SILVER LINING - CH. 4

Chapter Four: What It Means To Be Saved

Summary: After aiding the Republic and the fall of the Empire, you left the Jedi Training Clan on Bogden 3 to help families needing medical care with the call of the Force. You are a kind, warm-hearted healer on Nevarro, treating the citizens and the bounty hunters. Imperial remnants still linger in the shadows, waiting to strike at the perfect moment. Leading you to assist the Mandalorian with rescuing the Child has led you to your biggest adventure yet.

Paring: Din Djarin x Empath!FemReader

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths, One Bed Trope, Awkward

Word Count: 16.7k

A/N: This chapter is hella chonky and you'll probably need to sit down and have a glass of water beside you! All the likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated <3

Song: Glory And Gore by Lorde

Previous Chapter → Next Chapter | Series Masterlist

A FEW DAYS LATER…

INSIDE THE RAZOR CREST

OUTER RIM TERRITORIES, 9ABY – SPACE

You and Din share an unspoken understanding about the quiet moments you've spent waking up nestled in each other's warmth. His solid form, a reassuring presence, cradles you as his chest rises and falls beneath your head. In these stolen fragments of time, the world outside the Razor Crest seems distant, the chaos silenced by the serenity you've found in each other's company.

By some miracle of the Force – or perhaps Din's own vigilance – you always manage to stir awake before him, despite your suspicion that he might be granting you that courtesy to spare your blushes. The realization dawns on you that it has been quite a while since you've experienced such close human contact, let alone the comforting embrace of a shared cuddle. It's a sensation you hadn't realized you'd missed until it became a cherished part of your routine.

But reality, as it often does, inches its way back into your consciousness. The little haven you've carved out within the Razor Crest's confines can't shield you from the practicalities of life. Supplies are dwindling, and the pressing need for credits looms over your small makeshift family.

The days begin to pass with a sense of urgency, the atmosphere tinged with an unspoken agreement that the days of sanctuary within the ship's walls are numbered. Conversations drift towards the necessities – plotting courses for potential bounties, discussing potential jobs that would replenish your dwindling resources. Once forged in quiet companionship, your bond with Din evolves to encompass a shared goal.

In the dim light of the Razor Crest, the two of you exchange looks that speak volumes. Beyond ordinary friendship, your connection is proof of your shared will and fortitude. As the spacecraft hurtles towards space, the ship's limitations seem a little tighter, but the sense of togetherness grows.

THE ROOST, SPACE STATION, 9ABY – SPACE

The Razor Crest settles with a gentle hum as it lands within the confines of a space station's hangar bay. The resounding silence is broken by Din's voice, a mixture of vulnerability and the weight of his past. His words carry a gravity that hangs in the air, tinged with regret and the specter of mistakes long gone but never forgotten.

"I… My past isn't something to be proud of," he confesses, his tone heavy with the burden of memories he's carried. His gaze, obscured by the visor of his helmet, nonetheless holds an intensity that demands your attention. The confession hangs between you, a shared secret that bridges the gap between your lives.

Leaving the pilot's chair, Din moves purposefully to stand before you. You tilt your head slightly upward, your eyes meeting his visor, searching for the unspoken emotions that swirl within. At this moment, he bares a part of himself that he's kept hidden beneath the armor, his honesty a raw testament to the trust that's grown between you.

His voice steadies as he continues, determination blending with vulnerability, "We just need to do this job, get the credits, and then we'll leave." The gravity of his words carries a twofold promise – one of opportunity and a chance for redemption.

The backdrop of the space station hangar seems to amplify the intensity of the moment. The interplay of light and shadow casts intricate patterns across the Mandalorian's beskar-clad figure, lending an air of mystery to his confession.

Before your own apprehensions can hold you back, you act on an instinct, a desire to bridge the gap between your worlds. With a gentle determination, you reach out and take his gloved hand into yours. The sensation of his gauntleted fingers against your skin is a paradox of softness and strength, a representation of the layers that encompass him.

Words escape your lips, each syllable carrying a weight that matches his own confession. "I… I've done some things in my past that I wasn't proud of too," you admit, your voice a mixture of vulnerability and quiet strength. Your grip on his hand tightens, a silent promise that you're willing to share your own truths.

A pause lingers, a space where understanding blossoms between you. The dim light within the ship's interior paints your forms in subtle shadows and highlights, lending intimacy to the moment. As his visor-clad gaze meets yours, you see a flicker of surprise and gratitude, emotions that can only be glimpsed in the subtle tilt of his helmet.

"But…" The word slips from your lips, gentle yet resolute as if carrying the weight of your understanding. Your voice, steady and filled with empathy, paints a portrait of shared experiences and a bond forged by the paths you've both walked. "I believe you did what you had to do to survive and for the rest of the remaining Mandalorians to survive."

In that brief moment, the space between you becomes a bridge, built upon the foundation of mutual comprehension. Din's nod is a silent acknowledgment, a testament to the connection that has grown between you, despite the vastness of your differences.

A small, rueful smile tugs at the corner of your lips. His quiet nature has never diminished the strength of his words. "So… any final warnings about Ran and his crew?" you inquire, breaking the tension with a touch of humor.

Din's answer arrives with a cadence of sincerity. "They can be… nosy." A soft snort escapes you, an amused reaction to his mild description. You can't help but remark, "That's extremely polite coming from you."

His response is punctuated by a characteristic nod, a gesture that's become familiar between you two. "Ran thinks he’s untouchable, so he’s an asshole," he elaborates, and you find yourself nodding in agreement. "Go figures," you quip, giving the words a deeper layer of meaning.

The hum of the Razor Crest's engine provides a constant backdrop as you and Din navigate the weight of the situation that lies ahead. The air seems heavier, fraught with unspoken thoughts and concerns. It's in this charged atmosphere that your voice cuts through the tension.

"What are we gonna do with the kid?" you inquire, your words soft but bearing the weight of the uncertainties that loom. Your hands grip the rungs of the ladder as you descend, your gaze never leaving Din's form.

He carries the child in his arms, cradling the little being with a tenderness that belies his formidable armor. There's a certain grace in his movements, a silent understanding of the fragility of the life he now holds. He approaches the small hammock bunk, a designated safe haven within the Razor Crest. Carefully, he places the child inside and gently shuts the door, his actions a silent promise of protection.

"For now, he can stay in there," Din's voice is measured, and thoughtful, as he addresses your query. "But I don't think they'd hurt him if they see him."

The weight of his words settles in the air, a bittersweet reassurance in the face of the unknown. You lick your lips, a nervous tic, your eyes fixed on the little hammock bunk that now cradles the child. The responsibility feels heavy, a burden shared between you and Din.

"Okay," you say, your tone a mix of resignation and resolve. It's a term that encapsulates your awareness of the problems that lie ahead, as well as the sacrifices you're both ready to make to protect the safety of the innocent life that has been entwined with your path.

As you stand in the silent nooks of the Razor Crest, the link you have with Din is strengthened by the unseen pledges you've made to protect, lead, and persist in the face of hardship.

Stepping off the Razor Crest, you find yourself walking in tandem with Din, your steps synchronized as you take in the bustling surroundings of the space hub. The air hums with activity and curious gazes follow the two of you as you navigate through the crowd, a sense of purpose guiding your path.

The voice of an old man cuts through the ambient noise, drawing your attention. His grey beard gives him a distinguished air as he addresses Din, his nickname "Mando" echoing in the air. You remain silent, remembering the need for discretion in front of outsiders. Din acknowledges the man's greeting with a nod, "Ran."

There is a lingering sense of familiarity between them, the type that comes from having experienced the same things in a world full of unknowns. Unspoken bonds that go beyond words are formed when they shake hands. However, Ran notices your presence and turns to face you, a look of interest on his face. You catch his eyes and, in an act of politeness, you coolly and detachedly say your initial name. His handshake is stiff and courteous, masking his acute eye for detail.

With a knowing twinkle in his eyes, Din starts to lead the way through the busy space station, and Ran's focus returns to him. Your path is accompanied by the steady clatter of footfall, which blends with the distant hum of equipment.

His comments are infused with a curious familiarity that reflects the web of relationships that ties people together in this uncertain world.

"You know, to be honest, I was a little surprised when you reached out to me. You know, 'cause I... I hear things. Like, maybe things between you and the Guild aren't workin' out," Ran remarks, his voice a mixture of inquiry and understanding. Din's response is succinct, a testament to his resilience, "I'll be fine."

Ran's nonchalant shrug and raised hands speak of a tacit acceptance of the enigmatic Mandalorian way. The undercurrent of trust that exists between them is palpable, encapsulated in a simple phrase: "Okay. Well, you know the policy. No questions." As the trio continues to navigate the space hub, Ran extends his hospitality, a gesture that holds a promise beyond words. "And you, you're welcome back here anytime," he adds, the sentiment echoing in the air like a secret promise of mutual respect.

In the midst of the space hub's bustling activity, Ran's voice cuts through the ambient noise, his words directed at both you and Din. The undertone of urgency and intrigue colors his speech, a blend of desperation and determination. "Yeah, one of our associates ran afoul of some competitors and got himself caught. So, I'm puttin' together a crew to spring him," Ran's words hold a weight that hangs in the air, thick with unspoken implications. His gaze shifts between you and Din, assessing your potential contribution. "It's a six-person job. I got four."

As his smug gaze rests upon you and Din, the corners of his mouth curl with self-satisfied confidence. The challenge is clear in his expression, "All I need is the ride, and you brought it."

Din's response filters through his helmet's modulator, his words tinged with a hardness that echoes his internal conflict, "The ship wasn't part of the deal."

Ran's sneer is unwavering, and he fixes a cold determination in Din's vizor. He responds, "Well, the Crest is the only reason I let you back in here," and the tension between them is evident. Din's head tilts slightly, his silence revealing a boiling intensity beneath the cool exterior. A tempest brews within him, the turmoil and frustration reflected in the vibrant aura swirling around him. Deep maroon intermingles with silver, a dance of emotions that transcends words.

Your gaze shifts between Din and Ran, capturing the clash of energies that defines this moment. Ran's aura shimmers in shades of yellow and black, a discordant mixture that carries the essence of deceit, betrayal, and a lingering hint of cowardice. The tension escalates, your own emotions echoing Din's as you grit your teeth in the face of Ran's audacity.

The conversation continues, with Ran's laughter tinged with mockery as he reads Din's expression: "What's the look? Is that gratitude? Uh-huh. I think it is." As he walks away down the metal bridge, you and Din are left with no choice but to continue along the path of necessity, which is paved with the ethical complexities of a universe that necessitates compromise.

Resigned to the circumstances, Ran orchestrates the introduction, pulling you both deeper into the enigmatic weave of this operation. His words take on a certain gravity, introducing you to a bald human male associated with a sharp, unyielding gaze. "Hey, Mayfeld."

The man, Mayfeld, turns his gaze toward Ran's voice, his features displaying a sense of readiness. "Yeah?" he responds, a note of curiosity tinging his tone. His attention shifts to you and Din as Ran's hand gestures towards you both, drawing you into the center of this web of intrigue. "This is Mando," Ran introduces with a significant pause, a pause heavy with the weight of their shared history. "The guy I was tellin' you about, and his girl. We used to do jobs way back when."

The heat creeps into your cheeks as Ran's words hit the mark, your instincts urging you to clarify the situation. But before you can interject, Din's touch on your wrist reassures you, his grip light yet firm. It's a subtle reminder to keep your emotions in check, to let the past remain shrouded in enigmatic ambiguity. His unspoken guidance encourages silence, a lesson you've learned to read between the lines. You nod and Din releases your wrist gently.

As the three of you stand in the midst of this orchestrated reunion, Mayfeld's entrance into the scene carries an aura of skepticism. His deliberate and measured steps lead him towards you and Din, his gaze sharp and analytical. The hint of doubt lingers in his tone as he questions, "This is the guy?"

Ran, the orchestrator of this nostalgic rendezvous, affirms Mayfeld's query with a nod, a nostalgic grin touching his lips. "Yeah, we were all young, tryin' to make a name for ourselves." A chuckle dances in his voice, the echo of bygone days resonating in the present. The story he spins is one of camaraderie and shared ventures, anchored in a memory-rich past. "Yeah, but runnin' with a Mandalorian, that was… That brought us some reputation."

Mayfeld's curiosity takes a turn, his gaze settling on Din as if assessing the truth behind the legend. A subtle inclination of his chin signals his unvoiced inquiry about Din's stake in this shared history. Ran, ever the raconteur, takes the cue and indulges Mayfeld's curiosity, his laughter weaving through the words. "Oh, yeah? What did he get out of it?"

Ran's gaze shifts towards Din, a glint of amusement lighting his eyes as he recalls a past conversation. The air remains still, Din holding his ground, refusing to be drawn into the narrative. Yet, Ran plays his part with gleeful abandon, delivering Din's retort as if it were a punchline to a cosmic joke. "Target practice. Target practice! We did some crazy stuff, didn't we?" The laughter that follows carries a tinge of nostalgia, a reflection of a past that shaped the present.

In the midst of this conversation, your gaze shifts to Din's helmeted face in a quiet effort to uncover any unsaid feelings hiding under the stern demeanor. The dialogue is punctuated by Din's voice, which is unperturbed and devoid of humor, lending the remembrance a somber tone. His words carry weight, a witness to the passage of time and the change it brings, "That was a long time ago."

In the air heavy with the weight of shared history and unspoken truths, Ran's words hang like a pivotal decision. His gaze shifts between you, Din, and Mayfeld, each word laced with implications of past and present. "Well… Well, I don't go out anymore. You understand?" His tone carries the weight of a life chosen, of paths diverging. The mantle of leadership, however temporary, shifts to Mayfeld as Ran continues, "So, uh, Mayfeld, he's gonna run point on this job. If he says it, it's like it's comin' from me. You good with that?"

Din's response is a hushed symphony of assertiveness. His gaze, unwavering and unyielding, locks onto Mayfeld. The unspoken challenge is palpable as he states, "You tell me." The encounter holds an undertone of energy, a battle of wits that crosses words.

Ran's laughter cuts through the tension, a wistful echo of times long gone. "You haven't changed one bit." The shared history he refers to is as much a testament to continuity as it is to change. Mayfeld's reaction, however, is one of stark contrast. "Yeah, well, things have changed around here."

The spotlight shifts to Mayfeld, his role in this unfolding narrative becoming clearer. Ran's affirmation of his prowess echoes through the space. "Yeah, well, Mayfeld, he's… He's one of the best triggermen I've ever seen." But the sentiment is punctuated with an air of irony, as Din interjects, "That's not saying much." Their talk has a hint of rapport to it, a familiarity formed from past experiences.

However, Mayfeld's response is swift, his tone sharp and defensive. "I wasn't a stormtrooper, wiseass." Din's silence in the face of this retort speaks volumes, while you, raising an eyebrow in response, silently acknowledge the rebuff. Mayfeld's footsteps carry him away, his demeanor a blend of defiance and self-assuredness.

“Don't take long, does it?” Ran says while chuckling, walking towards Mayfeld with you and Din having no choice but to follow. As Mayfeld and the rest of you walk towards the Crest, Mayfeld comments, “Razor Crest? I can't believe that thing can fly. Looks like a Canto Bight slot machine.”

The air becomes thick with unspoken tensions, like an electric charge pulsating just beneath the surface. Your breaths come quicker, shallower, and your throat feels like it's constricting with every beat of your heart. The anger that simmers within you threatens to erupt, a caustic mix of frustration and indignation. Your fingers clench around the fabric of your clothes as if holding onto that tangible thread of restraint is the only thing preventing the floodgates from opening. The darkness gathers at the edges of your consciousness, the urge to react in kind to their dismissive attitude and pointed jabs a fierce battle against your self-control. It's a storm brewing, fierce and furious.

In the midst of this internal tempest, Mayfeld's words resonate like distant echoes, his casual explanations drifting in as if from another world. “The good-lookin' fellow there with the horns, that's Burg.” His gesture towards the red-skinned Devaronian, whose presence seems almost trivial amidst the maelstrom of emotions raging within you, barely registers.

Burg, seemingly unaffected by the tension, sets down a crate and then approaches Din. The casualness of his movements juxtaposes the turmoil that churns within you. Meanwhile, Mayfeld's words carry on, delivered with a nonchalant tone that feels like salt on a wound, “This may surprise you, but he's our muscle.” The nonchalant disclosure of Burg's role feels like a direct challenge, a deliberate attempt to provoke a reaction.

As they carry on, your grip on your clothes remains steadfast, the tension building as if holding a dam against the surge of your emotions. Every fiber of your being yearns to vent, to express the frustration building inside you, but you hold firm, teeth gritted, unwilling to let their provocation break through your defenses. The darkness and the anger roil within, yet you maintain a fragile equilibrium, aware that giving in now would only feed into their perception of you.

Burg's gruff voice rings through the air, a snarl underlining his words as he positions himself squarely in front of Din, his demeanor dripping with mockery, “So, this is a Mandalorian.” His eyes gleam with a taunting challenge as he moves around Din, his voice dripping with condescension, “I thought they'd be bigger.”

The Devaronian's disdainful circling doesn't go unnoticed, and the tension in the air grows palpable, the invisible threads of animosity weaving tighter around the group.

As Mayfeld's gesture draws your attention, your gaze shifts to the approaching Q9-0 droid, its awkward waddle reminiscent of an overgrown insect. “Droid's name is Zero,” Mayfeld announces matter-of-factly, his words carrying a casual tone that contrasts sharply with the mixed emotions swirling within you.

Turning your attention to Din, you catch the subtle shift in his posture, a minute tensing of his shoulders that belies his true feelings. You've come to know him well enough to discern his unease, and the presence of the droid clearly isn't sitting well with him. You silently make a mental note to broach the subject later, knowing that whatever history he has with droids is undoubtedly a complex one.

The atmosphere thickens with an undercurrent of resentment, an indignant fire kindling within you as Burg's mockery and Mayfeld's offhanded comments chip away at your patience. Beneath the calm facade, you're fighting to uphold, a storm brews, a visceral reaction against the selfishness and disrespect you witness. Your internal switch is flipped, your very core recoiling from the sight of someone deliberately attempting to provoke a good and faithful person like Din.

Din's voice cuts through the air with a sharp edge, his skepticism, "I thought you said you had four." His words hang for a moment, and right on cue, a female voice, smooth as silk and laced with a teasing edge, emerges from behind you two, "He does."

Both you and Din pivot around to face the source of the voice, your eyes landing on a charismatic purple-skinned Twi'lek. Her lithe movements exude confidence as she gracefully closes the distance between her and Din, her hips swaying in a rhythm that mirrors the sway of her lekku.

"Hello, Mando," she purrs, her tone oozing with familiarity.

Din’s response is curt, his words void of any semblance of warmth, "Xi’an."

The Twi'lek's demeanor shifts in a flash as she lunges, the knife she had been casually twirling in her fingers finding its place against Din's throat. Despite the sudden threat, Din remains unfazed, his visage a portrait of unyielding calm in the face of danger.

Beside him, you react instinctively, your fingers curling around the hilt of your saber, its reassuring weight grounding you. Dark thoughts whisper in the corners of your mind, urging you to react more aggressively, but you quell them with an effort. Your focus sharpens, your senses heightening as you prepare for any outcome.

With a venomous hiss, Xi'an's words slice through the air, her intent clear and unapologetic, "Tell me why I shouldn't cut you down where you stand?" The air becomes charged with tension, her blade a mere breath away from making contact.

Din's retort drips with dryness, his voice cutting through the laughter that ensues, the sarcasm a protective shield he wears, “Nice to see you, too.” Amidst the collective mirth, you and Din remain the exceptions, your guard firmly in place.

Xi’an's purring words snake through the air, a mix of familiarity and provocation, as her knife traces a path along the beskar armor adorning Din's frame. Her gaze narrows, evaluating him with a mixture of appraisal and something more. “This is shiny,” she remarks, her tone almost admiring. A soft, almost mischievous click of her tongue follows, "You wear it well."

While the others seem to find amusement in the reunion, your eyes roll almost involuntarily. The jealousy that simmers within you is undeniable, but you push it aside, focusing on the situation at hand. A flash of protective instinct courses through your veins as Xi’an's advances intensify.

Unwilling to stand by, you interpose yourself between Din and Xi’an, employing a shove to dislodge her presence. Your voice is firm, cutting through the tension, "Alright, back off."

Xi'an's eyes narrow further, her gaze now entirely fixated on you, as if sizing you up. Her lips curl into a wicked smile, and she utters words designed to sting, each syllable laced with a calculated venom, "Well, well, look at this... Mando's new pet. Guess he got tired of real warriors and settled for a stray." The derisive sneer in her voice is palpable, a cutting reminder of her history with Din, meant to hit you where it hurts the most.

You feel the urge to lunge forward, ready to let loose your own tirade, Din's arm wraps around your waist, pulling you closer to his solid frame. You could almost feel his warm breath ghost over your ear as he speaks softly, his voice a soothing balm, "Calm down, cyar'ika. She’s not worth it."

Mayfeld's bemused gaze oscillates between the three of you, his voice laced with humor as he suggests, “Do we need to leave the room or something?”

In response, Ran chimes in with a hint of sardonic nostalgia, revealing more about Xi’an's feelings, “Well, Xi'an's been a little heartbroken since Mando left our group.” Mayfeld takes the opportunity to mockingly address her, “Aw. You gonna be okay, sweetheart?”

Xi'an's smile takes on a flirtatious edge, her eyes locking onto Din's with an almost predatory allure. "Oh, I'm all business now," she purrs, her voice dripping with suggestion. "Learned from the best." Her deliberate fluttering of lashes at Din feels like a challenge to your patience.

A low growl rumbles in your throat, a guttural response to the surge of possessive anger and jealousy welling up within you. Your body tenses, ready to spring forward, but Din's arms wrap around your waist with a reassuring yet firm hold, anchoring you to his front. His presence is a calming force, a reminder that your emotions must be tempered, even in the face of such provocation.

Ran's authoritative voice cuts through the charged atmosphere, acting as a mediator between the tension that hung thick in the air. "All right, lovebirds. Break it up till you get on the ship," he commands, herding the rest of the group to move along. As Xi'an saunters away, her lingering wink at Din feels like a final provocation, a reminder of the emotions that had flared so intensely.

Your chest rises and falls with rapid breaths, the storm of emotions still swirling within you. Din's voice, calm and even, pierces through the turmoil. "You're usually not this violent," he remarks, his words acting as an anchor that grounds you in the present.

His statement triggers a moment of clarity, snapping you back to yourself. Blinking, you shake off the remnants of your reaction. Din's firm hold on your waist and his touch is a constant reassurance, grounding you further. Your voice wavers as you begin to speak, "Oh, I…"

Din guides you to face him, his hands on your hips inviting you to meet his gaze. Your gaze falls momentarily to his beskar chest plate, your cheeks flushing slightly with embarrassment. His gloved hands gently lift your chin, compelling you to look up at him through the vizor. Stammering, you try to explain, "I… I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me. I…"

His response is measured, his words carrying a depth of sincerity. "Don't apologize. I appreciated it," he admits, his admission causing a soft flutter within you. A pause follows Din, searching for the right words amidst the unspoken emotions. "No one has ever… defended me before. It… it felt nice."

The sincerity in your voice strikes a chord within him, and your words resonate in the charged air. Your eyes widen as you fully grasp the impact of your defense. "I didn't like what they were saying to you," you confess, your tone a blend of protectiveness and empathy that echoes through the space between you. "They were being mean, and you didn't—don't deserve that. Ever." Your honesty hangs in the air, tangible and raw, forging an unspoken bond between you that seems to deepen with every uttered word.

Din's helmeted gaze remains steady on you, his silent gratitude is evident. "This is the Way," he responds, a testament to the Mandalorian code governing his actions. You offer him a small smile, your affection and support unwavering. Gently, you cup the side of his helmet, your touch tender and laden with unspoken emotions. Din's gloved hand meets yours on his helmet, his fingers gently brushing against your wrist.

The weight of the upcoming mission and the necessity to keep up with Ran and the rest of the team tug at your consciousness as you slowly start to separate. Even though the moment may have ended, the words said to remain in the air as a tacit pledge of sympathy and support that will get you through the difficulties ahead.

The atmosphere grows tense as Mayfeld's holographic display illuminates the room, depicting the fortified transport ship. His voice is matter-of-fact as he lays out the plan, "So, the package is being moved on a fortified transport ship. We got a limited window to board, find our friend, get him out of there before they make their jump."

Your brows furrow in contemplation, a cascade of thoughts racing through your mind. Beside you, Din vocalizes the concern that had crossed your thoughts, addressing the rest of the group, "That's a New Republic prison ship. Your man wasn't taken by a rival syndicate. He was arrested."

With a smug grin, Mayfeld leans in over the table, his confidence undaunted, "So what?"

Burg's gruff grunt resonates with the sense of practicality that seems to underpin the group's operations. Ran's casual shrug further emphasizes the notion that business often transcends the nature of the task, as he remarks, "A job is a job."

Din's voice, laced with a tangible caution, interjects, "That's a max security transport, and we're not looking for that kind of heat." Yet Ran dismisses his apprehension with a casual wave, as if the potential risks were of no concern, countering, "Well, neither are we. So just don't mess up."

Xi'an's presence nears Din, her calculated steps revealing a self-assuredness that matches her words. Her sharp teeth gleam in the dim light as she inquires, her voice both playful and provoking, "The good news for you is the ship is manned by droids. Still hate the machines, Mando?"

The familiar hum of the Razor Crest's engines fills the hangar bay as the droid Zero returns from his systems check, his mechanical voice projecting a sense of detachment, "Despite recent modifications, the ship is still quite a mess. The power lines are leaking, the navigation is intermittent, and the hyperdrive is only operating at 67.3% efficiency. We have much better ships. Why are we using this one?"

Ran, seemingly unfazed by the droid's assessment, offers a response with a trace of confidence, "'Cause the Razor Crest is off the old Imperial and the New Republic grid. It's a ghost." Mayfeld chimes in, elaborating on the strategic choice, "Yeah, and we need a ship that can get close enough to jam New Republic code."

The hologram shifts under Mayfeld's command, revealing their plan for entry. He gestures towards the projection, explaining, "So, when we drop out of hyperspace here, if we immediately bank into this kind of attitude, we should be right in their blind spot, which will give us just enough time for your ship to scramble our signal."

Din, ever the pragmatist, voices his doubts, "It's not possible. Even for the Crest." Ran nods towards the droid, their solution to the challenge, "That's why he's flyin'."

Mayfeld's laughter resonates through the hangar as he heads inside the ship, leaving the group to prepare. Ran's attention shifts to Din, a knowing look in his eyes as he remarks, "Mando, I know you're a pretty good pilot, but we need you on the trigger. Not on the wheel."

Zero's articulated fingers snap, a gesture that coincides with its proclamation, "Don't worry, Mandalorian. My response time is quicker than organics. And I'm smarter, too."

Ran dismisses the droid with a shooing motion, a wry smile playing on his lips, "All right. I... Yeah. That's good." As Zero boards the Crest, Ran turns his gaze to both you and Din, his tone shifting slightly, "Forgive the programming. He's a little rough around the edges. But he is the best."

Din, ever cautious, questions the droid's reliability, "How can you trust it?"

Ran's response carries a touch of irony, "You know me, Mando. I don't trust anybody." As you and Din embark onto the ship, positioned by the ramp, ready to seal it, Ran's tone lightens, his words tinged with nostalgia, "Just like the good old days, Mando. Huh?"

With a decisive press of a button, Din activates the mechanism, causing the ship's ramp to ascend smoothly. The low hum of the ship's engines blends with a soft hiss as the Razor Crest gracefully disengages from the space station.

THE RAZOR CREST, 9ABY – SPACE

Both you and Din observe Zero, the droid, diligently operating the flight computer, his metallic fingers deftly navigating the hyperspace calculations. "Calculations complete. Jumping to hyperspace now. Feel free to join the others. I will handle it from here," Zero announces, his mechanical voice devoid of any emotion.

With limited options, you leave the flight deck, descending the ladder into the cargo hold, Din following suit. As you hop down, your eyes catch Burg prying open Din's gun cabinet. A glance at Din prompts him to react swiftly, a press of a button on his bracer causing the cabinet doors to snap shut, securing his weaponry.

Burg's displeasure is evident, and he attempts to engage the mechanism leading to the child's safe room. Din's hand clamps around Burg's wrist, a clear message that snooping around his possessions is not tolerated. Burg emits a low growl, his discomfort evident. Mayfeld intervenes, playing the role of a referee, his voice a soothing note amidst the tension. "Hey, hey, hey. Okay. Okay. Okay, I get it. I'm a little particular about my personal space, too. So, let's just do this job. We get in, we get out, and you don't have to see our faces anymore."

Burg's inquiry breaks the silence, “Someone tell me why we even need a Mandalorian,” his skepticism directed at Din's presence. You instinctively move closer to Din's side as Burg's gaze pierces. Mayfeld responds with a mixture of fact and myth, "Well, apparently they're the greatest warriors in the galaxy. So they say."

The snide remark follows, "Then why are they all dead?" Din remains unfazed by the jibe, his silence serving as a retort that speaks volumes. Laughter ensues amongst the group, but beneath your calm exterior, the tempest of your suppressed anger churns like waves against a shore.

Intrigued, Mayfeld presses on, his curiosity directed at Din's abilities, "Well, you flew with him, Xi'an. Is he as good as they say?"

Xi'an's smile is cunning as she balances a knife on her fingertip, her gaze locked onto Din. "Ask him about the job on Alzoc III."

Your attention swivels towards Din, his response anticipated. He keeps it succinct, "I did what I had to."

Xi'an's laughter carries a knowing edge as she playfully points her knife at Din, her eyes narrowing with a calculated intensity. "Oh, but you liked it. See, I know who you really are."

Your brows furrow, doubts creeping in as you ponder whether you truly knew the depths of Din's character. Fault lines tremble underneath your glass house, but you will yourself to push it down, trying your best not to let it show across your face.

"He never takes off the helmet?" Mayfeld questions, his curiosity apparent in his tone. Xi'an, in response, mockingly places a hand over her chest, her fist clenched in a mock salute as she echoes, "This is the Way."

The urge to grind your teeth is nearly overpowering, your jaw clenching as your eyes narrow at Xi'an's display.

"I wonder what you look like under there. Maybe he's a Gungan. Is that why yousa don't wanna show your face?" Mayfeld's taunt cuts through the air, a palpable jeer aimed at Din.

They all guffaw at that and by this point, the crew seems intent on testing your limits. Din remains adept at maintaining a façade of detachment, but for you, their provocations are as clear as day. Their mocking tones, their envy, and the swirl of colors in their auras – the varying shades of yellow, black, and red – are almost perceptible.

Mayfeld's inquiry hangs in the air like a challenge, laced with a touch of mockery. "You ever seen his face?" he questions Xi'an, his tone a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Xi'an's response is teasing and coy, as if she's savoring a well-kept secret. Her lips curl into a knowing smile as she softly gasps before her words come forth, "A lady never tells."

Mayfeld's smugness only grows, his eyes locking onto Din, determined to push his buttons. "Aw. Come on, Mando. We all gotta trust each other here," he goads, leaning into the provocation. "You gotta show us somethin'."

You and Din maintain your stoic stance, your collective resolve unyielding. Yet, Mayfeld remains relentless, his voice dripping with taunting insistence. "Come on. Just lift the helmet up. Come on. Let's all see your eyes."

A simmering fuse inside you, long-held but now ignited, transforms into a tempest of emotions. It's as if crashing waves of pitch black and pale blue swirl within your core, a tumultuous sea that surges and roars. The spark of this intense turmoil travels down the wire of your patience, each second counting down to the impending explosion of pent-up anger. The echo of this emotional turbulence reverberates through your being, akin to a widening equator, traversing a landscape of suppressed frustrations. The crescendo of dissonance builds, orchestrating your emotions into a fevered symphony, each note tuning itself with rapid intensity. In that charged moment, the threads of your self-control fray, and the brewing storm inside inches ever closer to release.

Burg goes up and positions himself in front of Din, saying, "I'll do it," clearly intending to remove Din's helmet.

As though a switch has been flipped, the storm within you roars to life. A torrent of dark thoughts, rage, and frustration surges to the surface. You're caught in a whirlwind of emotion, your surroundings narrowing into a tunnel vision. In this maelstrom, your actions become almost instinctual, driven by an overwhelming tide of intense feeling.

In the blink of an eye, you position yourself protectively in front of Din. Your arm extends in a swift and assertive motion, fingers flexed like the claws of a predator. Burg's imposing figure is abruptly brought down to his knees, a desperate struggle for breath filling the air. Your own breathing is labored, heavy with the rush of power coursing through you. The storm of emotions within has transformed into a tempest of action.

Mayfeld and Xi'an react swiftly, moving to intervene, but your focus remains unyielding. Your other arm extends, palm outstretched, fingers acting as a conduit for the Force. A powerful surge of energy emanates from you, forcefully pushing both Mayfeld and Xi'an back, slamming them against the opposite end of the cargo hold. Your control over the Force is unwavering, fueled by the potent mixture of emotions swirling within you.

However, amid this whirlwind of power and action, a crucial detail slips your notice. In his flailing struggle, Burg accidentally triggers a compartment to open, its contents exposed. Within that compartment lies the Child, vulnerable and exposed, an unintended consequence of the chaotic scene unfolding around you.

A shock of realization courses through you, widening your eyes as the gravity of the situation hits you like a physical blow. In that split second, your grip on Burg relinquishes its hold, and he staggers forward, struggling to regain his breath. Your rapid step back inadvertently leads you to collide with Din's solid beskar-clad chest. The sudden impact jars you, but it's the overwhelming surge of fear from within that renders you momentarily speechless.

The atmosphere in the cargo hold becomes almost suffocatingly dense, each heartbeat seemingly echoing in the quiet aftermath of your impulsive action. Swallowing hard, you wrestle with the knot of anxiety that's taken residence in your throat. From where you stand, you can see Mayfeld and Xi’an pulling themselves up from the floor, their attention now fixed on the exposed compartment.

With a mix of curiosity and disbelief, Mayfeld's voice breaks the silence, "Whoa! What is that? You get lonely up here, buddy? Huh?" His gaze shifts to you and Din, his words taking on a taunting edge, "Wait a minute. Did you two make that? Huh?"

A pointed raise of your eyebrows is your retort, your fury simmering just beneath the surface. Mayfeld's gaze meets yours, and his words drip with a mixture of sarcasm and insinuation, "A Mandalorian and a Jedi, who knew…"

Your nostrils flare as your teeth grind together, a flare of defiance emanating from you. You respond in a tone that holds both irritation and rejection, "I am no Jedi."

Mayfeld doesn't miss a beat, his taunting tone persisting, "What is it, like a pet or somethin'?"

Din's voice, soft but firm, emerges from behind you, "Yeah. Something like that."

Xi’an interjects, her words loaded with provocation, her gaze alternating between you and Din, "Didn't take you for the type. Maybe that code of yours has made you soft."

A mirthless chuckle escapes Mayfeld as he comments, his tone carrying a hint of indifference, "Me, I was never really into pets. Yeah, I didn't have the temperament. Patience, you know? I mean, I tried, but never worked out."

Your jaw remains clenched, your patience wearing thin as Mayfeld's words scrape at your nerves. And then, his words take an unsettling turn, his tone turning almost casual as he lifts the Child in his arms, "But I'm thinkin' maybe I'll try again with this little fella. Huh?"

The sight of him holding the Child triggers an instinctual protectiveness within you. Your voice is a low, warning growl, "Put a single scratch on him and I will make sure you beg for mercy." The intensity in your tone leaves no room for doubt – this is not an idle threat.

"Dropping out of hyperspace now."

The transition from hyperspace to real space is abrupt, the jolt reverberating through the Razor Crest as it emerges above the New Republic prison ship. The ship executes a sharp, evasive maneuver, causing its occupants to stagger; the Child, unfortunately, loses balance and falls, his tiny voice emitting a startled cry.

“Commencing final approach, now. Cloaking signal, now.”

Reacting swiftly, you and Din reach for the Child, his cries driving you into immediate action. With careful hands, Din gathers the child, comforting him as he places him back into his cot.

Through the intercom, Zero's voice resounds, "Engaging coupling now. Coupling confirmed. We are down. And relax. Commence extraction now."

As the ship gently rests on the prison ship's hull, Din's presence seems to work like magic on the Child. His soothing coos become a balm for the little one's nerves, casting a brief moment of serenity amidst the intensity of the operation.

“Useless droid didn't even give us a proper countdown,” Xi’an hisses in annoyance, her frustration palpable in the tense air. Meanwhile, Burg unceremoniously discards the boxes containing their equipment, his actions reflecting his impatience.

“Z, are you sure they can't see us?” Mayfeld queries, holding a comlink in his hand, his tone edged with caution. Zero's mechanical voice responds, “The Razor Crest is scrambling our signature, and I am navigating within the prison system. It's remarkable that this gunship managed to evade Empire capture.”

With a sense of purpose, Mayfeld asserts, “All right, we've got a job to do. Mando, you're up.” In response, Din promptly moves to open a hatch beneath the Razor Crest, creating an entry point into the New Republic prison ship.

A moment of hesitation lingers as the crew stands on the precipice of action. Mayfeld's uncertainty is vocalized as he scans the group, questioning, “It's me?” His inquiry is met with Burg's laconic response, “Always you.”

Mayfeld takes the lead, descending into the shadows of the New Republic prison ship, deftly avoiding the watchful gaze of several R1 Security Droids. With cautious steps, Xi’an and Burg follow suit, as they navigate through the unfamiliar terrain. In the quiet that ensues, you and Din remain on the Razor Crest's threshold, the weight of your shared decision hanging in the air. A subtle shake of your head signals your reluctance, yet you can sense Din's gaze on you, a silent encouragement. His eyes shift from you to the door concealing the Child, and you exhale slowly, striving to regain your composure. Steeling yourself, you follow Din's lead, your footfalls echoing as you make your descent from the ship's ladder, the echoes of your internal turmoil blending with the gravity of the mission at hand.

NEW REPUBLIC CORRECTIONAL TRANSPORT, 9ABY – SPACE

The urgency in the air is palpable as Mayfeld briefs the group, a sense of impending danger hanging over the mission. "All right, we're on the clock. When we engage those droids, they're gonna be all over us," Mayfeld's words hold a weight of caution. Din's response is curt and straightforward, his voice a monotone that resonates with experience, "I know the drill."

Amid the tension, the intercom crackles to life, and Zero's mechanical voice chimes in through Mayfeld's comlink, his words reverberating with calculated precision, "Bio trackers activated. I've got eyes."

Mayfeld's nod is an unspoken acknowledgment of the information as he addresses the team, with a sense of determination in his demeanor. "All right, let's go."

Navigating the ship's brightly lit corridors, blasters are held at the ready by the crew, and your fingers find the familiar grip of your lightsaber hilt. The tense atmosphere is punctuated by the presence of various humanoid and alien prisoners, their watchful eyes trailing the group as they pass. Among them, a few Imperial officers cast lingering glances, their scrutiny prompting a quiet mutter from Din, "I don't like this." The collective unease amplifies the gravity of the mission, each step forward a reminder of the risks involved.

Xi’an's laughter is a brief, sharp sound that cuts through the tense ambiance, her voice dripping with familiarity as she teases, "You always were paranoid."

Mayfeld seizes the opportunity to playfully prod further, his voice laced with a smug undertone as he seeks confirmation, "Is that true, Mando? Were you always paranoid?"

You let out an audible sigh that sounds both frustrated and impatient. You respond to the banter with a noticeable expression of irritation as your eyes roll. The gravity of the circumstance appears to heighten your annoyance as you respond, "Were you born stupid or did you take lessons?”

A sudden growl from an alien prisoner sends a jolt through the group, causing Mayfeld to practically leap in surprise. Xi’an responds with a hiss that sounds almost maniacal, her readiness for confrontation evident. Amidst the tension, Zero's voice breaks through the commotion, guiding the crew: “Approaching control room. Make a left at the next juncture.”

Following the instructions, you round the corner and continue to move with the group. Just as you do, an MSE-6 series repair droid scurries into view. Burg's reaction is almost comically misaligned with the situation as he grunts and coos, “What? It's just a little mousey. Come here, little mousey.”

Mayfeld, seemingly trying to prevent further chaos, calls after Burg, but it's too late – Burg takes a shot, hitting the droid. The clashing reactions within the group only add to the chaotic atmosphere, and you can't help but rub your temple in frustration.

And as if on cue, the unexpected appearance of four N5 sentry droids turns the situation from bad to worse. The droids immediately detect the intrusion, their metallic voices chiming, “Intruder alert. Open fire.” Seeking cover, you all scatter, taking refuge behind the edges of the corridor as blaster fire erupts around you.

“We're too exposed here,” Xi’an warns urgently, her words strained amidst the chaotic onslaught of blaster fire. Mayfeld's response is grimly practical, highlighting the stakes: “If they get a signal out, it's not gonna matter.”

“Mando, let's go! You're supposed to be somethin' special,” Mayfeld shouts, the desperation in his voice evident. With all eyes turning to where Din had been, it's undeniable – he's disappeared. Xi’an's frustration grows into a low, threatening growl while Mayfeld's accusation echoes, “I knew it. I knew it!”

Just as doubt attempts to creep in, a sight catches your eye – a flash of beskar armor and the glint of a helmet in the fray. Relief courses through you as Din re-emerges, his appearance timed perfectly with an ambush. The Mandalorian strikes from behind, moving with calculated efficiency.

The first droid falls as Din deftly slices its foot with a vibro-knife, sending it crashing to the ground. A precise shot takes down another droid, demonstrating his unmatched marksmanship. Amidst the chaos, one of the droids manages to grab Din, hurling him against a cell door. The ensuing brawl is visceral, a testament to Din's unyielding determination. Blow after blow, he fights to break free from the droid's grasp.

In a daring move, the Mandalorian employs his whipcord, toppling yet another droid with its swift precision. Unwavering, he rips off the droid's head, further thinning their opposition. Din's resourcefulness shines as he employs his flamethrower, searing the circuits of one droid before executing a pinpoint shot to the head of the fourth.

However, the conflict is far from ending. You approach the conflict beside Din, a force to be reckoned with, as you intuitively ignite your purple lightsaber, a vibrant arc of energy. Together, you navigate the frantic dance of droid advances and blaster fire. You attack the mechanical foes one by one with careful, calculated blows that dance between light and darkness.

Din steps in at just the right time, his blaster rounds precisely timed to shut off the security droid's targeting sensors as it rushes for you. The threat posed by the robot is removed when it falls. The two of you continue your onslaught as the momentum of the fight shifts in your favor. Your perfect synchronization of fighting skill plows through the remaining foes.

Amidst the chaos of battle, Mayfeld and his companions become mere spectators as the prisoners roar in exultation, their jubilant cries blending into a cacophony of alien languages. The fallen droids bear testament to your combined might, the remnants of the skirmish a testament to your prowess.

As the adrenaline-laden air gradually subsides, your attention shifts, your gaze drawn like a magnet to Din. The aftermath casts a warm, reddish hue over the scene, and his form is etched in the ambience, beskar-clad and formidable. His chest rises and falls with each deliberate breath, the gentle rhythm of his respiration a contrast to the chaos that surrounded you moments ago. Your heart flutters at the sight, your breath quickening in response.

His figure exudes a primal magnetism, a silent declaration of power and control. The beskar plates that encase him rise and fall with his breathing, sculpting his form in an almost mesmerizing cadence. Through the visor of his helmet, your gaze meets his, an unseen connection forged in that charged moment. The emotions roiling beneath your surface rise to the fore, amplified by the intensity of the battle and the closeness of your partnership.

Within the confines of your heart, a tempestuous fire rages, drawn to his enigmatic energy like a moth to a flame. His presence is a captivating constellation, a map of stars that navigates your thoughts. In his being, you've unearthed a revelation – a revelation that he's as boundless and beguiling as the universe itself, a force that holds you captive in its gravitational pull.

As the echoes of combat fade and the prisoners' cheers meld with the gentle hum of the ship, you remain rooted in the moment. Your feelings swell, words unspoken but deeply felt, an electric current that courses between you and Din. The universe has painted this canvas of fate, intertwining your paths in ways that defy explanation.

Mayfeld's voice breaks the momentary spell, “Make sure you clean up your mess,” pulling you from the intense gaze you had shared with Din. As the group begins to move away, you find yourself still standing amidst the resonances of the fight, the rush of adrenaline leaving your chest heaving with each breath. The aftermath is a lingering unseen tapestry made of energetic and emotional strands.

Din's steps bring him closer, his presence a steadying anchor in the whirlwind of sensations. He draws near, his concern evident in the subtle tension that marks his movements. His gaze meets yours, and you're acutely aware of the dilation of your pupils, a visual echo of the internal tempest that rages within you.

With your pupils dark and dilated, your eyes seem to mirror the vast expanse of space, the depths of your emotions laid bare for him to see. Your mouth is slightly ajar, the remnants of the heightened moment leaving you momentarily suspended, needing to tilt your head slightly upward to fully meet his gaze. In this charged instant, the universe narrows down to the connection between your eyes, a silent exchange that communicates volumes without the need for words.

In that suspended moment, the silence speaks volumes, a symphony of unspoken sentiments. Your heartbeats seem to synchronize, a rhythm that matches the ebb and flow of the tide in your chest. Time dances on the precipice of this interaction, and you find yourself caught within its gravity, unable and unwilling to break free.

The universe has momentarily stilled, a canvas painted with the interplay of gazes and emotions. It's a connection that transcends the physical, forging a link that words could scarcely encompass. As you stand there, the universe around you continues its dance, but within this bubble of time, you and Din share an unspoken language that's uniquely yours.

His touch is electric, a spark that ignites a cascade of sensations within you. As his gloved hand brushes against yours, a shiver courses through your frame, a response as instinctual as the pull of celestial bodies. It's as if the very universe has conspired to send a myriad of shooting stars dancing across your skin, leaving a trail of tingling warmth in their wake.

His touch lingers, a slow and deliberate movement that traces the contours of your arm, following an invisible path etched by fate itself. The weight of his touch is both grounding and intoxicating, a tangible connection that bridges the gap between you. His hand ascends with a tantalizing slowness, ascending from your hand to your forearm, and then to your elbow.

A soft hum resonates from within him, a sound that vibrates through the air and settles within the depths of your being. Its resonance is both soothing and electrifying, a sensation that seems to harmonize with the very pulse of your existence. The world around you blurs, your senses zeroing in on the symphony of his touch and the melody of his voice.

You close your eyes, surrendering to the moment, letting the cascade of emotions and sensations wash over you. The darkness behind your closed eyelids becomes a canvas upon which you paint the memory of his touch, each stroke a testament to the intensity of this connection. It's a stolen moment amidst the chaos, a fragment of time where the universe seems to pause and let you bask in the radiance of his presence.

In this suspended state, you're adrift in a sea of feelings, carried along by the tide of emotions that his touch evokes. It's an experience that transcends the physical, a communion of souls that defies words.

Din hums again, his voice husky as he speaks lowly to you, a timbre that sends vibrations down your spine, “Hm… is there something you wanna tell me, cyar'ika?”

Your eyes flutter open as you peer at him through the veil of your eyelashes, caught in a gaze that holds more unspoken promises than words ever could. “You’re not playing fair, Din,” you murmur, your voice a mixture of exasperation and desire.

He doesn’t offer words in reply, his actions speaking louder. His gloved hand travels down your arm once more, a touch that both ignites and soothes. Then, in a move that sends your heart racing, he intertwines his fingers with yours, the contact a firm yet gentle connection that bridges the gap between you two. His words are a magnetic pull, drawing you from the depths of your thoughts, “Let’s get this over with, and then we can talk more about this later, cyar’ika.”

With a wordless nod, he begins to lead you, his grasp on your hand guiding you through the corridors. Each step feels ethereal, as if you're treading on clouds, suspended between the moment you've shared and the mission that still awaits. As you walk together, hand-in-hand, the world around you seems to blur, your senses attuned solely to the warmth of his hand in yours, the echo of his voice in your mind, and the unspoken promise of what's to come.

The rest of the crew comes into view, their chatter and presence fading into the background as your focus remains firmly on the Mandalorian at your side. The job ahead beckons, a task that demands your attention, but for now, the connection between you and Din is a current that flows with an irresistible intensity, a silent understanding that no words could ever encompass.

“It seems your presence has been detected. Redirecting security alert away from your position,” Zero's voice chimes in once more, its mechanical tone cutting through the tension in the air. Mayfeld's impatience is palpable as he snaps at the droid, “Z, open the door!”

A brief pause follows, the artificial intelligence seemingly hesitant. “But I'm detecting an organic signature,” Zero interjects, its tone conveying its concern over the potential danger.

Mayfeld, driven by the urgency of the situation, dismisses the warning without a second thought, frustration lacing his response, “Yeah, okay. All right. Just open the door!”

A New Republic officer, his uniform a stark blue against the metallic surroundings, appears before your group, blaster raised and hands slightly trembling. His voice wavers as he commands, “Stop! Just stop right there.”

His breaths come quick and uneven, a clear sign of his nervousness and uncertainty. With a palpable tension in the air, he addresses your group, his voice a mix of caution and apprehension, “You put down the blasters right now.” You take a discreet step, instinctively concealing the hilt of your lightsaber, not wanting to inadvertently escalate the situation or draw undue attention to your own abilities as a Force-sensitive individual.

Mayfeld's mocking words pierce the tense air, his demeanor almost nonchalant as he circles the New Republic officer. His dry comment about the officer's shoes and belt creates an odd moment of levity, juxtaposed against the serious circumstances.

Din's voice cuts through, an edge of sternness lacing his words, “There were only supposed to be droids on this ship.” But Mayfeld seems to disregard the Mandalorian's concern, his focus firmly on the controls he's inspecting.

Amidst this backdrop of escalating tension, Mayfeld's voice takes on a hint of urgency as he narrows his attention to a specific cell, “Hang on, hang on. Let's see here. Uh… Cell two-two-one.”

However, his attention quickly shifts, and he assesses the officer with a touch of sarcasm, “All right, now for our well-dressed friend.” The officer's swift reaction, pulling out a tracking beacon, is met with a surge of panic from Mayfeld, his words a rapid stream of protest, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. Hey, hey. Easy. Easy, egghead. Put that down. Put that down. Come on.”

In an effort to regain control and stop the situation from getting out of hand, Din speaks in an authoritative, calm voice, interjecting, "Easy," to both the officer and Mayfeld.

Mayfeld, however, is unrelenting, his anxiety palpable, “Put it down now!” Din steps in again, his voice a steadying presence, “Easy. Nobody has to get hurt here. Just calm down.” The gravity of the moment hangs heavy, the outcome teetering on a knife's edge.

Burg's puzzled voice slices through the charged atmosphere, his uncertainty hanging in the air like a question mark, "What is that thing?"

You, the embodiment of composure, provide a straightforward answer, "It’s a tracking beacon."

Mayfeld's voice leaps in, urgency punctuating his words, “He presses that thing, we're all done. A New Republic attack team will hone in on that signal and blow us all to hell. Put it down!”

Xi’an’s frustration finds voice, her tone laced with incredulity, "Are you serious?" Mayfeld’s response is swift and resolute, "Yes, I'm serious."

Annoyance ripples through Xi’an’s voice, her accusation landing with weight, "You didn't think we needed to know that tiny little detail?"

Mayfeld's voice carries a mixture of frustration and agitation, "I didn't think we'd get to this point." A tinge of disdain colors Xi’an's response, her retort dripping with irony, "Yet here we are."

The tension between them is palpable, the air heavy with unsaid words. Mayfeld's frustration escalates, his voice a crescendo, "Are you questioning my managerial style, Xi'an?" Her response is nothing short of mocking, a low chuckle escaping her lips, "No, sir."

Din’s voice emerges as a soothing beacon, an anchor in the storm, "Hey. Listen to me. Hey, hey, hey. Listen to me, okay? Look." His blaster disappears into its holster, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender. Following his lead, you lift your hands too, a visual assurance to the officer that harm isn't your intention.

With a determined glance, you address Mayfeld, your tone firm and unyielding, “Hey. Put it down.”

His frown deepens, his voice more intense, “Are you crazy?”

Undeterred, you echo your words, your gaze shifting to the trembling officer clutching the beacon, “Put it down. What's your name?” The question hovers in the air, a sliver of humanity in the middle of the mayhem.

He stutters before replying, “It's Davan.”

You nod, your expression gentle as you offer your own name and introduce yourself. Turning back to him, your tone remains steady and reassuring, “Davan. We're not here for you. We're here for a prisoner. If you let us go about our job, you can walk away with your life.”

“No, he won't,” Mayfeld says, his blaster aimed unwaveringly at Davan. The tense standoff escalates as Din swiftly raises his own blaster, its cold muzzle locked onto Mayfeld, his tone firm, “Hey. You realize what you're gonna bring down on us?”

“You think I care about that?” Mayfeld's voice drips with defiance, his finger tense against the blaster's trigger. But Din remains unyielding, his grip unwavering, “We're not killing anybody. You understand?”

“Get that blaster out of my face, Mando,” Mayfeld's command is laced with an edge of desperation, his eyes narrowing at Din's unwavering stance.

Din’s helmeted head shakes almost imperceptibly, his voice like stone, “I can't do that.”

“Get that blaster out of my face, Mando!” Mayfeld's demand escalates into a furious yell, and Burg, feeling the tension surge, raises his own blaster at Din, the atmosphere crackling with impending violence. But Din anticipates the move, the flamethrower bracer extending with a threatening hiss, a wordless warning to back down.

As tensions teetered on the brink of eruption, Xi'an's blade swiftly put an end to the escalating confrontation, ending Davan's role in a fatal strike. The aftermath of her swift and ruthless action hung in the air like a heavy shroud, a stark reminder of the unforgiving tightrope they tread. Your gaze shifts to Din, his stance unchanged but the tension in the room evidently affecting him, his demeanor slightly unsettled by the abrupt turn of events.

In the middle of the mounting tension, Xi'an's command pierces the charged air and ends the argument she was having with Mayfeld. She takes the knife back from Davan's lifeless body with a nonchalant attitude while Mayfeld tries to defend his actions with the words, "Crazy Twi. I had it under control."

Xi'an's laughter is a subtle ripple of amusement that contrasts with the gravity of the situation, her dry humor punctuating the room, "Yeah. Looked like it."

The rhythmic beeping of the tracking device punctuates the room, its red glow pulsating in time with its urgent signals. Mayfeld's voice strains with panic, his words coming out in a rush, "Was that thing blinking before? Was it?"

A droid's voice resonates from the comlink, breaking through the tension, "Zero to Mayfeld. Zero to Mayfeld."

Mayfeld responds urgently, "What?"

Zero's metallic tone delivers the unsettling news, "I've detected a New Republic distress signal homing in on your location. You have approximately 20 minutes."

“We only need five.” Xi’an says happily before running down the corridor while Mayfeld commands all of you, “Let's go, let's go. Move, move, move!”

On the way, you run into a black hover security droid, but Burg hurls the droid to the floor with brute force, knocking it out. A second hover security droid appears, but Burg hurls the fallen first droid at it, knocking it out. The two droids explode into flames.

As the countdown to the impending threat ticks away, your group arrives at the prison cell. Mayfeld's command to Zero is sharp and impatient, "Z, open it up."

The droid responds crisply, "You have 15 minutes remaining."

Mayfeld's urgency heightens, a hint of desperation edging into his voice, "Come on, come on. Open it up!"

With a mechanical whir, the doors of the cell part, revealing the prisoner held within – a Twi'lek male mercenary named Qin. Din's gaze locks onto Qin's form, recognition flashing across his features. The air is heavy with unspoken history as their eyes meet.

Qin's tone is edged with wry humor, a barb aimed at Din, "Funny, the man who left me behind is now my savior. Mando."

The tension in the room tightens like a coiled spring, and just as you're trying to process the weight of the situation, Burg's aggression erupts. With a savage growl, he lunges at Din, striking him with brutal force and sending him crashing into the cell.

As the tense situation spirals into chaos, a sharp, searing sensation jolts through your body. You gasp, a high-pitched sound escaping your lips as the effects of a drug take hold. Panic surges within you, turning your limbs into leaden weights, and your surroundings seem to blur.

Your cries pierce the air as your body convulses, and in the midst of your agony, you become aware of strong arms wrapping around you. Qin's figure comes into focus, his grip firm as he lifts you effortlessly over his shoulder. The world spins as your pleas for help ring out, your voice a raw symphony of fear, "Mando! Help me!"

In the shadows cast by the unfolding turmoil, Din's form stands frozen, his eyes wide with disbelief and shock. Anguish courses through his veins, a torrent of emotions he struggles to contain. The scene before him is a nightmarish tableau, your distress etched into every fiber of his being. The tendrils of rage snake through his consciousness, coiling tighter and tighter, a tempest of anger like none he has ever felt.

As you're carried away, your voice echoing in his ears, Din's gloved fists clench, his entire body vibrating with an unquenchable fury. It's a wrath that burns brighter than the hottest star, an all-consuming fire that threatens to consume him. Every ounce of his being demands retribution, and at that moment, the Mandalorian's resolve becomes ironclad. He will unleash a storm that no one could have foreseen.

Din's gaze narrows as he peers through the small windows of his cell, his thoughts aligning swiftly with his actions. With a deft and calculated move, he deploys his grappling cable, ensnaring a humanoid New Republic security droid that strides past his confinement. The droid fights against the cable's hold, discharging blaster bolts that splinter the air and illuminate the cell's interior. The sound of metal meeting energy punctuates the struggle, an echo of determination resonating in every ricocheting blast.

Skill and unwavering purpose guide Din's hands as he manages to subdue the droid's counteroffensive, creating a brief respite from the storm of blaster fire. Amidst the lingering wisps of dissipating energy, he retrieves a severed arm from the droid, repurposing it into a tool of liberation. The cell's lock yields under his meticulous manipulation, granting him freedom.

Returning to the control room, Din surveys the array of screens and the intricate console before him. His strategic mind takes hold, weaving plans with precision born from countless battles and encounters. The rhythmic hum of technology intermingles with the rhythmic beat of his heart as he molds his thoughts into a cohesive strategy.

A symphony of calculated keystrokes and deft button presses follows as Din's fingers dance across the control panel. With deliberate intention, he commands the locking mechanism, sealing blast doors that partition the room. This division becomes a strategic maneuver, creating a barrier that cleaves Mayfeld and Qin from Burg and Xi'an, a tactical separation that enhances their chances for success.

Through the surveillance cameras, the Mandalorian's gaze remains fixed on Xi'an and Burg, their actions playing out like a holographic performance. His mind churns with calculated purpose, the cogs of ingenuity whirring as an idea takes shape. His hand descends to the floor, fingers curling around the tracking beacon. A glint of determination glimmers within his visor, setting his plan into motion.

Time passes in measured increments, each second marked by the thud of his heart. The silence of the control room envelops him, a stark contrast to the tumult that brews outside its confines. Then, like a predator sensing its prey, he perceives the Devaronian's approach. As Burg's form materializes in the entrance, the Mandalorian springs into action, his movements as fluid as the currents of a hidden river.

With a seamless fluidity, the Mandalorian ensnares Burg with his grappling cable, a vice-like grip that tightens around the Devaronian's throat. Gravity becomes his ally as he employs the cable to pull Burg upwards, an ambush executed with unyielding precision. Their confrontation transitions into an intimate dance of hand-to-hand combat, each moves a reflection of their honed skills.

Fire meets resilience as the Mandalorian deploys his flamethrower, its fierce tongues licking at Burg's form. Yet, the Devaronian presses on, seemingly unfazed by the inferno. The control room becomes an arena, an arena where every punch and parry is a symphony of strength and strategy. A console becomes a weapon, hurled by Burg with the ferocity of a beast asserting dominance.

In the distance, Xi'an's sharp ears catch the rumblings of the altercation, a discordant melody that sparks concern. Her steps hasten, her movements propelled by a mixture of curiosity and anxiety.

The steadfast commitment of the Mandalorian is evident in every deed. He extends his purpose by aiming a knife toward the blast door controls. His throw triggers a series of mechanisms, setting up a battle of might vs metal. Blast doors that are dropping vertically seem to be trying to stop him, but he fights back, his muscles aching from the effort.

But as fate's tides change, so does his plan of attack. Burg is basically rendered unconscious and imprisoned within a metal cage when a second set of blast doors that close horizontally swings into operation. The physical conflict ends, but the clash's echoes remain. The fact that the control room is still a battleground is evidence of the Mandalorian's fortitude and unwavering persistence that propels him ahead.

Amidst the ebb and flow of dreams, a sinister undercurrent tugs at the edges of your consciousness. The passage of time eludes you, a disorienting blend of moments that slip through your grasp like elusive shadows. The landscape morphs, nightcrawlers emerging and vanishing, a surreal dance of existence.

Shadows undulate like ethereal specters, their contours contorting with each blink of your mind's eye. A somber darkness descends, ensnaring your senses in its enigmatic grip. The allure of the unknown beckons, a velvety whisper that stirs long-dormant desires within the labyrinth of your thoughts.

In this realm of shifting illusions, the boundaries between reality and fantasy dissolve, and the threads of your fears weave a tapestry of surreal proportions. You tread through landscapes of ambiguity, each step fraught with trepidation. Whispers reverberate in your consciousness, playful and taunting, coaxing you deeper into the uncharted depths.

As you find yourself in this dreamscape, confusion reigns, a haze of uncertainty clouding your mind. The chronology of events eludes you, lost in a landscape of quiet desolation. The world around you is still, a void that seems to stretch to infinity. At its heart lies a serpentine river, its waters flowing inexorably toward a gaping abyss.

Your voice trembles as you call out, a plea for connection in the silent expanse, "Hello? Is anyone there?"

Approaching the river's edge, you seek your reflection, only for it to warp into a visage that reflects your deepest fears. Red eyes glint beneath a dark hood, a malevolent red lightsaber casting an ominous glow. Fear grips your heart, and with a splash, you desperately scatter the reflection, ripples distorting the ominous image.

Abruptly, the river's current shifts, and the unseen ground beneath you gives way. The world dissolves into a vast expanse of water, a towering wave looming over you like an executioner's blade. The sensation of drowning overwhelms you, your struggles to break free becoming a desperate symphony of survival. The threads of time slip and warp, as if reality itself is fraying at the edges.

Beneath the shimmering moonlight filtering through the water's surface, you fight to ascend, each stroke a battle against the suffocating weight of the wave. Yet, in the depths of your subconscious, the allure of surrender tempts you, the pull of the abyss becoming strangely tempting, a surrender to the consuming waters that promise oblivion.

You shut your eyes tightly, swimming and kicking, one hand outstretched just to feel the break of the surface and then you do, opening your eyes you are gasping and gulping for air. Before you know it you see an island nearby and you swim towards it. You crawl onto shore, coughing and wheezing before laying on the sand and on your back. Smoke puffs are white and piling. Silently detonating emotions as you feel your chest rise and fall rapidly, huffing.

You feel like you’re dying in the dark, and it's written there in the stars. You're understood by so little and loved only from afar. Always going when the going gets too tough. You briefly close your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat, letting yourself embrace the silence.

A gentle tap on your forehead rouses you from the depths of your dreams, a sensation akin to the soft prod of a wooden stick. Slowly, your eyes flutter open, and to your astonishment, Master Yoda stands before you. Disbelief mingles with surprise in your expression as you gaze up at the wise old Jedi.

Yoda's ancient features bear a quizzical expression as he regards you. His head tilts slightly to the right, a gesture that has always held a mixture of curiosity and assessment. With his characteristic syntax, he speaks, his voice a blend of wisdom and whimsy, “Hrm… curious are you.”

Startled, you jerk up from the sandy ground, your senses slowly reconciling with the unexpected presence of the legendary Jedi Master. As you rise, your eyes meet Yoda's gaze, an amused glint in his eyes that speaks of an understanding beyond mere words. Words spill out of your mouth in a rush, a mixture of astonishment and uncertainty, “Am I… Am I dead?”

A chuckle, soft and reminiscent of ages past, escapes Yoda's lips. He shakes his head, his ears twitching as he replies, “No, not you are. Yes, hrrrm.”

The confusion lingers, and you're compelled to seek clarity amidst the surreal encounter. Your voice trembles with uncertainty, seeking answers from the source of wisdom before you, “Then… what…?”

Yoda's gaze remains steady, his eyes penetrating to your core as he speaks with the weight of his insight, “Become powerful you have, the dark side in you I sense.”

The realization dawns upon you like the breaking of a new day, the truth you've long wrestled with now laid bare before the venerable Master. Your response is a simple and contemplative, “Oh.”

With a beckoning gesture of his hand, Yoda invites you to accompany him. “Come, a walk with me take,” he says in his enigmatic manner, and without hesitation, you comply. Following in the footsteps of the Jedi sage, you walk along the shoreline of the mysterious island, the whispers of the sea and the wisdom of a centuries-old being intertwining in a dance of insight and revelation.

In a swift and fluid motion, Xi'an pivots, her lithe form a dance of danger as she flicks a knife towards Din. The blade streaks through the air, a glint of deadly intent, and strikes true. With an unexpected clang, Din's blaster clatters to the ground, disarmed by the precision of her throw. The Twi'lek's hiss echoes in the charged air, a prelude to the battle that ensues.

Xi'an becomes a whirlwind of motion, her movements a symphony of lethal grace. Knives fly from her grasp in rapid succession, a storm of shimmering steel. Yet, Din is no stranger to combat, and his beskar bracers become his shield against the oncoming storm. The blades deflect with metallic resonance, each clang a testament to his prowess and preparedness.

Their clash is a dance of contrasts, Xi'an's agility matched by Din's stoic determination. Knives seek their mark, the air humming with tension as they narrowly miss their target. Din counters, each parry a testament to his unyielding focus. The choreography is a testament to their honed skills, the blades a dangerous dialogue in the silence of their struggle.

Din's commitment is unwavering despite the ferocious attack from Xi'an. He seizes the opportunity when it arises as it is a small window of opportunity. He closes the distance between them with measured movements that are accompanied by a controlled energy burst. He quickly and precisely grabs her wrists in a vice-like hold that renders her motionless.

As the clash of blades subsides, Xi'an's knife finds itself seized by Din's unyielding grip, its cold edge pressing against her throat. Her defiance is met with the unrelenting strength of the Mandalorian, his beskar-clad form an immovable force. The dance of conflict transforms into a tableau frozen in time, their positions a silent testament to the power struggle that has transpired.

In the dimly lit corridor, Mayfeld's wary footsteps echo, his senses heightened by the uncertainty that surrounds them. The lights flicker, casting an eerie dance of shadows on the walls, the alternating hues of red and white adding to the disorienting atmosphere. As he approaches a blast door, his gaze narrows, catching a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision.

A small mouse droid skitters past, its mechanical chatter echoing in the silence. It's an unexpected presence in this tense environment, and it's enough to startle even the steadiest of hearts. Mayfeld's muscles tense, his fingers gripping his blaster as he warily scans his surroundings.

Amidst the dissonance of flickering lights and the droid's scuttling, a presence emerges behind him. The Mandalorian, a silent predator, moves with the grace of a shadow. His beskar-clad form blends seamlessly with the darkened backdrop, his steps nearly soundless against the metallic floor.

Before Mayfeld can react, a hand clamps over his mouth, stifling any potential outcry. His blaster is deftly plucked from his grasp, leaving him unarmed and vulnerable. In this heartbeat, the Mandalorian's strategy unfolds with precision. The surprise ambush leaves Mayfeld incapacitated, his options dwindling in the face of an opponent who has mastered the art of stealth.

The corridor's interplay of light and shadow mirrors the tension between the two figures — one caught off-guard, the other poised to strike. As the Mandalorian's grip tightens, the echo of Mayfeld's startled gasp remains unheard, a secret shared only by those immersed in this clandestine struggle.

The enigmatic island shoreline stretches ahead, the waves rhythmically kissing the sand as you walk alongside the wise presence of Master Yoda. The air is heavy with the scent of salt and the mysteries that hang in the atmosphere. It's a tranquil scene, the serenity of the surroundings belying the inner turmoil that has led you to this point.

Amidst this picturesque backdrop, Yoda's words cut through the silence like a whisper carried by the wind. His voice, both ancient and gentle, resonates with a depth of perception that goes beyond the visible world. His ears twitch slightly, attuned to the emotions that ripple through the Force.

"Great fear in you I sense," Yoda utters, his ancient voice carrying the weight of his centuries of wisdom. His eyes, though small, seem to pierce through the façade you've put up, delving deep into the recesses of your soul.

With the wise sage's words, your steps seem to falter, the very ground beneath you shifting slightly. It's as if Yoda's insight has illuminated the corners of your mind that you've been keeping in shadows. Vulnerability washes over you, like a curtain being drawn back to reveal the raw emotions you've been grappling with.

Time slows as you halt, the world around you a blur while Yoda's presence remains vivid and unwavering. His gaze feels like a spotlight, exposing the layers of your being that you've been reluctant to confront. You collect your thoughts, your voice trembling slightly as you attempt to put words to the tumultuous thoughts swirling within.

“I don’t want to end up alone again,” you admit, the confession hanging in the air like a fragile thread. The weight of your uncertainties and self-doubt colors your words, making them more potent and raw.

“The destiny on the road you take to avoid it, one often meets,” Yoda's reply comes like a gentle breeze, laden with the wisdom of countless experiences and lifetimes. His speech, though cryptic in its ways, carries a profound message that resonates with the core of your being.

"Rejection and failure is one of the greatest lessons," he imparts, his tone measured and deliberate. “In the end, you become whoever would have saved you at that moment when no one did,”

His words hang in the air, each syllable carrying a depth of meaning that you find yourself unraveling, piece by piece. In the presence of this venerable Jedi, amidst the backdrop of the serene shoreline, you begin to grasp that your fears and struggles are not unique to you alone. Yoda's guidance offers a glimmer of understanding and the promise of growth, even in the face of your deepest fears.

“Qin,” Din's voice is a low growl, his tone laced with a blend of caution and tension. Recognition stirs in his gaze as he fixes his eyes on the male Twi’lek who carries you over his shoulders. His arms remain at his sides, beskar armor gleaming in the ambient light, but the muscles beneath it are tense, poised for action.

The ladder that leads back to the Razor Crest looms before them, a path that could take Qin away with you. The sight of your limp form draped over his shoulders tugs at Din's heartstrings like a merciless tug of war. His gloved hands clench, the anger he feels simmering beneath his calm exterior.

Din's emotions are a tornado in the midst of this stressful scene, a swirling combination of worry and rage. He is caught between his responsibility to get you back to safety and his burning desire to hold Qin accountable for daring to touch you. He is torn between the competing flames of his Mandalorian creed and his own deeply entrenched feeling of duty to ensure your safety.

“You killed the others,” Qin's accusation hangs in the air like a sinister melody, a reminder of the violence that has unfolded. Din's response comes in a calm yet unyielding tone, his voice etched with the weight of his convictions, “They got what they deserved.”

The tension crackles between them, a palpable energy that threatens to erupt into another confrontation. Qin's lips curl back in a snarl, the corners of his mouth twitching as his fingers curl around the grip of his blaster. In an instant, Din's blaster is in his hand, the weapon raised with the precision and swiftness that only a skilled gunslinger possesses.

The stand-off continues, each participant locked in a dangerous dance of determination. Qin's calculating gaze meets Din's unyielding stare, their intentions clashing in the narrow space between them. But as the seconds tick by, Qin's resolve seems to waver, a flicker of uncertainty dancing in his eyes.

With a resigned sigh, Qin lowers his blaster, a defeated acceptance settling over him. The tension in his muscles ebbs away as he carefully lays you down along with his weapon, his gaze flicking between you and the Mandalorian. The change in his approach is almost a plea, a final attempt to appeal to Din's sense of reason.

“Come on, Mando,” Qin's voice carries a touch of exasperation, tinged with desperation, “Be reasonable, huh? You were hired to do a job, right? So do it. Isn't that your code? Aren't you a man of honor?”

Din's internal struggle is a hurricane of emotions that rages within him as his glance travels from Qin to you. His gaze lingers on your sleeping figure, contrasting your fragility with an underlying resolve. His feeling of obligation, his developing attachment to you, and the hope for a safer future all came together at that very time.

Din gives a firm nod as his determination grows. The choice is obvious. He muses about the way ahead as his blaster gently lowers. It is immediately apparent that he is not simply a lone gunman. He is a guardian and a protector who will stop at nothing to defend the people who are important to him.

Yoda's ancient eyes hold a profound understanding, their luminous gaze fixed on you. "Abandoned, you feel, hmm? Much pain, this carries."

Your voice wavers, carrying the weight of years of unspoken sorrow, "Yes, Master Yoda. The memory is still vivid, the moment my master chose another, left me behind like I was nothing."

Yoda's ears twitch slightly as he listens, his voice soft yet firm, "Chose another, your master did, but abandon you, he did not. Understand his choice, you must."

Tears threaten to well up, your pain rekindled by the memory. "Understand? How can I? It felt like my worth was measured by his rejection, that I was cast aside like a broken tool."

Yoda's craggy face remains impassive, his wisdom a steady anchor amidst the tempest of your emotions. "Broken tool, you are not. The Force's will, sometimes difficult to perceive, hmm."

The weight of his words resonates within you, an echo of a truth you've struggled to accept. "And what of the darkness I feel within? The whispers that entice me toward paths I dare not tread?"

Yoda's eyes hold an unspoken recognition, a knowing that transcends the bounds of time and space. "Darkness, a part of all beings it is. Temptation, it brings, but choice, yours always is."

"But what if I can't resist it? What if it consumes me?" Your voice trembles, the abyss of your fears yawning before you.

Yoda's response is steady, his voice a gentle guide through the storm, "In you, the power to overcome resides. Learn from darkness, as Jedi have for centuries. Fear, it is that often leads to the dark path."

The weight of his words settles upon you, mingling with the tendrils of hope that have begun to weave their way through your thoughts. "But how? How can I navigate this treacherous path?"

Yoda's gaze is unwavering, his words a beacon in the shadows, "Learn, you must. Seek guidance, from within and from those who have walked before. A Jedi's strength, in perseverance, it lies."

A mixture of resolve and uncertainty churns within you, the turmoil of your thoughts mirrored in the currents of the Force. "And if I stumble, if I fall?"

Yoda's voice carries a sense of reassurance, "Fall, you may, but rise again, you must. The journey of a Jedi, marked by trials, but also by redemption."

Your breath steadies, a fragile calm settling over your turbulent thoughts. "Redemption... Do you truly believe I can find it?"

Yoda's gaze softens, his ageless eyes a wellspring of compassion, "Believe, I do. The Force's currents, they guide us, hmm. Trust in yourself, in the Force, you must."

As the conversation unfolds, Yoda's wisdom offers a lifeline in the darkness of your doubts. The exchange becomes a journey of self-discovery, a fragile yet profound step toward embracing the strength that resides within.

The Razor Crest glides smoothly through the darkness of space, its engines humming with a sense of purpose. Qin's presence on board, though subdued, casts a lingering shadow within the ship's confined quarters. Din's gaze is focused yet inscrutable, his thoughts a whirlwind of calculations and decisions.

Upon landing at Ran's space station, the hangar's metallic echoes resound with a blend of anticipation and tension. The ramp of the Razor Crest descends, and Din emerges, Qin following suit. The atmosphere is heavy with an unspoken acknowledgment of the unknown fate that awaits.

Ran's figure looms in the hangar, an enigmatic presence whose calculating eyes sweep over the scene. Qin's embrace is tinged with a mixture of familiarity and uncertainty, a testament to the complexities of their shared history.

"Where are the others?" Ran's question lingers in the air, a reminder of the unpredictable nature of their line of work. Din's response is curt, accompanied by a nonchalant shrug that underscores the ethos of their profession. "No questions asked. That's the policy, right?"

A begrudging agreement escapes Ran's lips, the unspoken agreement of a clandestine world. "Yeah. That is the policy."

The exchange is a prelude to the transaction that follows, a seamless handover of payment that echoes with a sense of finality. "I did the job," Din states, his words weighted with the weight of his actions.

"Yeah, you did," Ran acknowledges, the pouch of credits symbolizing a chapter closed and a debt paid.

"Just like the good old days," Din's voice holds a hint of nostalgia, a reflection on the countless jobs that have brought him to this point.

"Yeah, just like the good old days," Ran echoes, watching as Din embarks on the Razor Crest, the ship's departure marked by the ascending roar of engines.

As the ship rockets into the expanse of space, the tense air of the space station is replaced by the ship's familiar comfort. The child's presence is a quiet reminder of the bond they share, a bond that transcends the chaos of their surroundings.

Ran activates a lift that brings up a gunship and tasks Qin with killing him. However, Qin finds that the Mandalorian has left the tracking beacon on him, allowing the New Republic to track them down. Three New Republic X-wing starfighters exit hyperspace, narrowly avoiding the Razor Crest.

In the co-pilot seat, the child's innocent curiosity contrasts with the gravity of their recent endeavors. A ball from one of the levers becomes a focal point of fascination, small hands exploring its texture. Din's gaze softens, a fleeting smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I told you that was a bad idea," he murmurs, the words a lighthearted testament to the newfound balance he's found in his unexpected role as guardian.

THE RAZOR CREST, 9ABY – HYPERSPACE

Your eyelids fluttered open like a hesitant butterfly emerging from its cocoon. The room's darkness held an unfamiliar weight, its silence a shroud that clung to your senses. Your heart raced as your consciousness gradually waded through the fog of sleep, memories of the past hours only a blurry mosaic.

Slowly, the contours of the room took shape, and the sensation of a blanket draped over your form brought a semblance of comfort. As the door hissed, your gaze snapped towards the sound's source, revealing the figure standing there – Din, the Mandalorian.

His voice, a gentle murmur in the darkness, cut through the silence. "You're awake."

You were dragged back from the edge of bewilderment by the words, which served as a lifeline. You were unable to speak due to a dry and scratchy throat and could only nod in agreement.

Din moved closer and reached out to offer you a drink of water. As you sipped, relief flooded your body from the soothing effect of the cool beverage on your dry throat. As you put the glass aside and locked eyes with him, a quiet bond grew between you two in the darkness of the space.

"I thought you... left," your words trembled, vulnerability threading through them.

His head dipped in a small nod, the glow of his visor casting a soft luminescence over his features. "I won't leave you."

Emotion swelled within you, finding its outlet in the shimmer of your eyes. A trembling smile graced your lips, gratitude and relief mingling in a silent chorus.

"Thank you," your voice was a fragile whisper, weighted with the depth of what you couldn't fully express.

His gloved hand felt warm against your skin as you reached out, an anchor in the sea of emotions that threatened to engulf you. Your gaze met his, seeking understanding and reassurance. "This isn't your fault," you said firmly, your voice a whisper that carried the weight of conviction.

He settled onto the edge of the cot, his presence a steady comfort in the midst of your turmoil. "I should have listened to you," regret colored his words.

Your hand found his, a gentle touch that conveyed more than words ever could. Looking up at him through the reflection of his visor, you spoke from the heart. "I'm just glad we all got out of this mess okay and in one piece."

Curiosity mingled with concern, the need to understand what had happened in the gaps of your memory pushing through. "What happened after they... drugged me?"

Din's pause was palpable, his gaze distant as he navigated the memories of those tense moments. He exhaled softly, the weight of his words measured. "They took you away from me. So, I went after them."

Your brows furrowed, the puzzle pieces slowly slotting together. "Did you..."

"No," his response was swift, carrying a conviction that resonated with the core of his being. "I wanted to, but... no, I didn't. They're locked in a prison cell aboard the New Republic prison ship."

A sense of relief washed over you, a tangible exhalation of tension. "Is the child okay?" you asked, concerned for the innocent life that had been unwittingly thrust into this chaos.

"He's fine. He's asleep," Din's words held a measure of reassurance, a testament to his commitment to safeguarding the child's well-being.

The air seemed to hold its breath as your voice broke the stillness, the weight of your confession hanging between you and Din like a delicate thread. Your cheeks, warmed by the rosy hue of embarrassment, seemed to mirror the intensity of your emotions.

Din's gaze remained steady, his visor concealing the thoughts that swirled beneath. In the suspended quiet, uncertainty wrestled with hope, and you found yourself compelled to fill the space with your unfiltered feelings.

"About earlier on the prison ship..." you began, your voice quivering slightly, "I... I really like you, Din."

Silence stretched between you, a moment of suspended time that seemed to hold the universe in a breathless pause. The seconds seemed to hang on a precipice, each heartbeat reverberating in the chamber of your chest. As the seconds passed, the weight of your confession bore down on you, and the vulnerability of your words laid bare.

Just as your nerves threatened to overrun your thoughts, Din's voice cut through the tension, a calm amidst the storm of emotions. "I know," he said, the simplicity of those two words holding a world of understanding.

Your eyes locked with his visor, an unspoken connection forming between you. His silence had spoken volumes, and now it was your turn to fill the quiet with the unadulterated truth of your heart.

"I've been trying to find the right words, the right time," you confessed, your voice steadier now, "But I can't hold it in anymore. Din, I care about you... more than I've ever cared about anyone."

The air seemed to crackle with anticipation, the universe itself attuned to this moment of shared vulnerability. In the luminous haze of his visor, you could sense the intensity of his emotions, his unspoken response to your heartfelt words.

"And," you continued, your voice a soft tremor that resonated with sincerity, "I don't want to pretend anymore that I don't feel this way. The way you make me feel... it's something I've never felt before."

As the confession hung in the air, a suspended promise of what could be, a subtle shift in the atmosphere indicated Din's movement. His gloved hand reached towards you, his fingers finding your cheek with a tenderness that bespoke volumes.

"I don’t want to pretend either," his voice, a low rumble beneath the surface, conveyed an emotion that mirrored your own. "Being with you, it's different. It's real."

Tears threatened at the corners of your eyes, your heart overflowing with emotion at his words. His visor hid his gaze, but you felt his fingers brush against your skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake.

"Din," your voice was a mere whisper, the space between you a sacred bridge that had been crossed.

He says your name as his response, a breathless echo, a name that held within it the promise of a new beginning. With a gesture both gentle and meaningful, you tilted your forehead, allowing it to make contact with the cool, solid surface of his beskar helmet. The touch felt almost electric, a connection that transcended the physical plane. It was a gesture that spoke volumes, a silent affirmation of the bond that had been formed through shared experiences and the unspoken language of the heart.

Amidst the quiet, a hushed stillness settled in the room, the outside world seemingly fading into insignificance. In this private sanctuary, the air seemed to hold its breath, as if the universe itself was pausing to witness the depth of the connection between two souls.

The tender exchange between you, as gazes held and fingers intertwined, seemed to bridge the gap between past and present, drawing you closer together in the present moment. It was a moment of vulnerability, forged in the crucible of challenges and uncertainty, and now solidified by the authenticity of your feelings.

In the heart of the chaos that defined the galaxy, your connection shone like a beacon of light, illuminating the path ahead. The fires of adversity had not consumed you; instead, they had forged a bond that was unbreakable, a bond that now found its expression in the unspoken language of shared gazes and the gentle touch of fingertips.

END NOTES:

LOWKEY, this chapter got out of hand… initially I had a whole fight scene planned out but I figured that it wasn’t the time… yet…

CONFESSIONS! YAY! I think after 40k words… a confession seems appropriate. I wanna write fluff and smut with these two already >u< (as well as some GOOD OLE ANGST HEHEH)

It took me a while to write this chapter… cuz obviously… 16k words… uh… yeah… ANYWAYS! We’re nearing the end of season 1! Omg… o-o

See you in the next chapter!

TAGLIST:

@wastingspaces @avengersheart @lunatic1012 @keepingupwiththeskywalkers @mxltifxnd0m @syviiss @luckyzipperscissorsbat @avengersheart @dins-riduur-anthe @lizlil @n7cje @scoliobean @ofmusesandsecrets

#din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x jedi!reader #ethereal writes #etherealupdates #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian fics #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fic #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #pedro pascal x reader

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m1d-45 · 9 months

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on a scale of 1 to 10 — 1 being the least and 10 being the most — how confident are you in surviving an imposter sagau situation?

short answer: i, a non-native in terrain i’ve only ever navigated with 1) a glider 2) no fear of death 3) via a vessel 4) with a map, against various well trained armies, all hellbent on killing me? you’re funny.

now, the long answer…

the long answer, of course, depends on your preferred brand of isekai, as well as the various traits within that. i will… attempt at brevity, but cannot make promises. oh, and there’s no particular order to this list.

1) blood. i myself am more inclined to blue over gold, but that doesn’t matter for this topic. what does matter is if its present and if it manifests immediately.

2) teyvat. is the earth on my side? do the plants and animals know it’s me, or do i need to ‘prove’ it? does it resent me for whatever reason? what’s it’s level of influence (which sounds dumb, but do i have the power of earthquakes and storms or just a few animal helpers?)

3) the imposter situation itself. is there a physical imposter already there,and if so what’s their level of influence? origin? i’d rather go against a wayward traveller than celestia’s puppet. do they have powers? how does teyvat react to them, if at all?

4) speaking of, celestia. are they on my side, the fake’s(if there is one), or staying neutral? what brand of sagau are we even using here? i know i made a post about my version of sagau lore, but one of the key changes since then was celestia. what version of lore are we following?

5) teyvat’s people, emphasis on vision wielders. do they have that subconscious Know? do their visions act up? how do the people overall feel about the one on the throne, if there is one? if there isn’t, is celestia involved in their opinions somehow? what about the traveller, or my vessels?

6) my influence. what can i do? do i have creator abilities, and if so do they take time/some other cue to manifest? is it something i train, or just Click one day? what level? is it an element by element basis, like the traveller, or does that not apply to me? do i have an inventory? if so, can i access the character menus? the map? waypoints? can i move my party, still? do statues of the seven heal me, does food heal me, how do hillichurls and various abyssal beings react to me? ancient gods, such as rhodea (i spelled that wrong) or dvalin or that fucker in the sea outside liyue (yeah i. forgot his name) or azhdaha or yo(u?)kai, if i’m in inazuma? where are we in the in-game lore, by the way?

7) teyvat, again, but this time in terms of biology. i have a few headcanons about teyvat, notably that their gravity is lesser (less fall damage), weather less severe (global warming), and is overall much more temperate/cooler/less humid (global warmingx2 and also just a touch of idealism), so do these apply? this ties into the other points about teyvat, i guess: does the earth let me get cold? can i just shelter in dragonspine?

8) plot armor, for lack of better phrasing. will teyvat let me die? oh, and do i get timeloop’d, or kicked back to my world? do i die, go to my world, then go back to teyvat when i sleep/next log on/whatever? again, tying into other points about teyvat, but will it protect me from death? is my skin like impenetrable or something, or whoops, god is dead, sorry. if i revive in teyvat, is it like that one recent piece i did where the earth moves me? what happens when (if?) i die? does teyvat take revenge?

the long answer… is that it depends.

#m1d : [chats]#hi. i’m midas. and with every answer i give im always told to ‘take it at face value’ or to ‘stop reading into it’#nice to meet you. i couldn’t answer a question in econ because i was thinking about details over just An Answer #and then i couldn’t even lie and say something because my answers matter to me and i can’t just LIE to a teacher #i regularly get Fs in social interactions and As in english classes. call that autism swag #(if you’re curious it was ‘what fictional character would you have as a friend’ but i fixated on the semantics)#(are they coming here? am i going there? do they remember their source or know i don’t belong? i’d feel guilty taking them away and they-)#(-might miss somebody ! is it a ‘go to a reality where they were always here’ and if so would they be who i think they are?)#(i ended up lying anyway with ‘i read too much into the question’ bevause that ISNT too much those are PERFECTLY LOGICAL QUESTIONS TO ASK)#(to neurotypicals it’s ‘reading into it’ to me it’s a little something called ‘critical thought and also empathy’)

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incomingalbatross · 3 months

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Just curious, what did Ford expect Stan to do with his house? Ford was appalled at what his former home has become. Did Ford expect Stan to sell off the cabin?

Also, do you think Ford really intends to throw Stan out of the house by the end of the summer? Or was it said in his moment of frustration?

I mean, when asking "what was Ford thinking?" on any subject, I think "he simply Did Not" is always a valid hypothesis. ;P

But also yeah, my personal headcanon is that he told himself Stan would somehow get the proceeds from the cabin (selling it? inheritance after Ford's death? somehow) and use that money to build a Normal Life for himself. My reasoning:

We get at least one line in the Journal that portal-era Ford has been feeling bad about "shutting Stan out of my life."

I think it's reasonable to guess this came to the forefront after going through the portal, because the combination of distance and Stan's "I chewed my way out of a car trunk!" speech allowed Ford to admit that he regretted their estrangement and that it hurt Stan.

SINCE he can't do anything about it now, but also Stan being in Bad Circumstances is unacceptable, the easiest thing to do is tell himself that his disappearance could at least have put Stan back on his feet.

This assuages his guilt and validates his martyr complex (his home dimension is better off without him!), as well as enabling him to continue existing in a reality where Stan is Okay, Really, He's Fine.

...As you may have noticed from my last couple fics, I tend to think this is a necessary condition for Ford to keep himself going. ;P

And I don't think we get any indication that Ford doesn't mean what he said. He generally doesn't say anything he doesn't at least think he means, I feel like? The Journal doesn't offer any indication otherwise, either - he mentions "taking his house back and rebuilding the life Stan took," or something equally dramatic, in there.

This is, of course, especially jarring for us on the heels of the "how Stan got thrown out and it ruined his life" backstory right before it. But some motivations maybe:

Journal 3 again gives context, this time with the story of Ford having just visited a "Better World" in which that dimension's Stan took the journal, everything turned out perfectly after Stan did what he was told (DOUBT, but we only have Ford's understanding of this dimension to go on), and Ford and Fiddleford ended up founding a thriving scientific Institute on the site of the Shack, where they do world-respected science and also safely travel to other dimensions.

This dimensions is TAILOR-MADE to confirm ALL of Ford's biases, it's ridiculous.

This on top of preexisting bad blood means he returns home primed to blame Stan for the Portal Incident and all its consequences, which means Stan owes him even regardless of opening the portal to bring him home.

(Opening the portal is ALSO Stan's fault and something he has to bear the consequences for, of course, so actually it's just made him owe Ford more arguably.)

In addition, seeing the cabin turned into his dream come true in that other world means he's even MORE primed to hate the Mystery Shack and its "mockery of his life's work" than he otherwise would have been.

He's mad, he's scared, he's flailing because he's HOME but he no longer has a place in this world, the closest thing he has to a blueprint is what he saw in that other world, and also he can't really reconcile with Stan without being prepared to let go of ALL his baggage so the easiest thing is to push him away. He'll be fine anyway, it's not like HE'S just landed in this dimension and owns literally nothing outside of this house!

ALSO, it was technically his house and Stan technically did steal it. Which means Ford has a RIGHT to claim it and do what he likes with it. And Gravity Falls is ultimately a show about how making family relationships transactional leads to heartbreak and destruction, so of course Ford has to keep doing that until he finally learns his lesson.

#as long as stan and ford kept trying to demand justice from each other they just kept making new debts #this is one of those things #(because like. ford DOES have a right to be there because if stan had been like 'i got you to your own dimension now leave the house')#(that would also be clearly awful and we would be aghast)

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quosterswampdregs · 1 year

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Oh! If that’s the case then…

I’d love to request a short story and/or comic where a tiny character accidentally gets stuck in bezyil’s nose? Maybe there’s a bit of a panic from the tiny until they get sneezed out….and then taken care of?

—Awakened Anon <3

Of course! The art here is drawn by PupperStar!

1700 words, just about; here's Bezyil as they deal with a cold that has completely numbed them up! A spot of help smoothes things out...

Cautious Cold.

“I dunno, it might help if you get some air…”

Bezyil thought back to the words of advice from Boyzen while on the phone. If there was anyone they knew who was proficient in dealing with head colds, it was her. Something about being outside was supposed to clear up their aching sinuses and unfair congestion…

Yet, here Bezyil was, sprawled out on their back, and staring into the partly-cloudy sky. Eyes half-lidded, ears low, and projecting the unmistakable image of the common cold—their poor nose was slick, shiny, and warm to the touch. An angry salmon, oozing whenever the nares would part and flex.

The worst part about it all was that Bezyil couldn’t sneeze if they tried. They didn’t enjoy sneezing all too much anyway; that was Boyzen’s deal. But something about such a cold made their nostrils numb and completely insensitive to any irritants.

They tried, too, as they were doing now. Defeated, their paw sifted around nearby, taking a long blade of grass to examine with a squint. They angled the point deep into their left nostril, forcefully flaring it wide. The grass bent and wiggled aimlessly against the spongey walls, poking and prodding at the numbness with no result.

Well, with minimal results. It made Bezyil’s eyes teary, and at one point, they pulled in a few shuddering breaths…which almost expectantly deflated and left them sniveling. Was this how Boyzen felt all the time? No wonder she was so out-of-pocket sometimes…

Little did the swamp dreg know of something sifting through the tall grass. A fox, diminutive in stature, and curious in nature. He had doubtlessly been traveling for quite some time, and the sight of something breathing and shuffling over the canopy of barley was reliving! Perhaps he could request a ride, a higher view?

He began to shout—his speed increased to a jog, hands cupped around his maw in hopes of elevating his sound. Waves of cream fur and olive spots got rather distracting, especially when so close!

Bezyil’s eyes reflected the partly cloudy sky when they opened. The spring air was frigid when blowing over their nose, but at least it was relieving the inflammation. Everything felt at peace, for just a few moments—until the tiny yips and shouts picked up. “Udh…my ears are buzzing,” Bezyil mumbled, rolling over so that they could rub their leftmost ear against the ground. It was as if a mosquito were buzzing nearby, annoying at best... “Ghnn- sndK- huff…”

The vulpine wasn’t prepared for such a turn and had a head-on collision of a massive, salmon-toned septum. His front was temporarily glued, at least until he could slowly pry himself away. It left his t-shirt sticking to his fur, heavy and drippy. Halfway through wringing it out with his fists, a second snuffle sent both of his feet flying out from under him. He tumbled and was immediately winded!

And worse yet, he was getting dragged toward the source; a nostril, gargantuan in comparison. To call it a cavern would be a gross understatement—taller than he was in height, easily his wingspan in width, and he couldn’t begin to see just how deep it went. Ropes and chords of thick, clear mucus draped from the slick ceilings, which caught the refractions of sunlight and projected patterns onto their nasal walls.

Rolling onto his stomach quickly, the fox scrambled along the dirt. He was trying his hardest not to get swept up, here! The battle was quickly falling out of his favor, though, what with his tail and legs losing their sense of gravity. His arms flailed just slightly, before taking hold of a thick barley stalk. The seedy bush of hairs at the top of the stalk was the size of his torso, perfect when hugging for his life!

Crack!!

The fox’s eyes flew open with a deep scowl. The blade of grass they held was beginning to tear, just out of arm’s reach. He reached for it anyway, but it snapped just before his claws could get a grip! The wind pressure ceased just as this happened, but before he could get a sigh of relief, a second sniff sent him flying into their rightmost nostril.

It was dark. At least, it was nearly dark, but the sunlight from outside caused everything to be basked in an orangish-pink hue. The fox looked towards the nostril entrance—exit, in his case—squinting at the light pouring in from outside. He wasted no time staggering towards it, but quickly found the frictionless, slick ground below him nearly impossible to move effectively in. He slipped and fell to his stomach with a winded huff, but his fall was cushioned by the head of barley in which he had taken along with him.

The walls around him began to tremble, and he shot his head upward with surprise. It was like a low-grade earthquake going on, but one that you could see! The plush-like walls were tensing and relaxing, rearranging their position. The entrance, once wide and circular, quickly began to close in, to a narrow, slim swirl of a shape.

Frantically, he skittered towards the opening, but it had closed far too tightly for him to squeeze through. Slowly, he staggered back, looking out with both awe and fright at the sealed exit before him. The sound around him was suddenly dampened, akin to submerging under water. A heartbeat echoed and made the fox’s fur stand on end. This was a predicament, wasn’t it…?

“Mnhhg-!” Bezyil suddenly sat up, doubtlessly causing the vulpine to tumble around, “oh, now my nose itches?”

Irritated, they thumbed at the front of their nostril, and took a few sniffles, each sharper and longer than the last. As their nostrils opened, the fox was met with a blast of strong wind. It launched him back in a tumble, combing over his fur and sending him meters back. At least, until his shoulders slammed against something soft. A side of the swamp-dreg’s nasal wall, which had an opening to whatever dark chambers led past it. A second snuffle forced his back flush to the opening, where a powerful suction had him scrambling a bit.

The fox’s arms trembled as he tried to push himself out of the position. His legs were planted too, trying with great effort to squeeze and writhe against the pulling tension.

“SnRT!!” Bezyil snorted and curled their lip, “sndk- udh…snnk- snnrrk-! snnNDKT! Huhh… snff snff…”

Relief, at last. Clarity, through both nostrils—somewhat. As for the poor fox, he stumbled into the deeper reaches of their nose. Here, the walls were especially velvety on all sides, and it was beyond difficult to move about effectively. His paws grasped the cushiony flesh, feverish with the macro’s natural warmth. Every so often, the walls would pulsate and squeeze, clearly working around the irritant that was himself.

The vulpine’s tiny paws moved quickly—there was no way he could brute force his way out, so he could only assume a strong enough irritation from his doing would help out! His fingers dug in, his tail swept up and down, every thrash and jerk was in effort to stir up a sneeze.

“H-hHkh—! HhHhuh- fi’dally-!” Bezyil whined as they stormed inside their house. Their palms planted on the counter with a pant, looking in the marble reflection to see their angry pink nose. “H—hhHuh-!”

The fox winced as he was squeezed. It didn’t hurt—in fact, the warmth actually felt relieving. Their nasal walls provided a constant, firm massage, which eased his muscles far beyond what he believed possible. It all fell away rather abruptly, given the puffy layers of muscle relaxed flat against the floor and walls, and a surge of cold air complimented a gaping light.

“hHEHH-!!”

Oh dear.

“hEKK’TSSCHHHhuw!!” Erupted Bezyil, with little warning. The fox was propelled end over end, becoming absolutely weightless for two heartbeats. He then fell, pinwheeling his arms until he found a soft, cushioning landing against the paw pads of Bezyil. He rolled over, winded, staring with wide eyes up at the equally surprised Macro.

“Oh geez- are you okay??” Bezyil sniffled quietly with a shrug of their shoulders, “I didn’t even know you were in there…!”

The fox gave a delicately weary glance up to Bezyil, then down to his drenched, slicked-down fur. Upon being lowered to the counter, he nodded at last. He was okay, possibly better than okay, but he wouldn’t elaborate.

“Oh good..snfk-! I’m glad—oh! ‘Me’..? Ugh, coming off a head cold, hopefully. I’ve got a fever and aching joints, and I can’t seem to get a single sneeze out…”

Bezyil blinked as the fox jokingly begged to differ. “Tch-! Well of course you saw me sneeze, what with you rummaging around in th-!” And they abruptly cut themselves off with a thought. “Wait-! You got me to finally sneeze!”

Bezyil rested their chin on the countertop and looked on with dazzling eyes. “Would you-? Uhm—! I hope this isn’t out of blue or anythiH-hH?”

Nothing more needed to be said. The fox was staring forward at Bezyil’s nostril, looking down the warm, snug pathway ahead of him. Telling by the bashful eyes and open gestures, they were asking for a bit of help! The fox obliged without them even finishing, stepping up onto the rim of their nare and holding their septum. A hand, fingers splayed, brushed just inside, insisting the flexible sides expand and contort under the touch.

“H-hhHeehH—! Please b-be careful…I-I already tossed you around s-sUH-! So much…! Huhh-!!” Pleaded Bezyil with their eyes squeezed shut. Their shoulders jumped—something about knowing the cause of such an irritated note multiplied the sensations tenfold. “hNKTtshh!!”

That couldn’t have been satisfying at all. The fox, at least, wasn’t satisfied by it. The front of his body leaned inward just as the cold-ridden swamp-dreg was recovering. He massaged and rubbed at the floor of their nose working up and around the left side to the roof. His fingers wiggled at the reddening patches, and his tail swept by his hip.

“Hh- HH-!” Two short, huffy breaths were taken, but telling by the spasms felt on all sides, they were going over the edge. “hNNTTSHhhww!!!”More than a forceful sneeze sent the fox tumbling across the table. Bezyil quickly caught him in their soft paws, opening them as if checking for a bug. “Nnh—! Read my mind…thank you…snffk-! Feels like I can breathe through my nose now…”

#bezyil swamp dreg #furquo #furry snz #furquo fic #quo fur tag

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