#Manual scavenging

[anarchistin]

But it is right to ask if the Musalmans are the only sufferers from the evils that admittedly result from the undemocratic character of Hindu society.

Are not the millions of Shudras and non-Brahmins, or millions of the Untouchables, suffering the worst consequences of the undemocratic character of Hindu society?

— BR Ambedkar

[thamilan24x7]

Tamil Nadu Woman Seeks Justice and ₹30 Lakh Compensation for Husband’s Death in Septic Tank

In a deeply distressing case highlighting the continued dangers of manual scavenging, a woman from Sivaganga, Tamil Nadu, has moved the Madurai Bench of the Madras High Court seeking ₹30 lakh in compensation following the tragic death of her husband while cleaning a septic tank.

Tragedy at Rameswaram Railway Station

The petitioner, B. Pathampriyal, hailing from the Arunthathiyar community—a Scheduled Caste group historically subjected to manual scavenging—filed the plea after her husband, Balu, died on November 16, 2024. According to her petition, Balu had been assigned to clean a septic tank at the Rameswaram railway station. Allegedly, he was forced to enter the tank without any safety equipment or protective gear.

Tragically, Balu lost consciousness while performing the hazardous task and was rushed to Rameswaram Government Hospital, where doctors declared him dead on arrival.

Allegations of Negligence and Violation of Law

Pathampriyal has accused the Southern Railway and the relevant authorities of negligence, stating that her husband was exposed to toxic conditions without any safeguards. She also claims this is a clear violation of the Prohibition of Employment as Manual Scavengers and their Rehabilitation Act, 2013, which outlaws such practices and mandates rehabilitation for affected workers.

In her petition, she has sought:

₹30 lakh compensation for her family’s loss

Criminal and departmental action against the officials and contractors responsible

Rehabilitation support for her and her two children

Court Response and Next Steps

Hearing the plea during vacation sitting, Justice L. Victoria Gowri issued notices to both the Adi Dravidar and Tribal Welfare Department and Southern Railway, asking them to respond to the allegations. The case has been adjourned to June 3, 2025, for further hearing.

A Stark Reminder of Persistent Manual Scavenging

Despite being outlawed for over a decade, manual scavenging continues to claim lives in India—often affecting Dalit and marginalized communities the most. The death of Balu is not an isolated incident but part of a systemic issue that raises serious questions about enforcement of the law and the accountability of government institutions.

[youthchronical]

Manual scavenger’s death: probing role of DJB, others, says Delhi Police

The police on Tuesday said they are investigating the death of a worker while cleaning a sewer manually in New Friends Colony in south-east Delhi. Three persons – Panth Lal Chandra, 43, Ramkishan Chandra, 35, and Shiv Das, 25 – entered a manhole on the premises of Friends Club in New Friends Colony on Sunday evening and fell unconscious. Panth was declared dead at a hospital, Ramkishan is in…

[insightfultake]

Delhi’s Dirty Secret: Drain Cleaners Risk Lives as Capital Looks Away

Every monsoon, Delhi prepares for rain with official press conferences and civic briefings. But beneath this seasonal choreography, another ritual plays out in silence. It involves no machines, no safety protocols, and no recognition. Just men, mostly Dalits and migrants, stepping into drains with rusted shovels, plastic buckets, and bare hands. This is not history. This is Delhi’s current civic strategy.

These are the men who clean the capital’s drains. Contracted in bulk, often without names or rights, they are deployed to clear filth that the city refuses to mechanise. Officials insist this is routine desilting. The law says this is illegal. But Delhi’s drains, and the men inside them, reveal the truth that paperwork cannot hide.

[dykeriver]

thinking about ellie coming across an old adult store as she hikes just outside an abandoned quarantine zone. curiosity wins, because of course it does, and she needs to look. just a peep, only for a moment. but a peep turns into scavenging, and scavenging soon turns into successfully finding a little sealed package in a box in the back of the store.

she knows what it is, she’s a grown woman, but obviously there’s never really been the time or place during her adult life to have been able to explore that particular aspect of herself so… intensely. ellie stares at the box for a second before deciding, fuck it. she rips off the top of the package and flips it upside down, shaking it. the… toy falls onto the table in front of her followed by a little instruction manual. she knows what to do in theory but she grabs at the instructions anyway, bending them a bit as she skims quickly. shut it — she’s just a bit eager, okay?

so she… and then she… nice. and she’s lucky, because this one doesn’t call for batteries. ellie just hopes that the power will have held up for all these years.

she secures the store and makes herself comfortable relatively fast, throwing one of her extra flannels onto the ground before pulling her jeans to her ankles and taking a seat on top of her shirt. she’s a little intimidated, so she doesn’t strip out of her boxers. ellie holds the button in for about five seconds before it vibrates to life, a gentle thrum sounding alongside her breathing in the otherwise empty store.

she just stares at it for a moment before braving the whole… opening her legs thing. don’t get ellie wrong — she’s touched herself before. hell, she’s even had sex a few times. but a vibrator is a whole new ball field. it thrums against her hand and it actually tickles a little bit. the lithe muscles of ellie’s thigh flex as she opens her legs, and she takes a deep, soothing breath. finally she brings down her hand, and…

what. the. fuck.

the vibrator buzzes against her clit gently and she gasps, the feeling immediately too much. ellie almost pulls it away, not knowing if she wants to press into or away from it. she rests her back against the floor, because she needs to fucking lay down for this shit. “hhh…” she breathes quietly.

ellie accidentally hits the button again, and she fucking gasps. the toy is humming louder, vibrating harder. “ha-” she moans before she can shut herself up. she knows she must be making an absolute mess of her boxers, can feel herself soaking right through the thin material. it feels fucking good, so incredibly overwhelming that her free hand keeps clenching uselessly against the ground. ellie brings it to the flannel underneath her, needing something to latch onto for support.

and oh, how ellie feels is unlike anything she’s ever felt before. a fire grows low in her belly, intense, building heat rapidly. the heat spreads all throughout her body and her toes curl in her sneakers. she chokes over a half held back whine. the feeling burns and burns until ellie thinks she’s going to fucking melt.

when she cums, she throws her hand over her mouth, sobbing into it. her orgasm is more intense than she ever could have expected; she feels it in her fingers, in her legs. in her fucking bones, man. she’s trembling everywhere, shaking like a leaf as it’s swept through the wind. ellie’s head knocks against the ground in overexertion, she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding it up.

when she comes down from that high, ellie just kind of… lays there a second. because, yanno. best orgasm of her life just achieved. she inhales deeply and then blows out a gust of air, chest deflating. eventually she’s got to get back on her feet, pulling her jeans back up and picking the flannel off of the floor before chugging some much needed water.

and ellie thinks she does a pretty good job at ignoring the weird, hollow, lonely feeling that grips her chest as she leaves the store: hiking into the unknown. alone.

[revelboo]

Alright which fragger is gonna be the one who starts spreading human valve is good propaganda? Wheeljack and Constructicons are builders for human houses. I’m imagining a little catalogue or file being sent spread anonymously to all the bots on earth and more about human mate and their needs. Primus, is Optimus going to the leader who first ends up with a interface/sex scandal? Walked/ran on by humans and doing a psa about it, or is going back for double points for Megatron and being sparked up by a human? Regardless the G1/IDW Revelbooverse is unhinged and I love it. Thank you for giving us this gorgeous Fuckery.

I’m just having fun, but honestly, I can see Thundercracker writing and anonymously sending out a human care manual just on blast. Bots and Cons both

So You Have A Human

Thundercracker x Reader

So you have a human or are thinking of acquiring one. Stop. Humans require a lot of care and attention. They’re social and need to be kept entertained. Before committing to finding a human, maybe use a holomatter avatar to go out among them and observe. Don’t try to touch or grab them, though. They will attack. Another less hands on way to research is to check out human media.

If you’ve decided you do want a human partner, understand how fragile they are. They scare easily, so understand how intimidating you are. You’re much bigger than they are. Don’t pick them up by their limbs or you can break those delicate bones. Cup them in your hands, keeping your grip loose so they don’t panic, but not so loose they can wiggle free and fall. They’ll die if they fall out of your hands. Don’t chase them down, you can actually scare humans to death as strange as that sounds.

Humans need organic foodstuffs and access to clean water. Just because something is organic, doesn’t mean that they can consume it. Please, find and retrieve foodstuffs meant for human consumption, don’t scavenge in the outdoors for them. They’re picky eaters.

Is your human a bit skittish? They tend to be cold in temperatures comfortable to Cybertronians, so coax your human into sleeping on your chassis. It gets them used to you much faster, letting them get comfortable with the sound of your spark. Make sure you talk to them. Ask them questions and get to know them. They need to socialize.

Interfacing with organics is taboo. And that’s an outdated belief. Humans are amazing. Court your human with little treats. Flowers. Snacks. Some of them adore sparkly ornaments. But make your intentions clear. Don’t just whip out your spike and hope for the best. Build a relationship first.

So you’ve successfully won your human over and you’re both comfortable with each other. Time to mass shift to their level. Humans kiss like we do. They interface like we do. Take your time exploring your partner with servos and your mouth. Try to take it slow so you don’t overwhelm them, because even mass shifted, Cybertronians are still much bigger.

Humans are incredibly flexible, but be sure to check with your human frequently. Make sure they’re comfortable. You’ll need to be patient, and properly prepare your human before you can-

• Head lifting sleepily from where you’re sprawled on him, you reach to tap a finger against the datapad he’s frantically typing alien glyphs on. “What are you smiling about?” Oh. Now he’s embarrassed, wings shifting at his back where they’re partially pinned under him. What is he writing? Because he’s acting like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing, won’t even meet your eyes. “Alright. Keep your secrets, but if you’re writing smut about us, you better change our names.”

• Reaching to stroke your cheek, he saves his work and sets it aside. And mass shifts, smiling when you gasp and grab at him. “It’s not like that. I just- there’s a lot of us with humans now and I thought I’d explain some stuff. You know, so there’s not any mistakes or accidents. Misunderstandings.” And you lean up on him, mouth brushing his. Servos threading into your hair as his other hand rests on your hip. Because this means everything. This intimacy.

• “As long as you’re not encouraging your people to go snatch mine,” you say, lips ghosting over his before you sit up on him. “You’re not, right?” And he immediately shakes his head, the tension spilling out of you. A little heads up on taking care of humans definitely couldn’t hurt. You know there are other humans here, but the Decepticons are weirdly protective of their humans and don’t seem to trust each other that much. “I still want to round all the humans here up. Humans need other humans. No offense.” His palm slides up your side, touch almost reverent.

• “I’m trying,” he replies. Because for you? If you need to spend time with other humans, he wants you to. Wants you to have whatever you want. “You know I’d do anything for you.” Loves you too much to deny you anything.

[kaylovestwd]

The walking dead (men) hurt comfort

Negan smith

(someone hurts you)

He wouldn't immediately run over, not at first.

He’d stare, processing the information like a computer rebooting, from shock.

Then it would overprotective mode

"Who the hell thought they could touch what's mine?!" He'd probably go on a rant.

Threats, oh, the threats. Creative threats involving Lucille and hurting the person involved . He would drag the person who hurt you to a cell and force them to apologize on their knees.

Once his initial rage subsides, he’d be surprisingly gentle with you.

"Alright, sweetheart, let me see."

He'd carefully check you over, even if it's just a scratch.

And he'd insist on carrying you around, no matter how much you protest. "Don't be a hero, darlin'. You're hurt. Let me pamper you."

He would become insufferable. Constantly fussing, banning you from anything remotely dangerous and generally treating you like you're made of glass while still running the Saviors with an iron fist (your his soft spot) .

He might even try to make a joke to lighten the mood, but it would be the most inappropriate thing he could say.

Like, "Well, at least now you know how much I care, right? Worth the bullet wound, yeah?"

Late at night, after everyone else is asleep, he'd hold you close. His voice would be quiet, the usual swagger gone. "You scared me, (Y/N). More than I thought possible."

He'd probably admit, in his own twisted way, that you're the one thing he can't control and that scares him the most.

Rick Grimes

You stumble, twisting your ankle while scavenging.

It's a sprain, nothing major, but you let out a yelp. Cue Rick, whose head snaps up faster than a walker spotting fresh meat. His eyes widen, his gun practically leaps into his hand, and he's yelling, "[Y/N]! What happened?! Are you bit?!".

He's already scanning the area for threats, completely missing the fact you're just holding your ankle and grimacing.

Once he realizes it's just a sprain, the panic shifts to smothering concern.

He's suddenly all gentle hands and furrowed brows, insisting on carrying you back to Alexandria like you're a delicate porcelain doll. "Don't move, darlin'. You're hurt. Let me take care of you." Even though you've taken down herds of walkers single-handedly before.

Rick, your grumpy officer, suddenly will believe that he's a qualified physician. Constantly interrogates you about the pain, the swelling and the exact angle of the twist. He insists on elevating your foot, applying a cold compress, and finding a way of making a makeshift splint out of scavenged cloth and popsicle sticks.

Daryl would definitely be making fun and laughing in the background.

While tending to your ankle, Rick launches into a whole lecture about being more careful.

"You gotta watch where you're going, [Y/N]! It's a dangerous world out there. I can't lose you."

Even though hes the man who regularly charges headfirst into hordes of walkers.You can't help but giggle a little at him, earning you a stern but loving look.

For the rest of the day, you're treated like royalty. Rick fusses over you, bringing you food, water, and extra blankets. He even reads to you probably just survival manuals because there's no books but it's the thought that counts. He's just incredibly relieved you're okay, and he wants to show it in every way he knows how. He insists on sleeping on the floor next to your bed "to keep watch".

Later, after his initial stress has died down, you catch Rick watching you with a soft, relieved expression.

You limp over to him and wrap your arms around him. "Thank you, Rick," you whisper. "For always taking care of me."

He hugs you tight, burying his face in your hair. "Always," he murmurs back. And you know, despite the over-the-top reaction, you wouldn't have it any other way. His love is a little chaotic, a little intense, but it's yours, and it's everything.

Daryl Dixon

Panic? Nah. Daryl's seen worse than most folks'. His eyes, usually narrowed in a stoic squint, widen for a millisecond as he hears you get hurt .

Forget flowery tenderness. He's immediately checking for the source causing the blood, ripping fabric for a make-shift bandage with the efficiency of a seasoned medic, completely ignoring your protests.

He's not a loving man but he shows affection with his continuous insults at you. But his insults are laced with worry, like "Damn it, (Y/N), I leave you alone for five minutes..."

(Y/N): "It's just a graze, Daryl, really"

'Grazes don't bleed like that, ya stubborn woman.'

Proceeds to clean the wound with the intensity of a brain surgeon, muttering about bacteria and infection.

He'll probably spit on his handkerchief. Ironic because he's always saying he don't care about health.

After he becomes your shadow. He doesn't't say much, but he's always there. Watchful, like a hawk perched on your shoulder, ready to swoop down on any threat.

He'll show affection as he sneaks you extra rations. Maybe even offers you his share of squirrels (a high honor indeed)

You might catch him staring at you when he thinks you don't notice, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.

A week later, when you're completely healed, and he knows it. You're getting ready to go scavenging, when he grabs your arm. "Thought I told you yer stayin' put." He says looking annoyed, but you catch the little smirk playing on his lips. He's enjoying this way too much.

Glenn Rhee

Glenn would be a whirlwind of apologies, even if it wasn't his fault.

"(Y/N)! I'm so sorry this happened! Are you okay? Did I protect you enough? Maybe I need to start wearing more padding!".

He'd forget all his zombie-killing instincts for a moment, replaced by pure worry. Think of it this way, If you got a mosquito bite, Glenn would be ready to burn down the entire forest.

He'd switch into "Glenn the Delivery Boy" mode instantly, tending to your wound with surprising gentleness. He'd pull out his limited medical supplies and he would use his shirt to cover the wound.

He'd be so focused on cleaning and bandaging that he'd trip over his own feet at least once, muttering about needing more practice even though he does this often.

He'd be glued to your side, like the most cuddly, protective person ever in history.

Sleep? Forget it. He needs to make sure you're breathing, not cold, not hungry, and definitely not about to be pounced on by a walker while you sleep.

He'd try to find you the best food he could manage, even if it was just a slightly-less-stale cracker. (I know it's not much)

After fussing over you and making sure your perfectly comfortable and safe, he'd start to calm down... right as another, even bigger threat appears.

He would look at you with a sheepish grin, then back to the horde. "Well (Y/N), you stay here while I take care of this. And don't worry about me!"

[scalecallerpeak]

POLEMARCH CONTAINED

Polemarch Snailestes is doing okay still so I got that going for me, I'm hoping his little cage will be here today so I don't have to keep him in the tuppawear

[orchidsarchives]

I love you and your writing. It makes me so happy to read your works!

Imagine Jason having his s/o move in with him. Imagine all the possibilities.

Like arranging the furniture together, showering together, taking turns cooking.

Or taking power naps together. I love me some soft Jason.

Omg stop!!! You’re literally so kind! Thank you for sending all these little scenarios, I always have so much fun writing them. Also, my apologies for getting back to you so late, I hope this little blurb makes up for it, enjoy reading!

Jason stares at the small key in his large calloused hands and then at charcoal door in front of him. This is it, he thinks to himself. He runs his hands through his hair and then shifts his gaze to your face, it’s beaming with excitement. Jason tries to hold back his smile, but finds himself unable to do so. He reaches over to your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

He’s waited for this moment for a long time. He’s dreamt of owning a place with you, of days where the both of you will go to sleep together and you’ll still be there in the morning. He’s dreamt of making you breakfast and kissing your forehead before you go to work or school and then have you come right back home… to him.

Jason’s emotional honestly, there’s something so tender and domestic about the idea of building a life together in this apartment.

The apartment, it’s not very big and the walls are an awful shade of grey. The paint is chipping in some places and there’s some obvious water damage. But none of that matters because it’s yours. It’s your home and that thought alone is enough for you and Jason to be happy.

You’re both sitting in the empty kitchen, unpacking your boxes and Jason can imagine spending the rest of his life here with you.

He takes a mental picture of the moment, tucking it deep in his mind and engraving it in his heart. He hasn’t been able to stop smiling since he walked in through the door, he feels content, at peace.

You and Jason spent weeks scavenging through different vintage shops to find the perfect decor and furniture. There were countless trips to Ikea and multiple trips to the mall.

All of it was coming together now.

The thought of saying “our home” instead of “my house” made Jason feel giddy. He finally had a place to call his own with a person who felt like serenity.

Hours go by and you’re still working on getting your new place sorted.

You’re both sprawled out on the living room floor, putting together your new coffee table. There’s screws scattered across the floor and bubble wrap on the couch. There’s music playing on one of your phones as the speaker is still packed away in one of the boxes.

“This is so much fun! It’s like building life size legos,” Jason suddenly exclaims and you stare at him unamused, the hours of working finally catching up to you.

“Shut up Jay! You’re talking too much, I lost my page again,” you reply looking back at the paper manual in your hands, trying to find your page again. Jason looks up at you with a small pout.

“Don’t be mean, you know I’m sensitive,” he tries to say seriously, but the little smile on his face says otherwise. you shuffle over to his side on the floor and ruffle his hair.

“Aw I’m sorry baby, I’ll be nicer,” you say, realizing it might be time to take a break. “Should we postpone building furniture for a bit, I’m starving.” His face lights up and before you know it, he’s already in the kitchen gathering ingredients to make you soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. There’s not much in the fridge, but he’ll make do with what’s there.

You stare at him from across the room and this time, it’s your turn to click a mental photograph of the moment. He looks beautiful in your new kitchen, his hair’s messy, it’s in his eyes and he takes a second to push away the bangs. Then, he continues working away near the stove, humming along to the song playing on your phone. You can’t help, but admire him. You look forward to seeing him like this forever.

You make your way over to the kitchen and take a seat on the island counter, opposite to the stove. Jason tosses the final bit of ingredients in the pot and lets everything simmer. He looks over at you, leaning against the counter. He crosses his large arms against his body, his face soft and relaxed.

“I’m really happy, you know,” he says, grinning, and you scrunch your face into a big smile.

“I know Jay, I’m so happy too.”

[girl-lostconnection]

✨Concept ✨1 part

Thinking about Helldiver!Reader again.

They way they would absolutely love Soap and his sharp mind and his out of box thinking and his resourcefulness.

As a Helldiver in the field you often don’t have resources — too little time, ship leaves the orbit and leaves you with no supplies, no reinforcements, no protection.

Just you, ammo you have left in your mag and whatever you can scavenge around the barren terrain quick enough to scramble something together.

And Soap that chats you up about the bombs and explosives, elated to have such attentive listener, shares the ways to demolish something the quickest way possible, talks you through the process and wires and “nah, it’s alright, C4 is fairly harmless, see? Can make lil’le snake out of it”.

You never say why you are so interested in it, you never share that oftentimes there are no more ammunition to shoot the enemy, that grenades are all you have.

Soap grins, offering to give you a hand with what you work with on daily basis and you let him in the armoury — showing what you already bought, showing what you are currently using.

You get a little carried away, so proud of collection you already established — it’s not much but it costed you almost half a year of everyday deployments and you feel like it’s somehow satisfactory.

Not like anyone really checks what Helldivers work with anyway so you are in the clear.

But there is a strange look in Soap’s face and your voice waivers, jaws snapping shut, awful uncomfortable heat climbing up your face when he asks if it’s really everything you have.

Was it…was it not enough? Are you supposed to have more? How much more is needed? Do SAS have more? Shit, it must cost them good chunk of their salaries.

Thoughts swarm your head, visor of your helmet clicking back in place, hiding your eyes and maybe there was something in them. Just a glimpse. Just before you slammed your walls back up.

Because Soap’s voice softens when he hums “no biggie, let’s see what we can do, aye? These ones are actually real blast—” and you have the petty desire to push him out of your armoury. Off your ship. Away from you.

You don’t need his pity. You don’t- you don’t know what the fuck SAS works with but you got your supplies yourself and you worked so hard to get them.

But your fingers just clench and unclench, creak of leather gloves louder than you would’ve wanted because Soap looks at you like he wants to smack himself, because it feels as if you almost shrink on yourself.

But you don’t say anything because…it’s really not his fault. It’s just the way it is, right? You are sure SAS have their fair share of issues with supplies, after all, command said that it’s better Helldivers cover the costs themselves.

Surely situation must be real bad if they can’t provide you with decent armoury. But it’s not in issue — you work hard, you buy your supplies yourself, you slowly upgrade yourself, it’s fine really.

So you just write down all of his recommendations and fist bump him on your way out. What’s a little sting to the pride if you got the information and advice of actual demolitions expert?

You don’t notice the way Soap looks over your armoury again, muscle in his jaw twitching. He can see the patience and care it took to build up a somehow decent armoury, he can see that you scramble to get whatever you can as soon as you get any funds.

But he can also see that it’s barely enough to cover what you two talked about. He can see that no one gave you a proper training, no one gave any manuals and no one provided you with actual fucking supplies.

Soap doesn’t know how to tell you that it’s unheard of for soldiers, especially someone of you rank, to cover their bloody supplies costs themselves.

Soap doesn’t know how to tell you that the shine of Helldiver branch becomes more and more nefarious the more he hears and sees.

Soap doesn’t know how to tell it so he goes back to his team. Maybe someone else will know what to do.

[womenlover0]

-ˏˋChapter Iˊˎ

Prologue

Summary: You spend the day side by side with Abby - laughing, teasing, dreaming of a future. But when news of the immune girl spreads, hope takes a darker shape. By nightfall, the hospital is in chaos, and you're pulling Abby into your arms as her world shatters in front of you. The cost of a cure? Too high.

Warnings: Character death, loss of parental figure, blood, animal distress.

Note: The story continues! I'm way too excited to post the first few chapters that have been collecting dust in my google doc, BUT you guys seemed to enjoy the prologue so here is the next chapter! Thank you for the super nice comments under the prologue i love you guys you keep me motivated. Don't be afraid to comment or send asks I love interacting with you pookies💋 HOPE Y'ALL ENJOY MUAH

Word count: 3.05k

4 years earlier

You were sitting on a low cement barrier on the rooftop of a worn down building. Cracked and weather-stained, moss cushioning your seat. In front of you the trees loom close, thick with overgrowth. Vines curl over old wrought-iron gates, the lettering above them is rusted and nearly illegible. This place doesn't feel abandoned, not really. More like forgotten. Reclaimed by nature. Just underneath your dangling feet is a slanted metal roof. Tilted downward, green and rusted by time. 

The sun's out, no clouds in sight, you bask in the sunlight warming your face. Birds chirping, gracing your ears with their songs. Calm days like this don’t come often, especially now that you’re older. Your duty as a firefly meant a constantly full schedule of sleeping, studying, patrol and repeat. Being Jerry Anderson's apprentice was not a walk in the park. Cramming information and memorising medical terms day in and day out, was not for everyone. But your burning passion for animals was your fuel through these hardships. 

Even though Jerry only had a Bachelor of Science in Biology and the fireflies lack a veterinarian, you took it upon yourself to learn everything you could about animal physiology - mostly done alone. Scavenging for half buried veterinary manuals or copying notes by hand from old books. 

Jerry might have not been a vet, but he had the next best thing; a sharp mind, a good heart and the willingness to teach you everything he knew.

“I can’t tell you how to fix a cat’s broken leg, but I can teach you how to ask the right questions” he’d say while readjusting his reading glasses. 

And that he did. He gave you access to the lab, taught you proper sterile techniques, how to log field notes, how to think in hypotheses.

That’s how Abby would often find you. Back hunched over a microscope, wrist deep into notes, sleeves rolled up and eyebrows furrowed with focus. Abby would tease you about it, calling you Dr. Smartypants with a smirk, but she was always the first to help flip through old textbooks or test you on obscure facts:

“Do snakes have gallbladders?” she asks with furrowed brows.

“Yes Abby.” you answer curtly, without raising your eyes from your notes.

“Gross.”

It was those quiet moments that meant the most - sitting shoulder to shoulder in the mess hall, sharing hushed laughter between the notes. That built something between you. Something soft. Unnamed.

You didn’t hear her at first. Too in over your head to pay attention to the heavy boots hitting the cracked concrete. Two hands digging their fingers into both sides of your waist snaps you out of your daze. You jump upwards, the sudden pinch jolting you straight out of your daydream. Your head snaps back to spot the culprit. Sporting a pair of green cargos and a brown t-shirt. Dirty blond hair braided into a singular short dutch braid - was Abby Anderson. 

“Jesus, Abs.” you gasp breathlessly. 

She’s already grinning, hands up like she’s innocent. “I called your name. Twice.”

“Bullshit” you say with an eye roll, turning your head away before she spots the smile creeping up your face. 

She takes a seat beside you on the battered concrete wall, shoulders brushing yours, a small contact that does more to you than it should. Out of the corner of your eye you see Abby lean forward to glance down at the ground beneath. A solid 3 meter drop. Knowing Abby and her fear of heights, it looks higher. 

“If you fall down you’ll die like an idiot” she says, glancing your way.

You don’t answer immediately. You don’t have to.

The breeze brushes a strand of her hair, she doesn’t brush it away. The silence between you is calm, almost something sacred. You glance at her. Without thinking you raise your hand out to her face to gently tuck the strand of hair behind her ear. As if any sudden movement would break the tranquility between you. Her eyes leave the drop and meet yours. 

“You always come up here when you’re stressed.” she quickly eyes the drop again before glancing your way “I figured I’d find you here.”

“I like the quiet,” you say “It feels far away from…everything.”

She hums in agreement. “You should be careful though.”

“With what? Gravity?” you ask with a playful grin.

“With yourself.”

You glance at her. She’s looking at the drop again, but there is something softer in her voice now, something unguarded. And the look in her eyes is not the fear of the height anymore. It’s the fear of something else.

You bump your shoulder to hers, a soft grin grazing your lips.

“Hey, I got you to keep me safe, don’t I?” you say with a playful tone, trying to lighten up the mood. 

She looks at you with an eye roll, snorting. 

“What are you doing out anyways? I thought you were training.” you ask.

“Well…dad’s run off again and I’m getting shit for it.” she sighs “Couldn’t find you either so I figured I’ll find the both of you.” 

“Well, one down, one more to go.” you shrug “C’mon, I’ll help you find him.” 

Without waiting for an answer you stand up from the concrete barrier and slide down the slanted rooftop. Roughly landing on a puddle of mud. You wipe off splashes of mud off your pants with a groan. You hear snickering from above, glancing back to see Abby laughing. You turn around and back away from the puddle to give her space to jump. 

“Quit laughing and get down her Abs.” you say with a serious look, a smile threatening to break out on your face. That seems to shut her up. Her laughing halts in a comical speed, fear and uncertainty taking over her face. 

“What? Too much of a wuss to get down here?” you say with a mocking tone.

With seemingly new determination, she stands from the barrier and takes a step onto the downturned, metal roof. It bends under her weight and before you know it her feet slip. She lands on the roof with a grunt, before she slips off and drops toward the ground. 

“Oh no – !” she yelps right before landing in the puddle of mud. You’re quick to her rescue, offering her a hand with a giggle. Her mud covered hand grips yours and is quick to pull you down with her. A yelp leaves your throat as you land on your side. You are quick to recover, sitting up hastily.

“Abby, what the fuck!” your eyes bewildered as you look at her. You glance down at your clothes, now fully covered in mud. She laughs at you, a full blown belly laugh, as if your despair is pure comedy. You squint your eyes at her, a smirk pulling at your lips. And before she knows it, you tackle her to the ground. Your hands on each of her shoulders, pushing her down to the ground. She shrieks and desperately tries to get you off her. Moments like these, not the calm and quiet ones, but the loud and playful, show a hidden side of Abby no one else has seen. Abby, the loyal and driven daughter of Jerry Anderson - fierce in the field, unshakable in her convictions - now softened by something few get to see. Playful, at ease, her edges rounded in your presence. Something not everyone gets to witness. Something for your eyes only. Something sacred. Something you hold very dear. 

“Girls?” you hear past your laughters.

You both turn your head to the source and quickly scramble off each other. It’s Jerry. Standing with his hands on his hips, a soft smirk on his face. “You done play fighting or should I come back in five?” He gets a good look at you both and chuckles. 

“You, uh, got a little mud on you there, girls.” he says teasingly. 

You grin sheepishly. 

“So do you.” Abby says with a straight face.

Jerry looks at his clothes to spot any potential stains on them. 

“Where?”

Abby is quick to splash him with mud, right in the middle of his shirt. 

“Right there.” she grunts, pushing herself off the puddle. She turns to you, offering her hand. You’re quick to grab it, mud soaking through your clothes. Her hand feels warm in yours. Familiar. Safe. 

Once standing, you both brush off as much mud off your clothes as you can. Abby glances at Jerry, sighing. “You know, everytime you run off like this they give me shit about it.” “Believe it or not, they actually care about your safety.” Abby finishes with annoyance.

Jerry exhales a half-laugh and shakes his head. “If you're done being dramatic, I could use some extra eyes. That zebra we’ve been watching? She’s run off. I’m guessing she broke from the herd to give birth. Want to make sure she and the baby are alright.”

“I thought you had people for that” Abby teases.

“I do. But one of them keeps wandering off to rooftops” he fires back, glancing at you with a hint of playfulness. 

You and Abby exchange glances, snickering quietly. Without saying anything, you follow Jerry through the woods. 

The air grows cooler the deeper you go. Abby slows her pace to match yours, bumps your shoulder with hers, pulling something out of her cargo pocket. A quarter, scratched - dulled with age. “Look what I found earlier” she holds it flat in the palm of her hand. 

You smile. “Another one for your collection?” 

She nods. “Thought about giving it to my dad to guilt him into staying in one place for once.”

“You think a coin’s gonna stop him from playing vet in the middle of nowhere?” 

“No.” she grins “Maybe he’ll think twice next time.”

She slips it back into her pocket as Jerry calls for you both to keep up. You follow, boots crunching after each step. Once the three of you slip past the tree lining, you come across a trail of blood, the afterbirth.

“She already gave birth.” you murmur “She must be close.”

A soft cry pulls you forward.

There she was, trapped and panicked, stuck in the wires of a broken fence. Her breathing is shallow, she kicks but the wires digs deeper, emitting another pained cry. Your heart clenches for the poor creature. 

Jerry starts barking orders. “We need to stay calm. Try not to spook her. Abby - take her head. Keep her calm.” 

Abby nods, wrapping her arms around the zebra's neck, whispering reassuring words. Her voice low yet soothing. 

Jerry looks at you and hands you a pair of pliers. “I’ll help Abby hold her down, you cut the wires.” 

You work quickly, hands steady despite the tension. With a final snip, the last strand gives away. “She’s free.” you whisper. The zebra bolts, limping yet mobile, disappearing into the woods where a smaller cry answers. Her foal. Relief washes over you. 

And then - 

“Doc!” a voice cuts in, sharp, breathless.

You turn as Owen barrels through the woods. His eyes land on Jerry, wide with urgency.

“Doc, that girl showed up.” he says. 

“What girl?” “The girl Marlene keeps talking about. They found her in the tunnels. She has an old bite mark on her arm. No signs of infection.” 

You and Abby glance at each other quietly. The girl, the potential cure for mankind, found in the tunnels. Could a vaccine really be created? Your head was spinning with questions until Owen interrupted them.

“They’re already running tests on her but…you gotta get down there.” he says, still breathless.

Your thoughts consume you as the four of you walk back to the hospital, steps hurried. How could a vaccine be created? Blood samples? A synthesised cure? You’ve heard whispers and theories about it in the mess halls, half-scientific, half-hopeful. Jerry was always tight-lipped. But you could see it in his eyes when he thought no one was looking. Determined. Desperate. As if he’s chasing something just within reach. But what would happen to the girl? What does saving the world cost her? A pang of sympathy hits you in the chest. You glance at Abby, just a few steps ahead, her hair ruffling in the wind. She believed in this cause wholeheartedly. She believed in her fathers work. You did too. But now, the questions start to outnumber the answers. You don’t notice Abby slowing down to match your pace. 

“You alright?” she asks, nudging your arm.

You snap out of it before saying. “Yeah, just thinking.”

“About?”

You fake a smile. “Nothing important.”

She gives you a look like she doesn’t buy it. She knows you better than anyone. She can read you like a book, but she lets it slide. For now.

—

You walk mindlessly around the halls of St. Mary’s hospital, taking a well deserved break from your notes. You can’t seem to get the girl out of your head, mind spiraling with questions. Could her blood be the key? Her brain? You have read enough to understand that vaccines aren’t magic. They require sacrifice, precision and sometimes…something irreversible. 

And then the darker thoughts creep in, the ones you’ve been pushing down since Owen said that they found her.

Would they have to kill her to create the cure?

Your stomach churns at the thought.

She’s a kid. Fourteen, maybe fifteen. A human, not a cure. But in this world, humanity and usefulness rarely go hand in hand. You glance up from the dusted and cracked floor, down the hall you see Abby enter her dad’s office, today's dinner in hand. Your pace quickens, when you reach the office you don’t show yourself. You linger, beside the door frame, back to the wall, ears sharp. Marlene, commander of the fireflies, walks through the door. She carried herself with the kind of quiet authority that didn’t need a raised voice or a drawn gun to command a room. There was always something measured in her eyes, as if she’s five steps ahead of everyone else, calculating risks you hadn’t even thought of yet. Yet when she stops to glance at you, her face is drawn with displease, shoulders tense. She doesn’t say anything, just nods at you and walks away. 

You hear shuffling from inside the office, you revert your concentration back to the conversation.

“You’re doing the right thing.” Abby says carefully. Jerry scoffs, “Yeah.” he says unsure, doubt creeping into his voice.

“If it was me…I’d want you to do the surgery.”

You freeze. The words hang in the air like smoke. Slow, suffocating. If it was me…

In a sense you understand her. You have witnessed what this world has done - how many lives it has taken, how much it has ruined. And a cure could mean something. Everything. But the other part of you, the louder part, can’t stop picturing the girl in the hospital bed. Small. Unconscious. Unaware.

You're not sure the trade is worth it. But Abby sure is. 

—

The blaring sounds of the alarm startles you. You were sitting in an abandoned doctors office, taking notes from the newest zoology book Abby found during one of her patrols. The room flashes with red lights, almost blinding you as you stand. You cringe, ears ringing from the constant shout of the alarm. What the hell is going on? You rush out of the room and down the halls of the hospital, trying to find traces of anyone. Did everyone already evacuate? Where is Abby? Your mind spins with questions as you push forward in a sprint. As you step around the corner you spot Abby in front of a red door. 

“Abs!” you yell, rushing towards her. “What the hell is going on?” you ask breathlessly once you reach her, grabbing her arm gently. She’s tense, face pinched with worry. 

“I don’t know. I looked everywhere for you, where were you?” She's quick to answer, grabbing your hand. You give her hand a reassuring squeeze, a quiet reassurance. 

“I was studying in the lab.” The alarms still blaring, lights flickering red lights. “We should get out of here.” you say as you tug at her hand towards the exit. She doesn’t move. “No, I need to find dad first.” 

Abby, with her right hand, holds her gun, ready for use, while the other slowly twists the cold doorknob. Her body follows the door's movements and her head slowly peeks through the crack. 

All you can see is her back, but whatever she spots behind that door makes her jump into action. She only manages to take one step into the room before you hear her mutter, “Is that-?”. You're quick to enter beside her. The sight in front of you makes you nauseous. There, on the cold and hard floor is Jerry. Dead. Laying in a pool of his own blood that’s seeping through his surgical gown. As if automatic, you’re quick to grab both of Abby’s shoulders. You can’t let her last memory of Jerry be this heinous. 

She fights against your grip, “Dad! Dad! No!” she yells, voice hoarse, cracked open by grief. Tears streaming down her face. Her knees buckle with the weight of the situation, body molding into yours as you embrace her. “No! No…” she sobs, completely defeated. Her fight drained from her all at once. 

You make the mistake of looking past your shoulder. Jerry is really gone. The man that taught you everything you know, your mentor, your role model, Abby’s entire world. It hits you in the chest like a hammer - sharp, splintering. Your throat tightens, breath caught somewhere between a sob and a scream. You turn your head back to Abby, who has now gone quiet. Small sobs escape her lips, her entire body trembling as she pushes herself closer to you, shaky hands gripping your shirt. Like you’re the only thing keeping her from slipping into the dark. Like if she lets go of you, she might lose you too. Your cheek rests on the crown of her head, one arm around her back, the other stroking her now messy braid. Like it will somehow keep her together.

She doesn’t let go.

And neither do you.

Taglist: @pokiiks @onyxherman @trinityobsessesovatings

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Dividers: @toastray

[theresattrpgforthat]

Do you know any solo RPGs that are about exploring an unknown world? Preferrably with some support for intriguing flora and fauna.

THEME: Exploratory Solo Games

Hello there! I have quite a few games here that are exploratory in some way shape or form. Some have creatures, some have plants, and some have something else! I hope you find something here that works for you.

The Verge, by Gordie Murphy.

You have found your way into the Verge, that edge of the forest beyond its edge. In the midst of the woods that stretch horizon to horizon, getting lost is easy, no matter how clearly the sun may seem to burn. The Verge doesn’t want you there, no more than it wanted me there. Whatever desperate hope you may hold in the Verge, once the sun has set it will be too late–without sacrificing more than you may be willing to sacrifice.

Heed me: the Ritual you must complete is intricate, and must be performed with precision. The pieces of this Ritual can only be found within the Verge.

Be cautious, as the Verge will surely tell you falsehoods. Walk with trepidation, for the Verge will seek to ensnare you. Fortify yourself, for the Verge will ask everything of you. But seek furiously, for the rewards are unfathomable.

The Verge uses the Carta System, which employs a deck of cards laid out in a grid, to represent a map that your character slowly explores. As you turn the cards over, you'll find new strange things in the forest you are traveling through: and in this case, strange plants and ritual elements will dot your path, in both beautiful and eerie ways.

Homeward, by rejamison.

In the After, hope has died out. The few of us left wander desperate and afraid. We scavenge and squabble over the abandoned scraps of a dead civilization. Can you light a spark of hope?

You were born in the After, you have never known a world full of people, but are daily reminded of Before by that strange world's artifacts strewn haphazardly across an endless wilderness.

A few, like you, remain…but feral. Scratching for survival, as likely to offer a fist as an open hand.

You do not know what came between the Before and After, does it haunt the world still? Survival in the wilds is test enough…what else lurks?

Homeward is not just about exploration. It's also about survival. To include the feeling of struggle and danger, you'll need to track time on a chart that represents a 10-month calendar, and also monitor a number of various resources that are meant to keep you alive. Your character will use a deck of cards to explore the world around them, coming across both opportunities and dangers, and then return to their settlement to build it up over time.

While you play the game solo, your character will also meet new folks and develop alliances, which are integral to survival. If you're interested, the title link is for the demo of the game; a more full version is available on Kickstarter.

Coiled.Space, by Aether Corp Games.

Coiled.Spæce is a solo journalling game for up to 4 players.

It's a none-too-serious, sci-fi game in which you Jump® around a deteriorating universe collecting energy from its inhabitants by rolling full sets of polyhedral dice to generate everything from your vessel & crew to star systems and energy emitting bodies (EEB).

Coiled.Space really gives you your bang for your buck. Buying the game on Itch gets you a training manual PDF, a log book to record your journey in, the console & scanner PDFs, bookmarks for easy reference, monochrome versions and spread layout versions, as well as a little list of all of the Easter eggs hidden throughout the game.

The game itself is a loop: generate a vessel & a harvester, jump to a star system, navigate between orbits, scan an EEB, harvest energy, and return home. You use different dice to generate your vessels, resources, and other prompts, allowing you to expereince the tactile joy of playing with as many different dice as possible.

Exploration is only a small piece of Coiled.Space. Just as important is your ability to manage resources, as you won't be able to make a jump across star systems if you don't have enough energy in your ship. You'll also need to watch your vessel stability, or your ship may fall apart and you may barely escape with your life.

Whispers on the Rails, by shadowcrunch.

Whispers on the Rails is a journaling game wherein you board a mysterious train, destination unknown. There are two included versions, one using a prompt table system, the other using a deck of tarot cards. As you travel through the train cars, you use the prompts or tarot cards to describe the interior and exterior of the next train car, and each train car will be its own journal entry, with the potential to be a completely different world or environment. As the prompts or tarot cards paint a picture of your surroundings in the train car, you should imagine yourself there, take a moment to reflect on how this train car makes you feel. Use your journal to briefly describe what you see, then your feelings or thoughts and how this new environment affects you.

I really appreciate the thought and effort the author of Whispers on the Rails put into the game, creating a way to play it with either tarot cards or dice. The prompts that you roll or draw for shape the interior of the car that you're in, as well as the world around you. Your character will have some kind of problem or obstacle to overcome, and as you write your journal entry, you'll be integrating the problem into the description of the environment around you.

While you are exploring the train that you've found yourself on, I think that Whispers on the Rails is also meant to be rather reflective; your character will be on a journey of self-discovery as well.

H.A.V.O.C: Extraplanar Escapade, by kumori.

Welcome to H.A.V.O.C.- the Habitat for Anomalous Vagrant Otherworldly Creatures! As the nonprofit's newest hire, you've been assigned an on-site training in the OuterPlane for a hands-on experience with capturing injured anomalies to receive care back at the facility. Do you think you have what it takes?

While the focus of H.A.V.O.C. is around things called anomalies, there's a number of elements that feel adjacent to the Pokemon game series to me. H.A.V.O.C. is a journalling game that has you exploring the "field", finding and capturing anomalies, and trying to keep yourself rested enough that you can make it back to home base in one piece. You'll need to monitor your inventory of capture orbs, treats, and other gear that will help you gain the trust of the anomalies you're attempting to bring medical care.

Watch the Whispers, by Galaxycryptid.

You play as a Park ranger who has just started working at the Whispering Pines Woods. After discovering the notes left by the previous Park Ranger, you realize that the woods are inhabited by something else: cryptids.

Roll to see what prompt you get while you work, make friends, explore the woods and meet cryptids.

You'll need a d10 and a d20 for this game. Each round of play represents a week of work as a ranger, in which you roll on a number of tables to discover strange signs and new cryptids roaming your park. Your ranger will balance their duties with new encounters, in different locations and with various NPCs. The game feels like a balance between a cozy nature game and an eerie surreal setting, as you can choose to befriend the cryptids in your park, or instead to capture them. Alternatively, you can ignore them - but choose this route and you're likely going to stumble across dead bodies, strangely quiet parts of the wood, and the smells of things long passed.

Untold Creatures, by oddpress.

Beyond the borders of civilization, there are places that hide unique, fascinating, and sometimes terrifying creatures. As a Explorer, your mission is to venture into the unknown, facing challenging journeys in search of these extraordinary beings. Pack your backpack, your notebook, and, of course, your supplies. The road awaits you—it’s time to explore!

Untold Creatures is a short eight-page solo journaling game about exploring a fantastical world in search of unknown creatures. You’ll journey through distant lands, encounter creatures never seen before, and record everything in your journal.

You can print this game on a single piece of paper and fold it into a zine, with a number of small d6 roll-tables that act as an oracle to generate prompts. This game is all about finding and learning about strange creatures, with an end-game determined by a list of goals for your character to complete. These goals include items such as documenting 10 different creatures, finding 3 artifacts, and forming a deep bond with at least 5 different critters.

Wanderer - Travels Through The Hidden Lands, by Beamesy

You move through a strange landscape, filled with things familiar and unknown, mysterious and mundane. You cannot say what brought you to this place, nor how or even whether you might be able to find a way home again. You have only the clothes on your back, a notebook and the few other items you carried with you when you came here.

What will the story of your journey be?

You find yourself in the Hidden Lands, a place beyond, or perhaps it is rather behind, the world we know. It is another plane of existence, but one to which many things can travel, if only by accident. A world in its own right, the Hidden Lands sits somehow adjacent to our own and is filled with places, things and even people that have become lost.

There's certain things I expect from journalling games, and Wanderer looks like it checks all the boxes: a deck of playing cards, likely to present you with prompts, a d6 for randomization, and the expectation that you'll be writing in a journal as you play. The setting feels a little bit like an isekai-style story: you find yourself in another world, and have to figure out how to get back home. I don't think the game specifically focuses on flora & fauna; in general the landscape is the primary focus.

Other Things to Check Out…

EZ.CARGO.T, by Garlickatsu.

Colostle, by Nich Angell.

Ruins of Dim Kalduhr, by Demon Toad Games.

Courier, by Sasquatch Games.

Salvager, by TEU Games.

The Land Beyond, by Cezar Capacle.

Wonderfall, by Catscratcher Studio.

Solo Worldbuilding Recommendation Post

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[starshipsofstarlord]

Bemused

summary -> daryl becomes bemused by y/n and her affections towards him. also the story of how daryl ‘found’ his vest (0.6k)

warnings -> fluff, prison era (season 3) set, unestablished relationship but there be feelings, blood, 3rd person

daryl dixon // norman reedus works main masterlist

She was an outsider, even though she had travelled all this way with them from Atlanta, all the group of survivors knew was her name, and that she could kill walkers.

Nowhere they had rested felt like home, until they cleared out the prison, and y/n began to open herself up more, they all did. This could be their haven from the horrors that lay outside the fences, all they had to do was maintain their respite when it came to collecting supplies, and enforce the barriers when it was needed.

However what Daryl had found peculiar was that she lingered around him like an angel, he stared shocked at her as she walked towards him, a spattering of blood painting her face.

They were all infected in this new world, it wasn’t news that they had just learnt, but the redneck felt his eyes grow wide as he looked at her, and she wore a smile, as though she hadn’t previously been fighting off the undead as she entered the manually opened gates.

“How was the run?” Daryl asked her as she tilted her head at him, shaking her head as she dropped her satchel to the ground, and she burrowed through its contents as though her life depended on it.

“I’d say pretty good,” she replied, feeling giddy and nervous as she finally retracted the fabric, holding the article in her hands. “I got you something, I saw it and I thought of you.”

Nobody had ever thought of him, Daryl grew bemused as she handed him the gift, examining it in his hands as the shock did anything but wear off. Merle had only brought him a present once, and that was when he was a kid, he had nothing of value apart from the crossbow that he carried everywhere.

“Ya didn’ have to.” He quietly spoke, turning the vest around, viewing the pair of wings that were created upon the back. It was almost ornamental, it felt wrong to wear something so meaningful in the bloodshed of the apocalypse, but y/n appeared to not want to take no for an answer.

“Try it on! I didn’t scavenge it for you to just gawk at it!” She encouraged him, watching as the brooding man grunted, and shrugged his crossbow off, y/n happily taking it from him as he pulled the fabric over his shoulders. “It fits perfectly!”

In the old world, a woman being so excited over the littlest of things would have annoyed him, most of the female population did, especially those that Merle ran after, but he found comfort in it. She wanted him to be happy! It was a first for him to experience, and he had many of those left.

The vest hugged his shoulders in just the right way, and a warmth ran across his stuttering chest as he looked at y/n with his deep cerulean eyes, wondering why she had thought of him and risked her life to get him something so simple yet unique.

“Yeah, ‘t does.” He found himself agreeing with her, a small smile scoping on his lips as he struggled to push her away. “Thanks.” He curtly nodded, unsure of how to handle such a kind situation, however y/n had other plans.

She, still swinging his empty crossbow in her right hand to the side, engulfed him in a hug, that had his heart pausing for a couple of moments. But he found himself wrapping her in his arms, never wanting to let her go.

He’d be okay if he could stay in the scene forever, holding her in his embrace, however it would never last. Nothing good ever did… but maybe, just maybe things would have a better outcome than he’d predicted in the past.

[reidsdimples]

Strictly Professional | Part 5 {Finale}

18+❤️‍🔥 MDNI ‼️

Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

Time to confront the truth. Will you and Spence sink or swim?

Part 4 | Masterlist

“Hotch, what’s going on?” You hear Spencer say as he opens the door. You’re still in the running shower. “I have company so…”

Good, maybe Hotch will leave and not ask any questions. You decide to leave the shower on and start drying off and getting dressed. You were completely baffled, you had no idea what to do with yourself.

“I’m finalizing this case report and need more information on this part of your statement,” you hear them murmuring outside of the door.

A few minutes pass and you hear him leaving.

“Oh and one more thing,” you hear Hotch pause outside of the bathroom door. Your stomach sinks. “Y/N come on out,” he sounds exasperated.

Shit.

Fuck.

He knows, of course he fucking knows.

You open the bathroom door slowly, you’re pretty sure your face is flushed white as a ghost. Hotch looks between the two of you, his brow furrowed and his mouth set in a hard line.

“Do you understand this could jeopardize the professionalism of this team?” He shook his head, not angrily but more disappointedly. “The two of you need to have a conversation about what you’re willing to risk for one another. We will discuss the next steps back at Quantico.”

With that he turns and exits the room. You don’t know who is more stunned, you or Spence.

Spencer was about to tell you he wants more and now this. You could see his walls shooting back up, detachment becoming ever present in his eyes. He had made a home in solitude, grown cozy in loneliness’ embrace. Perhaps you had too.

“What are we-“ you start.

“There can’t be a we,” he levels his eyes on you, his tone stern. “This has to stop.”

“Are you serious?” You scoff at him. “We’re already caught Spence, we can’t undo it.”

“No but he can transfer or fire one or both of us. We can’t have sexual or romantic relationships with other members of the same unit. You know that,” he retorts.

“I get that it jeopardizes the team, you don’t think that worries me too?” You approach him and grab his arm as he turns from you. He jerks his arm away. “I think Hotch with work with us on this,” you plead.

“No. This is just too much,” he snaps.

“Fine,” you scoff. “I’ll see you in Hotch’s office tomorrow.”

With that you storm out of his room, with what little dignity you scavenge.

Tears sting your eyes when you crawl back into the far too big hotel bed. Why were you so stupid to think you could actually have him?

-

“Come in, sit,” Hotch’s stern face sends fear up your spine.

You glance at Spence who walks ahead of you, pulling his shoulder bag off and placing it on the floor. The two of you sit in the chairs facing Hotch’s desk, intimidated wasn’t a strong enough word.

Could your future at the BAU be in jeopardy? Never mind a future with Spence.

Hotch sits and looks between the two of you for a moment. Is he expecting on of you to speak?

You dare a look at Spencer, who by the looks of it, hardly slept either. At least he dozed on the jet.

“How long have you known?” Spencer asks.

“A while,” Hotch answers and scribbles something on a pad. “I realize I’ve paired you two up a lot this year. So I’m going to start there in the spirit of remedying this situation. First, the two of you will be partnered with other agents when we’re in the field,” he sighs.

“But you said yourself that we work great together,” you argue in reference to your recent evaluation.

“And I stand by that. This is about ensuring that your loyalties also lie with the other members of this team, not just one another,” his eyes bead into you.

“The manual says that it’s only forbidden once it proves to impact our job performance, it hasn’t,” Spencer says coldly.

You stare at the side of his head, was he actually fighting for this?

“It only says relationships are discouraged, but this is not a terminable offense,” Spencer adds.

“I’m not here to terminate either of you,” Hotch swears. “I’m here to ensure that this” he gestures between you. “Does not impact job performance in the future. I’ve been meaning to address this for a while.”

Spencer sighs, you do too. At least no one was losing their job.

“Now, apart from separating you two in the field…” Hotch pauses. “The team most likely already knows something is up. But don’t make it a thing, don’t make it obvious. I don’t need Strauss or the brass coming down on me about this. What you do in your off time is your business,” he says and writes something else on his notepad.

“Of course,” you nod when he glances up at you. Spencer just nods too.

“This also means no disappearing together into filing rooms or old offices,” he places his pen down and latches his fingers together. “Is that clear?”

Your face reddens. Oh fuck, he knew about that?

“Crystal,” Spencer swallows. His jaw twitches and feathers. Sex at work was definitely a terminable offense.

“Should I have to address this again, the consequences will be grave. Do not let your personal lives effect your job,” he says with finality.

You’re shaking, but you place your hands under your legs to stop it.

“Reid you’re going with Rossi and Prentiss to Dallas tonight to consult on a case there. Y/N you’re staying here with the rest of the team to work on a kidnapping in DC,” Hotch instructs and stands.

Both of you scramble to your feet like two kids in the principles office and confirm your understanding of your orders.

You leave first with your head down. You just way to focus on work, focus on the kissing kid. You meet JJ, Garcia, and Morgan at the round table to get started.

-

“Just come over,” Garcia whines later that night.

“Fine,” you laugh.

“I want to know all about what happened,” she smiles but rubs your back sympathetically.

The kidnapping case closed pretty quick, luckily the child was found safe and the unsub was taken in. You were thankful for an easier case after the last few darker ones.

Spencer would be in Dallas by now and you probably wouldn’t hear a peep from him until they got back. The two of you rarely texted, and you didn’t know where or how the two of you left things. Everything was up in the air.

Then again, you pleaded with him last night to fight for you. To some degree he did in Hotch’s office… or he was just fighting for his job. You sighed, you had no idea where his head was.

You just knew you felt sad, heavy. You wanted him, you wanted him to want you back. The whole thing sucked. Somewhere along the way you began wanting more from him while he seemed content just to have sex. The whole thing was getting messier.

You also knew you shouldn’t be telling Penelope any of this, per Hotch’s orders. But you trust her, she hadn’t told anybody when she found out.

“So he didn’t say anything to you when he left for Dallas?” Garcia sat on the couch and handed you your own ice cream.

“Nothing, barely even looked at me today,” you frown.

“I think he’ll come around. Especially since Hotch gave you guys specific parameters to operate within. He’ll work it all out in that big brain of his and come running back. I just know it,” Penelope huffed.

You hoped she was right. You weren’t sure. A big part of the excitement for both of you was the thrill of getting caught. What lay outside of that meant confronting the possibility of more, of a real relationship. Not just fun and games.

You and Penelope spent the rest of the night getting wine drunk and watching cheesy scary movies.

The following days drug on slowly with no contact from Spencer. You finally had a day off though and you were determined to make the best out of it.

You treated yourself to a massage, a mani pedi,a new hair cut, and new highlights.

By the time you got home you were pampered and worn out. You made short work of feeding your cat before wrapping your hair and getting in the welcoming hot shower.

When you had time to think, you always drifted back to Spencer. In your head though, it was Spencer without those damned walls up. The sweet and caring one, the fearlessly unafraid to be loved version of him. It was a side you rarely met. But you saw it, lying below the surface. That part of him that craved love, hoped beyond all hope that love would find him.

You found yourself hoping he found it one day. After everything he had gone through, after so much heartbreak, he deserved it. You just needed to be okay with the possibility of it not being with you. Selfishly, you weren’t there yet.

Steam billowed out of the shower as you dried off and wrapped your towel around you. You frown at the bathroom door, not recalling closing it. Weird.

Upon stepping out of the bathroom, you nearly have a heart attack.

“Fuck Spencer!” You scream. He’s sitting in the arm chair across from your bed, flipping through a book. “That’s it, give me the key,” you hold your hand out.

He looks up at you and smirks.

“No welcome back to Virginia?” He jokes.

“Na uh, nope. I’m still mad at you,” you reach down and snatch his keys from his lap. “Why are you here?” You cross your arms.

He looks devastating, he’s still wearing a FBI jacket, a tie, a checkered button down, and slacks. His hair is artistically messy, and he’s looking up at you with those big eyes.

“I-“ he hesitates, all humor gone from his face. “I don’t want to lose this.” It’s the most honest he’s been about ‘this’.

“And what is this Spencer? Huh? You don’t want to date me, but you kind of want more? I don’t get it,” you throw your hands up and walk away from him into the living room.

“I was afraid,” he grabs your arm and turns your towards him,

“Of losing your job?” You let breath hitches because of the physical contact.

“Partially, mostly because the way I feel about you is…” he trails off as he stares into your eyes.

“Completely unprofessional,” you smirk.

“Completely,” he exhales.

“What do you want?” You ask him.

“I want you to be mine, I want to take you out, and date you but in secret so the team doesn’t know. I want to stop pretending like I don’t care about you. Like I don’t spend every moment away from you hurrying to get back. It’s maddening,” he pushes his hand into your hair, caressing the side of your head. You blink as you try to take in the words you’d longed for for so long.

“This whole time I’ve just wanted you,” your voice is hushed, choked with the threat of tears.

He pulls you into him and crashes his lips into yours. You get the peculiar feeling that you’re kissing the real Spencer Reid for the first time. He’s gentle, vulnerable, soft, and starving for you. He’s not holding back, he’s running his hands up your body and discarding the towel. He whimpers when you pull his hair and push him into the wall.

“Will you be my girlfriend. Please,” he begs with his hands on your hips.

“Yes,” it’s breathless and you kiss him harder.

He hoists you up and wraps your legs around his waist before carrying you back to your room.

You giggle when he lays you on the bed and begins trailing kisses down your body. His soft lips clamp over your nipple, pulling a moan from you. His strong hands squeeze your thighs as his body hovers over your center.

He plants kisses down your stomach, on your hip bones, and then to your inner thighs. Your body comes alive for him, as if reaching for the deepest expanse of the universe, needing and needing more.

“Please,” you whimper as he kisses around your pussy teasingly.

“We’re not in a hurry this time baby,” he shushes you. The word baby feels like a sweet caress and has you whimpering for him.

You feel his middle finger run down from your clit to your entrance, spreading the wetness between your folds, before he pushes in into you. Those perfect fingers, you couldn’t get enough.

“Fuck,” you whine.

At which point he pressing his tongue into you as well, your whole body shuddering in response. He drags its upward, slowly until he finds your clit. He flicks and sucks at the sensitive bundle of nerves while he works a second and third finger into you.

You’re so wet that you’re soaking him, but he loves it, he devours you. He curls his fingers upward and starts lumping you harder and more violently.

“Cum for me, show me that you’re mine,” he begs. You glance down at him, his perfect fucking face between your legs and you’re done for.

You grip his hair, grind yourself against his face, and cum hard until you’re practically crying his name.

“Yours baby,” you whimper.

Then he’s climbing on top of you, still clothed but he’s undone his belt and pulled his cock free.

“Wait,” you whisper and start undoing his shirt. You both laugh at how clumsily you undo the buttons but you finally manage to strip him of it. “You’re so sexy, Spence,” you place your hand on his chest where you feel his heart hammering.

Somewhere in all of your hooking up you picked up on him not loving his thin frame. You wanted to make sure he knew that you did. He smiles shyly as you pull your knees back for him.

He hovers over you for a moment, as if just to look at the girl he now calls his. Then he slowly pushes himself into you, allowing you to stretch to his size, your walls tightening perfectly around him.

“Mine,” you arch your back and moan, feeling every inch of him.

It’s a declaration that means the world to him. He begins to roll his hips into you, more passionately and needy than he ever had before.

This was more than just sex, more than just fucking. He was relishing the feeling of you more than usual, he was taking his time. His hands held you close as though he were afraid he’d lose you, his lips couldn’t cover enough of your skin as if he needed to mark you. Then he did just that, he bite and sucks at your breasts while thrusting into you until you were coming apart for him.

He flattened himself on you, pushing deeper, needing to be closer until you were clawing at his back, until your legs wrapped his hips. You latched your mouth onto his chest and marked him for yourself. You greedily did so three more times, enjoying the sound of him sucking air through his teeth and locking eyes with you while he absorbed the pain.

You knew he was close when you came around him a second time. He pushed himself up on his palms, focusing with his mouth open, as he angled his hips to hit that sweet spot inside of you a few more times.

“Spencer,” you were practically begging for mercy.

A fourth orgasm would shatter you. But he wouldn’t accept anything less tonight. You both needed this.

He took one of your hands and laced his fingers between yours as he flatted it to the mattress next to your head. You watched his hips move as he pleasured you, as his cock moved in and out of you. Fuck, you would never tire of this, of him.

“Cum with me baby,” he breathes.

You do, your eyes roll back as the sensation seizes you, until you’re wound so tight that stars explode in your vision. You crescendo with him, shaking and screaming as he pumps into you.

“So good, you’re doing so good,” he’s moaning but you barely hear him. You feel out of body, you feel unreal, you’ve never felt so good is all you can think as your body starts humming.

When he pulls out of you and drags you against him, your limbs are jelly and you’re trembling.

You latch onto him and lay across his chest, listening to the sound of his heart, lost in the afterglow.

He gathers your hair from your face and pushes it back as he kisses the top of your head.

“You did so good baby,” he whispers again. You take his hand and kiss his palm gently.

“I like when you call me that,” you admit.

“Get used to it,” he smiles as his hand rubs lazy circles on your back.

“You get used to it. You’re stuck with me now Spencer Reid,” you smirk and kiss his chest.

He sits up suddenly.

“Is that rain?” He pulls back the curtain, then gets excited. “Throw something on, “ he smiles as he puts on his undershirt and pants.

“Why?” You groan.

“This is perfect,” he smiles and drags you playfully out of bed.

“Fine,” you laugh and tug on a tank top. “Where are we going?”

He grips your hand and pulls you behind him.

“Wait we’re not wearing shoes!” You squeal as he pulls you out of the house.

“Even better!”

He pulls you into the grass just outside, the rain coming down starts to drench you both immediately.

You try to run back to shelter but he seizes you around your waist and spins you around.

“Spence,” you squeak out a laugh. He turns you towards him, he’s smiling hard, his hair soaked.

“I’ve always wanted to kiss my girlfriend in the pouring rain,” he says and kisses you sweetly. He kisses you until you don’t care about the rain, until you know that you’re his and always will be.

A/N- thank you guys for following and loving on this fic 🫶🏻 it means the world to me that you guys loved it enough to keep asking for more!

Check out the master list on my page for other stories 🫶🏻

[lancer-hannibal]

Balor and Nanite Maintenance

A lot of younger Lancers ask me how to best take care of their mech, since (most of the time) they appear without a straightforward manual. I hope to share my experiences with the Balor and maybe provide a few helpful tips.

1. Your mech will be fine. Balors can, even without proper maintenance, take very good care of themselves. Everything you end up doing is simply a nice little extra for them.

2. Ask yourself: what is Balor? I don't mean this in a philosophical way, but rather straightforward. Try to figure out which part of your mech consists of Nanites and which parts of it are a more traditional mech. A Balor doesn't always take over your entire mech. For example: my leg joints are, for the most part, still normal joints and need to be maintained as such. The nanites may repair them, but they don't get rid of any squeaking.

3. In my case, I noticed that it was beneficial to 'feed' my Balor additional oil from time to time. It is not unusual for enemy units to burn after they've been defeated (especially if your team has HA tech installed), so nanites may have a hard time scavenging it.

4. Reactor. I think most Balor pilots know how difficult it can be to manage heat. Your poor reactor is always working overtime for you, so show it the respect it's earned. Visit a proper reactor expert if your nanites are mellow enough for it and you have the opportunity to do so. If not, look up tutorials for it. I know the omninet can be a bit untrustworthy from time to time, but the big manufacturers should provide a general idea about how to maintain their reactors.

5. Wash your mech! Your nanites will get covered in a lot of different materials and substances, even hazardous ones. They don't always properly remove it from themselves, so it may be advisable to clean the exterior of your Balor once in a while.

I hope this gives newer lancers a few helpful ideas on how to properly care for their mech. But please keep in mind that Horus-patterns can vary wildly from one another, so you should also trust your gut. If your nanites try to tell you that something is a bad idea, don't do it! I'm always open to answering follow-up questions or hearing from your experiences, so don't be shy.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Ash and Amber”

Boba Fett x Reader (Platonic/Maternal relationship)

The holofeed cuts out halfway through the battle broadcast. You’re halfway through cleaning your blaster when it happens — the static screen fizzles, then switches to garbled military comms you shouldn’t have access to. But you’re good at your job, and Jango was better. He taught you where to listen.

You hear his name first. Then the word deceased.

You don’t feel the blaster slip from your hand, but you hear it clatter to the floor.

“…Copy that. Mand’alor is down. Repeat, Jango Fett is confirmed KIA.”

You haven’t spoken to him in months. Years, really — bounty work had scattered you across half the galaxy. He was stubborn, proud, sharp as a vibroblade. But no amount of precision ever saves anyone in the end.

You don’t mourn Jango Fett. You move.

Because there’s one thing you do care about.

His son.

Boba.

⸻

Geonosis is a wasteland of dust, wreckage, and clone bodies. You land your ship a few clicks outside the Republic perimeter — their focus is on the Separatists, not scavengers in the shadows. You know the clone army is based on Jango. You know this mess runs deeper than it should.

But you’re not here for politics. You’re here for him.

The Slave I sits cold and silent in the shade of a crumbling mesa. You find it by memory — Jango used to keep her close whenever he was grounded.

And there he is.

Boba.

A twelve-year-old boy trying to act like he isn’t terrified.

You don’t say his name. Not yet. You don’t want to spook him. You see the helmet first — Jango’s helmet — clutched in his shaking hands, a smear of dust and something darker across his cheek.

He looks up as you step into the light.

You brace for a blaster.

Instead, he just stares.

“…You came,” he says, voice cracking on the last word. He doesn’t look like he’s cried, but he sounds like it.

You nod. “I did.”

“You knew.”

“I always know,” you say gently. “You okay, kid?”

His jaw clenches. You recognize the pride. The anger. The barely buried grief.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” you say, stepping closer. “But you will be.”

You don’t say the words I’m sorry.

You never do. Not in this line of work. You don’t have that luxury.

But you give Boba your ship. You tell him to come with you. He doesn’t ask where you’re going. He just nods and follows you up the ramp.

He hasn’t let go of the helmet.

⸻

He sleeps curled up in your co-pilot’s seat that night, still wearing Jango’s flight vest, far too big for him. You adjust the heating manually, tuck a blanket around him like he won’t notice. He pretends he doesn’t.

You’re halfway through a stiff drink when he speaks again.

“Did you know him well?”

You pause. The stars outside streak as you hit hyperspace.

“Yeah,” you say finally. “We worked together. Long time ago.”

“Was he…good?”

You look at him. At the helmet on the floor. At the kid trying to fill boots no one ever could.

“He was good at what he did. He did what he thought was right.”

“And what about you?”

“…I’m trying to do what I think is right,” you say softly. “Starting with you.”

⸻

Over the next few weeks, you notice things.

He doesn’t cry. But he gets quiet. Too quiet.

You train with him, but gently. You teach him how to reassemble your old blaster model, how to lie without blinking, how to pick a lock in under five seconds. He’s sharp. Obsessed with perfection. Like his father.

But when he burns his hand on the engine coolant valve, he bites his lip and says nothing.

You patch him up anyway.

“You don’t gotta be made of stone, kid,” you tell him.

He shrugs. “I’m a clone.”

You slam the medkit shut harder than you mean to.

“You’re not a clone. You’re Boba. That means something.”

He doesn’t speak for a long time. Then:

“…Why’d you come for me?”

“I owed your dad,” you say. “And I don’t leave kids behind.”

“I don’t know who I’m supposed to be now.”

You glance up. His eyes are dark, tired. Jango’s eyes. But there’s a flicker in them that’s his alone.

“You get to decide that,” you say.

“No, I don’t. Everyone expects me to be him.”

You pause, wipe your hands, and toss the rag over your shoulder.

“You don’t owe anyone anything, Boba. Not the other bounty hunters. Not the Republic. Not even Jango.”

His voice is quiet. “But I owe you.”

You blink.

He looks away, embarrassed. “For coming for me. For staying.”

You ruffle his hair, and he huffs, pretending he doesn’t like it. But he doesn’t pull away.

“Tell you what, kid. You just stick with me for a while. We’ll figure out who you are along the way.”

He nods.

“…Can I fly the ship tomorrow?”

You smirk. “If you don’t crash it, sure.”

⸻

lower levels of Coruscant-

You know better than to trust anyone in the lower levels.

The lights are too bright, the shadows too deep, and the air stinks like oil and old secrets. Every smile hides a knife, and every hand wants something.

Perfect place for a meetup.

You’ve got one job: collect a datachip from a slicer contact who owes you more favors than he has brain cells. The nightclub’s just neutral ground. Loud, crowded, distracting — ideal for things you don’t want noticed.

You didn’t plan to bring Boba. But he’d shot you that look. The one with his arms crossed and chin tilted up like he thinks he’s already grown.

“I’m not gonna stay on the ship like some—some stray,” he’d grumbled.

And you’d sighed, knowing he’d won before he even finished the sentence.

The club’s called The Sunken Nova, a glitter-slicked pit of neon lights, pounding music, and too many pheromones in the air.

Boba sticks close behind you. He’s trying to act like he belongs here, but his eyes keep darting around — wary, calculating, cataloguing threats.

You’re proud. Silently.

Even if he is barely up to your shoulder.

You’re halfway to the back lounge when the trouble starts.

“Oh stars,” a voice squeals over the music. “Look at him!”

You turn. Three dancers — all legs, glitter, and heavy lashes — converge like nexu on prey. And their prey?

Boba.

He freezes as they descend.

“Look at his little face! Aren’t you just the cutest thing I’ve ever seen?” one coos, pinching his cheek.

Another leans in, grinning. “What are you doing here, handsome? You helping mama on a job?”

The third giggles, tousling his hair. “I didn’t know bounty hunters came this adorable.”

You stifle a laugh as Boba goes absolutely rigid, expression locked somewhere between confused horror and pure outrage.

“Thanks,” you say dryly, sipping your drink. “He’s a rescue.”

Boba glares at you.

“Stop telling people that!” he hisses under his breath, swatting one of the dancers’ hands off his hair.

“What?” you say innocently. “You are.”

“I’m not a stray tooka you pulled out of a drainpipe!”

“No,” you smirk, “you were more of a scruffy little alley mutt. Still had bite.”

The dancers coo again as Boba’s ears go red. You see the exact moment he considers bolting, but his pride won’t let him.

“I’m gonna wait outside,” he mutters.

“You step out that door, someone will try to snatch you thinking you’re a lost civvie,” you call after him. “Stay in my shadow and maybe they won’t.”

He grumbles something deeply offended in Mando’a and crosses his arms, sulking just behind you like a stormcloud with legs.

The dancers eventually flounce off, laughing among themselves. You shoot him a sideways look.

“Awful lot of attention for a fierce little warrior, huh?”

He glares. “You said this was a job.”

“It is,” you say, scanning the crowd. “And the first lesson of Coruscant’s underbelly? Never underestimate the locals. The pretty ones are the most dangerous.”

He raises an eyebrow at you. “So what does that make you?”

You smirk. “Terrifying.”

You find your contact — a rodian slicer named Kleez who smells like expired coolant and lies — tucked in a booth near the back. The deal is quick, dirty, and full of triple-cross energy. You keep one hand near your blaster the entire time, and Boba watches every move like he’s studying a playbook.

Good.

When you’re back outside in the alley, the air hits cooler. Quieter.

You hand Boba a wrapped stick of candied rootfruit from a vendor as you walk back toward the ship. He takes it but doesn’t say thanks.

“You did good,” you say after a while.

He shrugs. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You watched. Learned. Didn’t get snatched by dancers.”

“That was embarrassing.”

You grin. “You’ll miss it when you’re older. No one pinches cheeks once you’re taller than them.”

He bites into the fruit. “…I’m never letting you tell people I’m a rescue again.”

“Too late,” you smirk. “It’s in your file.”

“There’s a file?!”

You laugh all the way back to the ship.

⸻

The bounty was supposed to be simple.

Grab-and-bag, mid-level spice dealer, hiding out in the industrial grids of 1312. Word was, the guy owed someone a fortune and skipped planet — but you got a ping he was holed up in an old shipping warehouse, laying low and running skugg spice through drain lines.

No politics. No Jedi. No Republic heat.

Just a name. A face. A paycheck.

And you brought Boba. Because he insisted, and because part of you thought he needed to see what real bounty work looked like — cold, calculated, impersonal. You wanted to remind him not every job ends in blood or legacy.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t go that way.

⸻

It starts to go wrong when you reach the warehouse and find the bounty already trussed up like cargo and tossed at your feet — bruised, terrified, and alive.

Then you hear the voice from above, echoing off the catwalks like a hunting song.

“Well, well. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

Your blood freezes before she even drops down.

Aurra Sing.

Tall, gaunt, and dangerous in the way a vibroblade is — clean and fast, but always dirty when it matters. She lands with a predator’s grace, rifle slung over one shoulder, sharp smile already waiting.

Boba steps close to your side the second he sees her.

Smart kid.

Then your eyes shift behind her.

And your heart sinks.

The Slave I.

Jango’s ship. No mistake.

Cleaned up, rearmored, hers now — but you’d know that silhouette anywhere. So would Boba. His shoulders go rigid.

You put a hand on his shoulder. Quiet. Steadying.

Aurra notices.

“Ohhh,” she croons, voice twisting into a grin. “Didn’t know you had a kid, [Y/N]. Oh wait—” her eyes flicker, sharp as sabacc cards— “Is that who I think it is?”

“Step away,” you say evenly.

She ignores you and steps forward, crouching slightly to meet Boba’s eyes.

“You’ve got your father’s eyes,” she murmurs. “And his jaw. You remember me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Boba stares, silent.

“I knew your dad,” she says gently. “Ran jobs with him. He was the best.”

“No,” Boba says coldly. “I was the best.”

She laughs — low and knowing.

“Well, that explains the attitude.”

You step between them before it gets worse.

“What do you want, Aurra?”

She lifts a brow. “Oh, don’t be like that. Thought we were all friends here.”

“We were never friends.”

She smirks. “Suit yourself. Just figured I’d say hi. After all—” her voice turns softer again, eyes flicking to Boba— “I’ve got his old ship. Seems like it should’ve gone to the boy, don’t you think?”

You see Boba’s throat tighten.

“That was my dad’s.”

Aurra nods. “It was. I just… found it first. Took care of her. Kept her warm. Just like I’d do for you, if you came with me.”

You stiffen. “He’s not going anywhere with you.”

Aurra doesn’t look at you. She looks at Boba.

“You want justice, don’t you?” she asks quietly. “Revenge? You know who killed your father. I can help you find him.”

“Stop.” Your voice is low, dangerous.

But Boba doesn’t move.

His hands curl into fists at his sides.

“You help me,” Boba says, “and I get to face the Jedi who did it?”

Aurra’s smile sharpens. “Exactly.”

You step forward, furious now. “Boba. No. If you go down that path—”

“I know what path it is.”

“No, you don’t,” you growl. “You think you do. You think pain makes you a man. That revenge will make you stronger. But it won’t. It eats you.”

He looks at you, face hard, eyes like a storm.

“I don’t care.”

You feel the words like a punch to the gut.

He turns to Aurra.

“When do we leave?”

You reach out and catch his arm — not to stop him. Just… to touch him. One last time.

“You don’t have to be your father.”

He doesn’t meet your eyes.

“I know.”

And then he steps away.

Aurra nods once, pleased, and gestures to the ship.

“Welcome aboard, kid.”

The ramp lowers.

He doesn’t look back.

You stand in the darkened street, staring as Slave I rises into the smog-choked sky, carrying the boy you pulled from the ruins of Geonosis — the boy who let someone else promise him what you never could.

Not safety. Not peace.

Just revenge.

⸻

Cade Detention Center smells like steel and regret.

You don’t come to the Core often these days, not since the war made everyone paranoid and every ship gets scanned three times before docking. But this visit isn’t business. It’s not a job.

It’s personal.

A long time ago, you told yourself you’d never set foot in a Republic prison again.

Then a name popped up on a bounty board you monitor out of habit. Not a contract—just a list of recent arrests.

Boba Fett.

And your heart stopped.

⸻

The guard droid escorts you through a sterile hallway. Everyone’s treated like a threat here.

You are.

But not to him.

He looks older.

Not by much — maybe a year, maybe two — but enough that his face has lost that soft baby roundness. His jaw is sharper. His eyes duller.

And he doesn’t look surprised to see you.

He just sits behind the glass, expression unreadable.

You sit down across from him. Pick up the comm on your side. So does he.

You don’t speak right away.

He doesn’t either.

Finally, you say, “Heard you finally found Mace Windu.”

That gets a reaction.

His jaw tenses, just barely.

You lean back. “Tried to kill him. Or did you forget?”

“I didn’t forget,” he mutters.

“I warned you. I told you there’s no coming back from revenge.”

He glares. “You don’t know anything.”

“I know you’re in prison.”

He doesn’t flinch.

You watch him carefully.

“When you thought you killed him,” you say softly, “when you saw that explosion and thought you’d finally avenged your father… did you feel better?”

His eyes snap up to yours. Angry. Hurt. Young.

So young.

He doesn’t answer.

You lean forward, elbows on the table.

“Did it bring him back, Boba?”

He slams the comm down on the table, hands balled into fists, breathing hard on the other side of the glass.

You don’t look away.

You let him sit in it.

Because the silence is the only thing that gets through to him now.

After a while, he picks the comm back up.

“…I thought it would help.”

“And did it?”

“No.”

The word barely escapes his mouth.

You nod once. “That’s what I came to hear.”

He looks away, ashamed. “Aurra left me.”

“Of course she did,” you say, voice gentler now. “She doesn’t care about you. She never did. You were a weapon. Now you’re spent.”

There’s silence between you.

Then he says, quiet:

“I hate her.”

“I know.”

“…I hate me more.”

Your chest tightens. The words sting like blasterfire. You grip the comm tighter than you mean to.

“Don’t.”

“I let him die. I wasn’t strong enough to finish it. I couldn’t even do that right.”

You shake your head slowly. “No. You didn’t fail. You survived. You chose to stop.”

“I didn’t choose anything,” he snaps. “The Jedi stopped me.”

“But you didn’t try again after,” you say. “You could’ve. But you didn’t. That matters.”

He doesn’t say anything.

You glance at the door behind you. The guard’s watching, but not close. You have a few more minutes.

So you speak quietly.

“You were a good kid, Boba. And you still can be. You made a mistake. One Jango made, too. One a lot of us make.”

You press your fingers to the glass. Not asking him to match it.

But he does anyway.

His hand is smaller than yours. Still growing.

Still changing.

“You’ve got time,” you say. “If you want it.”

His voice cracks when he speaks again.

“Would you still take me in?”

You don’t hesitate.

“I never let you go.”