#I still trust Fit to give us a good ending for his lore but if he doesn't it's on SIGHT

[royalarchivist]

Pac: Take care of Ramon, take care of Richas, ok? See you on the other side, big boy.

Fit: You can’t just say “big boy” and then just expect me to NOT drag you outta here. [Fit tries to lasso Pac] You’re coming with me. You are not dying today! You are NOT dying today!

Pac: I need to leave, Fit! I’m sorry, I’m SORRY!

Ironmouse: Are you guys like, having sexy time?

Fit: There’s homosexual activity going on Mouse, don’t worry about us, ok?

Ironmouse: You guys, we don’t have time to be gay right now. 🙄

[ Full Transcript ↓ ]

—

[ Longer clip ]

Pac: I’m just here to say goodbye to you, Fit.

Fit: Goodbye? We’re not– we’re gonna be fine, we’re going to get out of here, don’t worry.

Aypierre: Yeah, don’t worry!

Pac: I know, but like– I will sleep until the end, you know? I will pass through this moment sleeping, man. I won’t be able to be awake for the moment.

Fit: [Laughs] You know, it's– I mean, if that’s how you wanna go, but– I mean, that- I mean, isn’t that bed kind of like…. I don’t know, it's–

Pac: No no, I will be staying on the sofa, you know, I will be staying on the sofa.

Fit: Oh the sofa. Ok, that’s a nice sofa! Yeah, that is a pretty nice sofa.

Pac: Yeah, it’s a nice sofa right? No, yeah– I’m going to stay on the sofa, you know? So, since I will be going Fit… [Pac starts tossing Fit all his items]

Aypierre: [Not paying attention to their conversation] Is that bigger cell? I don’t think it’s a bigger- biggest one.

Fit: Oh… Thank you Pac, thank you.

Pac: Everything you need to survive, ok?

Fit: Wow.

Aypierre: Wow.

Pac: And if you need this one also, maybe, who knows? [Throws him more items]

Fit: Ohhh, well hey– just take this to remember me by, ok? [Tosses him a photo of himself – the same one Aypierre was carrying all day yesterday]

Pac: [Laughs] Ok, I will sleep holding the picture you know, like this. You know, I will dream about you, Fit. And I hope this is gonna be good dreams. I see you in the other side. Good luck, my friend.

Fit: The other side… Yeah, you know, yeah, we– we– you know? It’s been an honor, Pac. It’s been an honor, you know?

Pac: Yeah, for me too, you know? Take care of Ramon, take care of Richas, ok?

Fit: Ok.

Pac: See you on the other side, big boy.

Fit: I will sing your praise– Oh yeah, hey– [Laughs] Take it easy, big boy. Take it easy, big boy. Actually, nononono– You can’t just say “big boy” and then just expect me to not drag you outta here. You’re coming with me.

Pac: No, I need to leave!

Fit: You’re coming with me. You are not dying today! You are not dying today!

Pac: I need to leave, Fit! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!

Fit: Sorry, there's–

Pac: I’m sorry!

Ironmouse: Are you guys like, having sexy time?

Fit: There’s homosexual activity going on Mouse, don’t worry about us, ok?

Ironmouse: You guys, you guys– we don’t have time to be gay right now, come on. There’s no time.

Pac: No, there’s no time! Oh, goodbye Fit…

Fit: Ok, c'mon, no no no, come on, we got this we got this!

Pac: Goodbye Fit, I’m sorry!

Fit: [Laughs] Oh no…

[54625]

With the upcoming Fit lore later today, I figured it may be useful to transcribe his earlier lore drops for those of you who may not have been there, or want a refresher. These were attempts to contact the contractor to relay information, and happened before the dreams.

-First attempt-

(Text appears on screen.

CONNECTING...

BYPASSING FEDERATION FIREWALL

ATTEMPT FAILED

ERROR)

Fit- Hello, it's me.

Fit- Sorry I've been taking my sweet time.

Fit- I've been busy...

Fit- We need to pivot from our original plan.

Fit- I've adopted a son, and I've been caring for him.

Fit- I've grown attached to him, so he's been my priority.

Fit- Being a single dad is a challenge at times.

Fit- But it's much easier than the nomadic lifestyle.

Fit- Life here is very different from the wasteland.

Fit- But I haven't forgotten our agreement.

Fit- I will fullfil my contractual obligations.

Fit- They're still falling for the whole "vacation" thing.

Fit- I ask that you be patient though, as we have a problem.

Fit- Something called "The Federation" controls this entire island.

Fit- They've been keeping us here.

Fit- As long as they are in the way, I can't access what you are looking for.

Fit- And the anti-cheat on the island is strong.

Fit- I haven't been able to use my abilities.

Fit- The Federation must be eliminated for this to succeed.

Fit- I've gained everyone's trust and made friends...

Fit- I've been helping their fight against the Federation in order to advance our plan.

Fit- Still... It hurts me to see everyone suffering...

Fit- Some have lost things they cared about...

Fit- But this struggle is an unfortunate necessity...

Fit- The conflict is increasing the value of what you seek...

Fit- I know you're paying me...

Fit- But have you considered......

...the true cost?

Fit- regardless of my personal feelings, I'll slowly move the plan forward.

Fit- I hope you find what you're looking for.*

Fit- It's getting late...*

MESSAGE FAILED TO SEND

Disconnecting....

*(it is worth noting that these are messages Fit had previously sent in the Minecraft global chat in that odd font.)

-Second attempt-

(Text appears on screen.

CONNECTING...

BYPASSING FEDERATION FIREWALL)

Fit- Checking in.

Fit- I am messaging you again to keep you updated on my progress.

Fit- The Federation still has full control of the island.

Fit- They've been putting on some strange election....

Fit- I'm assuming to keep everyone occupied.

Fit- However, it seems they've let a vulnerability slip.

Fit- Player data and statistics are being tracked.

Fit- The Federation must have this data stored somewhere on the island.

Fit- If I had to guess, it's likely the computer system of the Federation offices.

Fit- If I tried to break in and access the data, they would likely capture me...

Fit- It would not end well.

Fit- However, whoever wins this election will likely have open access.

Fit- Perhaps they could be persuaded... Or tricked into giving us access.

Fit- I will fullfil the contract.

Fit- And yet... I'm starting to wonder....

Fit- What are you actually trying to achieve?

Fit- Even if I can access the data, what good would it do?

Fit- I'm skeptical, but I hope to hear from you soon........

(This island...... Is worse than I thought....)

(Text appears on screen.

Windows XP

Task failed successfully.

[OK] )

(A cinematic showing various scenes from QSMP and 2B2T play. All the images from the former are in full colour, while all the images from the latter are in black and white. A video of a capybara eating grass plays. It is in black and white.)

If I left anything particularly important out, let me know!

[princess-of-the-corner]

I ended up thinking about Hawkmoth with good publicity again & had thoughts.

So, it was agreed Fu needs to change his entire methodology. His foe knows he exists & has some estimation as to an identity. He knows Hawk Moth want the Ladybug & Cat. He knows the man has connections in the city and is building both a fanbase by orchestrating disasters to play hero, so he can use his followers to eventually flush Fu out of hiding.

Long story short, he cannot keep all the Miraculous, nor can he risk putting Tikki & Plagg into the field. He also needs to find people who, rather than being cinnamon roles are those with little respect for authority or a willingness to break and bend the rules as necessary. He needs a team of infiltrators, saboteurs and fighters.

With that in mind he chooses: (I use my 12 Kwami lore, sorry XD)

Chloe, as she was often used as Hawk Moth's favorite hostage and is aware of his con. He entrusts her with Mulo both to help protect her identity as both civilian & agent and for infiltration and battles. With the power of Multiplication & Duplication, she takes the name Mademoiselle Millions!

Chloe uses her skills in ballet, gymnastics and general athleticism to orchestrate incredible combo attacks. Also like, sends tins versions of herself elsewhere or whatever, she thinks spy work is lame & has seen 'way' more than she ever wanted when looking for Hawk Moth.

Luka is chosen in large part because of his soul song ability, it helped him parce that Hawk Moth was not someone genuine. What's more, raised by ANarka he has a healthy disrespect for authority and his skills with empathy and calm head make him a good counter to some of the Butterflies inate powers.

He is entrusted with Dusuu and with the powers of Evocation & Transmutation, he takes the name Erymathy From kari-go). Luka uses these powers to enhance or weaken his surroundings, strengthen his allies or weaken his enemies, and to change the elemental nature of objects as necessary. Its useful for infiltration.

Juleka, like her brother, she has a healthy lack of trust in authority figures and is far mroe willing to go to extremes as she deems necessary. She is also surprisingly fearless in the face of monsters, even of social situation cause her dread.

Entrusted with Longg, she wields the Miraculous of Storm & Power, as Draconyx. SHe is an ideal partner for the Peacock which can radically dversify her elemental combinations allowing for greater versatility or more overwhelming power as the situation demands.

Alya is a reporter and while at first enamored with Hawk Moth, hshe sought to uncover his identity despite him stressing people should not. She also jjumped on toe 'conspiracy' theory that Hawk Moth was a thief with great interest, not outright distrustful, her commitments to the truth at any cost suits Fu's needs well.

Thus she was entrusted with Kaalki, the Kwami of Action & Migration, to assist her in infiltrating and intel gathering. Alya took on the name Troades (A Trojan Horse reference) and has sworn to get to the bottom of things no matter what. & if she becomes an acclaimed reporter, hero and all around stunner in the interim, she & Kaalki won't complain.

Fox: Fu would have liked to hand out the Fox, the powers of Mirage & Materialization, when used correctly could pull images and emotions from even Hawk Moth and help uncover his identity. However that Miraculous was lost sometime ago, though it seems to be making its way back to Paris in the hands of one, Volpina.

Tiger: I am unsure who I'd give Tiger to, my shortlist is, Kagami (Cos of course), Alyx (She can work) and Mylene (She is a protestor after all) But its hard to make any of them fit quite as I'd like. Though if Mylene was picked she'd go by Sabertooth to honor an extinct animal.

Still, he doesn't need to hand them all out right away so there'd be some wiggle room. Marinette & Adrien are off the list due to their respective respect for authority (Meaning she would struggle to see HK as a villain unless he does so in front of her) or controlling parents making the work harder.

I imagine Fu is a bit more involved in trying to designate tasks and serve as mission control, though he may need to move in & hide with his old flame to hide out from Hawk Moth and his followers. Also, a team made up of people with a lack of respect for authority is not exactly easy to control!

Who knew!?

XD

Oh!

Honestly I'm voting for Sabertooth.

[heavenstarship]

tell me about johnny please please please 🙏🙏 you have given me brainworms about him i need to know everything about him 💝💝💝

johnathan "johnny" louise hearst... that little SHIT... you are the third person to get brainworms about him and the second person besides me who has them. thank you for giving me the opportunity to yap about him.

preface: johnny is largely based off of oingo boingo's debut album only a lad, as well as some of their other work (mainly demos from that era and the song cool city by danny elfman). when i say he's based off of only a lad, i mean it. i've wrung every drop of characterization i can out of those 10 tracks. "even THAT one?" ESPECIALLY that one. buckle in.

lore: from the onset, johnny was pretty much out of luck. born into a family with an already plentiful share of problems (older sister who could never really stick to the right path, emotionally unstable mom, military dad), his parents divorced pretty soon after he was born. his mom wound up with primary custody, and he and his sister only saw their dad every so often. johnny starts showing signs of trouble pretty early on, and rather than doing anything about it, his mom opts to leave him to his own devices. he discovers matches, developing his fascination bordering obsession with fire. he was already a trouble in class- couldn't sit still, couldn't pay attention, was a terror on the playground- so lighting something on fire during school hours was the tipping point that got him kicked out of 3rd or 4th grade. since he had no discipline or support, he lacks any real sense of right and wrong... leading him to believe that taking one of his parents' guns, stealing his neighbor's radio, and shooting her in the leg was a completely fine thing to do. she obviously recognizes that the incident isn't entirely his fault and his circumstances are more to blame, but unfortunately his neighbors preferred to cry out about his situation instead of trying to get him help. his mother, reaching the end of her already short rope, seeks to have her child whipped into shape. a close family friend, mr. one-way, notices her plight and offers to take johnny in under his wing to have him reformed into an upstanding member of society.

he starts receiving lessons- on how to act properly, obedience, servitude, all things a budding young lass should know for a good future under the american dream- is enrolled back in school, and seems to be getting better. lessons in matters primarily aiming to get the kid to shut up and put his head down give way to easy coercion, and mr. one-way, who should have been helping johnny, uses the opportunity to irreparably damage him. a drastic change in johnny is immediately apparent; sure, he's not acting out anymore, but he's a husk of the bright and bubbly kid everyone knew. eventually, everything that's going on gets too much for johnny, and he tells a trusted adult. word about it spreads fast, and before anyone can get a handle on the situation, the man who committed this horrible deed goes on the run. johnny is left shattered and believing this is all his fault. that coupled with the fact that his mother both blames him for mr. one-way's dissappearance and doesn't believe johnny about what happened pushes johnny over the edge, and he decides to make some very drastic changes. he seeks to destroy who he once was, to obliterate what mr. one-way or anyone else may have seen in him, to reinvent himself in an image that will truly make him happy and break free from the way everyone has always perceived him. with the help of his sister, he lobs his ponytails off, ditches the dresses and joins his local boy scout troop. his mother pitches a fit, but ultimately isnunable to stop him from making his own decisions. he discovers a home away from home in his scout troop; sure, his behavior may not be improving, but at least he's cared for and loved.

things at home and school get worse. his mother hates him now more than ever, and bullying at school increases tenfold. though his sister and his friends try to protect him, they can only do so much. johnny turns to acting out, desperately trying to make someone see him for once, as well as probably trying to scare off those harming him. punishments at home get more and more severe. his older sister eventually runs off with the SLA. harassment at school is driving him closer and closer to making some horrible decisions. during this time, his mental health takes a drastic dip; sure, maybe he was a little overcautious of things before, but now it was getting to the point where he was obsessed and paranoid about practically everything; his mother, god, people outside... something had to change. he finally snaps and decides that if he doesn't get the hell out of where he is now, he'll get out of it in death later. his friends help him hotwire a car and he tries to use it as his ticket out, but due to inexperience, he ends up hitting and killing a man. he's brought to court but, like always, nobody gives a shit. once the case is over, he steps back and looks at himself. he's becoming something horrible, both literally and metaphorically, and if he doesn't do something about it soon, what else could happen to him?

he picks himself up, gets a job, moves out, buys a sweet car, and eventually meets a girl, cali, who he falls in love with and starts to date. things are great for a while... but the two decide it could be even better. after much saving, johnny and cali buy an apartment in and move to cool city! soon they become interested in the nightlife and start going to local shows, discovering a small artist down on his luck and quickly becoming his biggest fans. this artist was none other than so-lo, and the three wound up hitting it off fairly quickly. johnny winds up forming a large part of his social circle through meeting people at so-lo's (and others') shows, though unfortunately for him he winds up associated with the wrong crowd. these new "friends" he makes really see him as nothing more than a tool to use... he eventually drops them, though not before making some very questionable decisions, such as getting a lobotomy to fix his very messed up brain (it did not work). he gradually meets the rest of the boingoverse and they end up becoming his new social circle, so yes, he eventually finds happiness. and a sugar daddy. he gets with the elevator man.

info:

despite his messy and monstrous past, johnny's a surprisingly sweet guy- he always has been. he's kind to everyone and tries to be helpful. kind of a doormat and tends to try and brush off things that bother him

has a bit of a staring problem, as well as difficulty in navigating most social situations. he's always been a very awkward and socially stunted guy

part french on his mom's side. speaks the language a bit, though he hasn’t used it in a while

his teenage monsterism, at one point, had spread over half of his body; it now only affects his right hand and lower forearm. scarring remains where in the affected areas. his teeth and ears were also permanently changed as side effects

his orange glow is “natural”- it’s a tan, though really almost a burn. he spends way too much time outside. of average build, though surprisingly toned; his outdoor activities, like hiking and such, keep him fit

prone to emotional outbursts and fits of sorts. they were more common in his younger years, but still happen from time to time

in his past he’d describe himself as mean, rude, paranoid, an outcast, having extremely shameful and downright self-destructive habits, and a pyromaniac... he’s still a lot of those things, but he’s gotten better

speaks politely but swears like a sailor. has loud and brash humor, with some of his jokes performed in an over-the-top manner. highly critical of the world around him, sometimes to a detrimental and very cynical degree

uses a cane, as he didn't walk away from that car crash unscathed. walks with a limp

special interests include boy scouts and bdsm, of all things... keeps quiet about the bdsm interest but often resorts to yammering on about boy scouts when he's nervous. though he's aged out of the program, he keeps/wears his old uniform for sentimental purposes and still engages in the hobbies he gained from it (knot tying, wood carving, documenting nature, hiking, camping, etc.)

played trumpet in high school concert band. picked up playing fiddle on a whim

relationships with the rest of the boingoverse:

danny (elfman): his dad. no, literally. danny is his dad. this is an alternate universe where instead of just being a military brat he was actually in the military. likes him a lot but wishes he was more present when it mattered

louise (from the song): his mom. suffice to say he doesn't like her

patty (you got your baby back/ballad of the caveman): his older sister! looks up to her a lot though in private he mourns the loss of who she was pre-SLA

california (more of an oc based off of california girls and a mystic knights poster): girlfriend who he loves to death

the hurcules and henderson families (forbidden zone): his neighbors growing up. was friends with the kids and even in the same scout troop as flash

satan (forbidden zone): beat him in a fiddle contest once and satan hasn't spoken yo him since

louis (oingo boingo): pet cat who he absolutely ADORES. i mean, johnny literally keeps a picture of him on him at all times... he has to like him somewhat...

yo-cat (nothing to fear): heavy dislike but who DOESN'T hate this guy

fred (good for your soul): admires him a lot for his confidence and muscles. hopes to be like him someday

so-lo (so-lo): HEAVY admiration, also kind of has a crush on him? sees him like a father figure as well. mixed but good feelings on him

b. dead (dead man's party): they don't talk much but johnny thinks he's pretty chill

the elevator man (boi-ngo): his sugar daddy. a little scared of him but, like, in a consensual power dynamic way where they're both super into it so whatever

b.e. alive (boingo alive): they definitely yap about guns and cars and the wild west together

peter (dark at the end of the tunnel): kind of like his little brother but he's a little weirded out by him because he's seven yet acts YEARS more mature than he does. plays toys with him sometimes

mary (boingo): like a mom to him, though he has some trouble opening up to her

farewell (farewell): he makes johnny sad to he tends to avoid him

[bragganhyl]

woe Bertalan aka Berci lore be upon you bc I keep tweaking the damn thing lol

His full name is Bertalan Atheldon, he's 56 during the events of bee gee three tho tbf I don't have a firm grasp on how half-elf aging works and as such I have no idea if that age fits his looks lol so I might bump it up. Again. He is a beastmaster ranger with an outlander background and he's primarily a "keeper of the veil" - meaning that he favors hunting extraplanar creatures primarily fey.

Berci is the lovechild of a travelling scholar and a farmgirl whose family hosted him for a while. They've dated for a short time and parted on good terms, Berci's human mom then married a human man shortly after so things got awkward when Bertalan was born looking like his elven dad. Berci was never really directly harmed by his human family, but he was never really treated as someone who truly belonged in that family. He wasn't hated but he wasn't loved either. Eventually Berci's mom decided to try and seek out his dad, in the hopes that he might give him a better life.

Luckily she managed to find him, and Berci's dad was more than happy to have his son join him on his escapades. Bertalan spent his adolescent years going from one digsite to the next, and while he never had an affinity to history, he seemed to have some talents for healing. So Berci's dad saved up some money in the hopes of getting him into a decent school where he could learn medicine and eventually become a surgeon. Unfortunately he dies, a few months after Berci begins his studies.

As you might guess, Bertalan takes his father's death rather hard and he drops out shortly before graduating, unable to focus on his studies while dealing with his grief. Still his skills were enough to land a position in a group of monster hunters who needed someone to patch them up (at the time, they're joined by a cleric some time after). One member of the group was a gnome ranger who took him under her wings after she saw him once patch up an injured dire raven (who then decided to stick around). So for the next decade or so Berci was learning the ways of the beastmaster ranger and working as an adventurer for hire. But then, that also ended in a rather ugly way. The group agreed to hunt down a hag who ended up luring them to the Shadow Cursed lands with the use of a mushroom circle. Bertalan was injured pretty much immediately by one of the shadow creatures there and the only reason he (and the group's cleric of Lathander) didn't end up succumbing to the curse with the rest of the team was that their cleric dragged him to the nearby Rosymorn Monastery.

After recovering Berci continued to roam Faerun as a lone ranger hunting malicious fey creatures with no one but Corvus (his raven companion) and Ursa (his mentor's bear companion) for company. By the time of bee gee three, he's no longer capable to function in any other way.

Berci is best characterized as rather blunt and kind of an edgelord. He expects the same kind of bluntness directed at him, he's dismissive of people trying to coddle him. His first instinct is to push away people trying to show him genuine affection as he no longer knows whether being loved or being unloved is worse and he would need time and genuine effort to overcome that instinct. Still he has a curious mind, he's eager to fuck around and always ready to find out. Because of this he comes across as someone quick to trust, though he would probably view himself as someone willing to give one chance to earn his trust. He also might come across as aggressive and intimidating but he's a secret softie with a nurturing and responsible side to him - and he rarely ever let's his anger get the better of him - still he sees no value in heroism as he sees it as inherently self-destructive. He has a strong sense of survival but he prefers stabilizing the environment around him if possible over fighting for individual survival. He sees power as merely a tool that reveals the person wielding it and doesn't believe in the concept of "absolute power" - such a thing is only relative to the current world and nature always finds a way to balance the scales.

[waterfalls-bunny]

HI HI HI sry i disappeared sleep and school eatin my life smh ANYGAY

who's your favorite south park character, what's your favorite hc for them, and what's your favorite canon thing of theirs >:3

also hope ur exams go/went great :D

YIPPEE YOU REPLIED ye i have some things to say (｀▽´)

My favorite south park character is Kenny!! (he appears in 99% of my drawings send help) tho other favs are Butters, Wendy, and Kyle in that order :D As for why Kenny is my favorite tbh sometimes i wonder the same thing ( •̀ - • ) LMAO jk but is kinda dumb why he's my fav ig. For this we have to go back to 9yo me who knew nothing about internet but somehow ended up watching a gameplay of SOT and i gotta be super honest my first crush was princess Kenny srs

🚶🚶🚶 not Kenny, PRINCESS Kenny. And that was my first glance to south park ever, I never had interest in the series until like 2 years ago when I decided to screw the bad opinions and give the series a shot best decision ever honestly, so ye I always liked Kenny www but besides that well I can come up here and analyze the little blond in many aspects!! about how he's one of the nicest guys in town, how of a good brother model role he is to Karen, how all he really cares about are his friends and some boobs (silly lol), about his poverty and how I can relate to some point to that too and all of his character lore about his immortality, how it affects him and the many things I as a fan can think based of that!! I also have a Kenny plushie I happen to bring whenever I go to a trip so even my parents who know nothing about south park know Kenny and are fond of the little guy <3 so yeah he's my fav

Now about hc? ｢( • ﾍ •) I have one stupid hc but is so stupid LMAO so in another post I said I like Luka Megurine from vocaloid and one day i was playing SOT and had a vision:

Hc Kenny is a Luka simp HAHAHAS

Is so stupid bc it fits him so well 😭😭😭bc for even more context Luka fans are kinda known to be... pervert and unhinged (generalizing not everyone is like that ofc just look at me a repulsed ace guy 「(°ヘ°) but yeah. It has no explanation besides combining my 2 favorites things LMAO and this is a level 4 hc so I'm gonna add another hc more sp related which should be mmhmm wow I can't really think in any right now besides the obvious ones

kenny is the most knowledgeable about drinks, drugs and stuff bc he tried em all (and died some times) bc he knows he will always come back

this also applies to piercings and tattoos, smth along the lines of "death hurt more than getting a piercing"

he will still treat Karen like a baby even when she's all grown up

he's in charge of the groceries at home

he secretly loves being babied by his friends and goes along bc he rarely gets that treatment (watch covid especial for reference about how cartman, stan and kyle treat him like their son sometimes)

for example tho is too basic lmao. I have another hc about Kenny being peruvian because I AM PERUVIAN AND I WILL PERUVIANIZE SOUTH PARK AHAHA /lh also bc after watching the peruvian episodes I gen thought Kenny has more of a peruvian vibe than Craig if I'm 100% honest, like I get the Craig peruvian hc and is cool and all but all he did in those 2 episodes was complaining to the main 4 to the point even Kenny (a very chill dude) was mad at him LMAO and by the plot is that he ended up involved, like if Craig went along to them to pretend to be a mexican band (he denied it at the end of the second episode) then he would've be part of a mexican prophecy somehow too so the argument of "craig is peruvian because he was in the profecy!!" is kinda random to me lol. But I love the fanarts and hc!!! This is just a silly thought bc like no way dude we literally have Kenny dancing to peruvian music and I'm telling from my expertise in being peruvian for 19 years that you need to vibe with the music to be one of us trust, like that yelled at me PERUVIAN pluuus being peruvian to the other hispanic countries is smth very mocked on, poverty hella exists here and I dunno I feel Kenny fits being a peruvian guy? Or well having a tiny bit of peruvian dna im fine with that too *baila que linda flor del grupo nectar*

Last question!! My favorite thing about Kenny canonically is definitely how of a good sibling he is, I also like Kyle for this reason but I think is different with Kenny due to how easy it was for him to give up on his family and not care but he does! I wish we get more interactions between the McCormicks smh stares at Kevin

And well that was it :D I hope ya like it also I actually did well in my exams!!! I'm surviving law 💥💥💥

[deltarune-au-domain]

Sorry! I mean is what does Honeycomb!Ralsei do in the multiverse? I can’t tell if he’s a protector or something else.

Also, what’re his abilities besides shapeshifting and giving healing honey??

Honeycomb Ralsei is more of an archiver and guide than a protector. Sort of like an AU historian. Yeah, they'd prefer if AUs weren't destroyed, just as one would prefer old relics remain pristine but Honeycomb is weak combat wise and can't take on that kind of responsibility.

That's why they formed The Hive. Honeycomb requires the help and abilities of others to achieve his goals, wich is why he happily helps and houses those who are lost. As well as guides them and those who may be new to Deltarune and its AU's (That's why faer the mascot of the blog.)

This is also why Honeycomb is trying to help reform Chiller Noelle. Yes, the reformation wouldn't carry back into Soulgrave itself but she would remember if she left again. (This is mostly to preserve the course of the AU's timeline.)

Though, just because Honeycomb isn't a good fighter, it doesn't mean they aren't strong. The honey they're made out of has many properties that are more useful for defense and healing.

Honeycomb's abilities (as of chapter 2 lore as they evolve with each chapter introduced) include:

The ability to communicate with bees and wasps.

Honeycomb can use their honey as an extension of themself.

Honeycomb can lift things that weigh much more than them. (Attack wise they’re still not that good.)

They have a spell called "Bees" that summons a swarm of bees under Honeycomb's control.

They have the spell "Hive Mind" that allows them to control those who don't see Honeycomb as a threat. (They dislike using this and will sometimes use it on accident if startled)

Honeycomb can summon crystallized honey hexagons, primarily used for defense.

Honeycomb can turn into honey as well as add ordinary honey to themself if need be.

Turning into honey can be used as a portal though, usually only for Honeycomb themself, wich is why they rely on Portal Jevil to move other things and people.

Honeycomb's honey can heal (In game specs would vary but +50 to people who trust them but +20 to anyone else)

The honey is also a cure for The Mold, since honey doesn't rot. It's only useful if caught early on. (Honeycomb may or may not use this as negotiation leverage.) Honeycomb is also immune to The Mold because of this.

Honey dose not go bad and thus Honeycomb cannot die of old age. Attempting to get rid of them completely would be difficult, as even a drop of them remaining is enough to bring them back.

Honeycomb doesn't naturally have a skeleton but can crystallize their honey into one. They do this to "fit in". (Mostly just a miscellaneous fun fact)

Now I feel it's important to mention that Honeycomb takes their archive work seriously and prefers not to heavily meddle with a universes' story no matter how bad it is. Yeah they sometimes visit other AUs for fun but will strictly avoid core timelines, this prevents their actions from genuinely effecting the universe as a whole.

They usually only step in if the universe itself as a whole is in danger of collapsing or succumbing to rot. So an AU can have all the murder, resets, and immoral toying with the characters lives you want but they can't step in to help.

This is a strict rule they set for themself, and the hive members. Most don't mind it as they don't plan on doing so but... there are a few who were quite unfortunate.

The cycle of life and death is important to Honeycomb. They've obviously excepted that and seem to be using it to their advantage. A story will begin and it will end but the preservation of the book itself is more important to Honeycomb than the fate of those within it.

This is possibly a personality trait that remained from long before Honeycomb's existence. After all, they're just a lucky reincarnation of someone else...

That's pretty much all the info I can think of at the moment. I could go into detail about different members roles in The Hive as well as the chain of command. Only if people want.

[jabberwockprince]

OK I JUST NEED TO TALK ABT CHLOE BOURGEOIS AGAIN NO ONE LOOK AT ME

seeing chloe be SO casual about being akumatized despite the implied effects it has on people is REALLY fucking funny and good but consider my very cool very nice very epic alternative of chloe choosing to dwell on negative feelings JUST to get akumatized because that's the ONLY time people will actually worry about her and treat her like a victim/real person, even if its out of DUTY like ladybug and cat noir. not just akumatized bc she wants to be a bully and then have all the other villains treat her like a nuisance for no fucking reason

you can even keep her being super casual and happy about being akumatized, it fits within this entire thing too, shes happy because people are gonna be forced to pay attention to her one way or another

then realizing that it's not enough because everyone knows she's being this rotten and getting herself akumatized on purpose, so she resorts to straight up becoming a villain because negative attention is still attention in the end ???

SORRY I JUST NEED TO TALK ABT THIS REAL QUICK

idk you cant just give adrien a rich spoiled friend who also has a dysfunctional family to parallel his own and then tell me they used to be each other's only support while growing up and not make me think about that forever?????

chloe as queen bee finally seeing one of her heroes treat her (albeit reluctantly since. yknow, marinette) like a human being with potential. and then wanting to become a better person as a result, but not being able to progress as fast as she wants to bc you just cant undo all those years of bullying in a second. and changing for the better takes so much effort and time too. THAT mixed with marinette and her PTSD being unable to reconcile with the fact that chloe, the person who made her life so awful as seen in derision, is TRYING to be better, leading to ladybug

chloe as miracle queen AND queen wasp still being effectively manipulated by monarch because "hey, another deeply insecure and damaged child, just like my son! lets take advantage of that". like. they had the set up already, with chloe wanting to trust ladybug and rejecting a goddamn akuma bc SOMEONE finally trusted HER to be more than a shitty rich brat. EVEN if ladybug wasnt gonna give her the bee miraculous anymore, chLOE STILL MADE BABY STEPS INTO BEING A BETTER PERSON????

you can still keep lila and monarch's constant manipulation, getting chloe to be worse and straight up hate ladybug, its the perfect set up. idk why they just had to retcon or forget everything they had for chloe in the first seasons????????

do you KNOW what chloe as a supervillain that acts as a foil to ladybug would've DONE to me????????? the scenes they had between marinette and chloe about how theyre not so different???? the fact that chloe is a perfect parallel to marinette and all the ways they could've found common ground??? NOT EVEN LIKE. BEING FRIENDS AT ALL, JUST "we strongly dislike each other, but we agree on many things and make really good points together". marinette forced to confront the fact that theres STILL more to people than what she sees, even the ones that she DISLIKES and that she needs to mature more as ladybug ????

why does FELIX get the benefit of the doubt as some "well meaning" villain but CHLOE GETS DEMOTED TO CARTOON VILLAIN ????? THIS LORE IPSUM WIKIPEDIA HAVER IS JUST OUT THERE LIKE "FUCK ADULTS AND AUTHORITY, THEY JUST TAKE ADVANTAGE OF US CHILDREN" LIKE I DONT EVEN KNOW YOU SIR????? why should i CARE abt this one he JUST showed up out of the blue

like, this season was really good at giving marinette more depth, taking some aspects that were played for fun in the first seasons AS SERIOUS THINGS NOW, like her out of the blue obsessive nature that EVERYONE (me included) complained about. a lot of the episodes are really well written and theres ACTUAL ADVANCEMENT in plot and character dynamics but chloe is straight up STUCK as the mid arc villain whose dialogue has been demoted to "i hate the poor and i hate the planet and i love the sound of my own voice" with zero depth whatsoever????????????????????????

[nyxiswrites1200]

Scaramouche Headcanons Part 2 + Extra

!!Warning!! Spoilers on Scaramouche/Wanderer leaked skills/abilities/idles/lore/Sumeru archon quest

We're back guys- because all I can think about is this Genshin character. These are just in general headcanons, not specifically romantic or lack of. Also some extra goods at the end :)

So starting off if any of you have listened to "I hear a symphony" by Cody Fry...tell me why it lowkey sounds like Scara along with the lyrics. I'm sorry but it fits so well with him I think and even if not, it's an amazing song.

If you gave Scaramouche a gift of some sort he'd probably act like it's not a big deal or he doesn't care that much. He would 1000000% care though and treasure it. I think this is very canon though because the feather shown in his backstory is still on his design as Wanderer. Which gives me the impression that things like that actually matter to him.

I've seen a lot of art and Nahida is Scara's loving aunt and no one can change my mind. It's too wholesome thinking of her helping Scaramouche recover from his trauma. Not to mention Scara receives a vision as Wanderer, which is his new heart in a way giving him a new purpose. I just wanna see him happy 😭😭😭

If anything happened to Nahida I couldn't imagine how emotionally distraught Scaramouche would be. Honestly, I couldn't imagine how messed up he would be if anything happened to someone he cared about got hurt now considering his past. It would be pure anger to extreme sadness, and then denial or shutting down again like he did in the past.

If you dozed off or fell asleep around Scaramouche, he would protect you until you woke up or carry you somewhere safe. I can imagine him watching you sleep and gently brushing your hair out of your face, only doing this because he knows you won't know about it. He'd be so embarrassed if you weren't actually asleep.

I've thought about what it would be like if Scaramouche opened up about his trauma. It would probably take a lot of time and trust between you two before he would talk about it. If he has the electro sigil like Shogun does on his neck, it would be a good conversation starter for the topic. He'd cover the marking with his hand the moment you mention it and then slowly move his hand before sighing softly and mentioning how he was a product of a God. This would probably then lead to a deep conversation between you two. He would be really vulnerable in this situation but probably try and act like it doesn't bother him anymore. This leads me into...

Hugging Scaramouche would be so wholesome. I reblogged an art post on here of that situation and it's too wholesome. You're just trying to convince him it's a peace offering so he accepts, begrudgingly but actually enjoys the hug. I think he'd really appreciate it if you affirm to him that his past isn't his fault and he deserves people who love him. He'd probably have to try really hard not to cry if that even works for him.

I've talked a lot about Scara protecting us. But what if we defended him? I think Scaramouche would probably be really shocked and have to process that so he doesn't stop you. I imagine this because according to lore he's not well-liked among the harbingers. So I imagine us (the simps, the x readers) defending him against one of the harbingers trying to talk down to Scara for his redemption arc. Scaramouche would likely feel more confident with your support and stand for his beliefs now and who he is instead of giving in to their words. At that point, no harbinger is safe if they hurt you. I don't think he really likes or cares for any of the harbingers in the first place.

Bonus fanfic food!

You had a long day of commissions and requests from the people of Sumeru. Scaramouche was sitting on the ledge of a tree in Apam Woods, he enjoyed being away from people where he can be by himself. You'd heard from Nahida that he was there and went searching for him. You did find him and called out "Scara!" you smiled happily and saw him look down from the ledge. He sighed softly as you used the nickname for him. He used his anemo ability to float down to you.

"What are you doing here?" He asked as he crosses his arms over his chest. "Nahida said you were here and I just wanted to come to see you" you explained as you yawned after your sentence. "You seem tired, I figured you would have gotten some rest" he stated like he was worried but it came off a bit more reserved in his tone. "I'm fine" you reassured and he sighed softly before pointing at the foot of the tree. "Sit down and rest you, idiot. I'm not carrying you back if you can't walk" he says sternly but he knows he wouldn't leave you at night alone. You give him a fond, soft smile before doing as he asks.

Without surprise, it wasn't long before you peacefully fell asleep against the trunk of the tree. Scaramouche sat next to you and scoffed "I told them.." he stated softly as he looked over at you.

You were sleeping soundly, some of your hair fell over your face as you slept. Scaramouche looked at you, taking in your features fondly. Mostly making sure you were asleep and not just trying to catch him in a vulnerable state. Once he was absolutely sure you were asleep. He relaxed slightly and gently brushes your hair out of your face, making sure he doesn't wake you up.

Scaramouche silently watched you sleep, admiring your features since you were asleep and he won't get embarrassed this way. The moment he noticed you stirring as you woke up, he looked away and acted as if he wasn't paying you any mind.

You looked over at him "You're still here I see" you chuckled softly. Scaramouche scoffed slightly "Only because Nahida would kill me if I left you to be taken by Rishboland tigers" he says as an obvious excuse for watching after you. You knew he was bluffing but let him have it this time. "Well, we should get back then. Now that I'm awake and all" you smile as you stand up and stretch. Scaramouche stands as well and begins hovering over the ground using anemo.

"I'll carry you because I'm not waiting for you to catch up" he explains and you couldn't help but hold back a chuckle. "Whatever you say, Scara". He lets you into his arms and begins heading back to Sumeru city.

Hope you guys enjoyed this! As you can see I'm in love with the idea of Scara carrying us- anyhow, thanks for all the previous support on my Scara content, hope this one is a win for yall as well.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

Usually wait until I have two chapters but who cares? Break week upcoming and I have feelings about this chapter. Starting with the easiest, nonspoilery one. Not a huge deal, but said something about it last time. The idea that Egghead might be the same island Oden met Toki, which has a lot of cool potential implications. It’s not the signature spotted rafflesia flowers that’d make it obvious, but this shot does show the similar trees we already noted this time with the right type of coconut-looking fruit. So one more point.

There’s some amazing stuff going on in this chapter from the angle we’ve been looking at. Luffy straight-up taunting Lucci so blatantly Zoro’s spelling it out. A certain redhead knocking around with less cool alternate versions of Luffy & Makino. That whole segment offers a lot obviously, but let’s go ahead and wait for 1077 to do em in pairs like we have been. I want to think on it and see our next step, but this chapter pulled the neat little trick of dangling something I was juuuust starting to seriously wonder about. This time, I only want to offer a plausible answer on the table to that finicky question; isn’t it past time to give it up? What on Earth could justify a newbie hanging out in the ship this whole time?

Aww, Shanks has a doofy Grand Fleet who decided they were his underlings too...

This was honestly on the short list of ideas from the start, hell I might have even mentioned the base logic before Wano ended, it’s a layup if you’re pitching an opening for a Quartermaster. Either way, at least back when we were just saying hey...arc could theoretically fit this rough sketch and build around a twist. We’ve done well sticking to that even if it was kinda vague. Vegapunk got the lore dump out of the way early and now this is devolving into chaos all while we’re keeping some of those big cards like X Drake back and still nailing the right themes.

Drifting away though, our goal at the moment is to lay out a hypothetical for how where we’re at on Egghead could be resolved through a quiet new addition working behind the scenes unbeknownst to us the readers. It’s the Fleet. Got 100 Marine ships in bound? Scary, sounds like a good use for Luffy’s ~70 backup ships. You just have to get Kizaru away from them, and him leaping into the fray on Egghead early is the perfect moment to turn the tables. Unfavorable, but not insurmountable odds at a perfect rate to justify the upset through smart command. Especially when you have guys like Orlumbus and Sai who can be your seasoned field marshals familiar with naval combat, it’s really a perfect stage for a Quartermaster who’s bringing social/speech skills. Less naval tactics, more balancing the egos. “Now Cabbage-kun...I’d expect a star to know the value of waiting a little to build tension.”

We have this big Chekov’s Gun loaded, look at what’s possible. Think taking a Gorosei hostage would count as historic proportions? The beauty is how it all just...flows. Luffy’s vivre card probably was going haywire over the past few weeks. Say they trusted Luffy and let it smolder from being thrown in Udon, but when it snuffed out and popped back for the Awakening or whatever decided they should probably move in. That’d give almost two weeks to get in the area, especially with the three days post-Wano. What if they’ve been trying to constantly call for a while now? Snails pick it up as they’re leaving Wano...there you go, that’s a perfectly fine excuse for someone new who gets the value of numbers spending a lot of time for a few days in the hold coordinating. It’s a great way to rapidly get up to speed on the wider world and could end up keeping a bit of mystery on the enemy end. You could even spin it into a killer Tokyo Rose-type vibe.

I feel like that type of propagandist, something like Gen in Dr. Stone, plays absurdly nice with what we’re seeing floating around this story. Don’t tell me it wouldn’t suit that little drama queen more than swinging a sword.

[crowtrobotx]

The set up: I wrote a fic where Chris proposes to Mia... like 3 hours after Ethan dies because in his mind "This gives me an excuse to protect Mia and Rose without anyone asking any questions as we know people are after them." So far, so good! EXCEPT! Ethan had a family. A family that were already a bit frustrated at how Ethan had to suddenly cut them off in weird ways. And Erica had already lost someone to weird government stuff before. When she was about 9, her best friend's family moved to Raccoon City and then suddenly died when it exploded. Erica never got answers so growing up, she spent her time trying to figure out what exactly happened. And the name "Chris Redfield" popped up quite a bit... So she doesn't trust the BSAA, she never trusted Chris and Jill when they showed up to support Mia during Ethan's (Very delayed) funeral. (Cover story was Ethan fell down a chasm while hiking and they never found the body. Erica wonders if Mia murdered him) and because of all this she becomes a reporter. (Elliot is an accountant and a foodie. Never figured out what Ezra did) She gets sent to Paris to do a bunch of journalism at once, including interviewing Claire Redfield. This is also when Mia and Chris' "Honeymoon" arrive in Paris. She obviously never told them, and they never told HER they got married - let alone that it was fake. This drives Mia into having.... a really bad night while Claire tries to smooth things over by taking Rose and Erica out for the evening. Dropping Rose off the next day with Claire and seeing that Mia and Chris were... not as lovey dovey in Paris as one would think, she asks Mia for the Truth. And she gets it. All of it. How her brother was no longer human. how he REALLY died. What Chris was doing. What Rose was. And with that Erica joins the little Conspiracy of Chris, Mia, Claire, Jill, and Leon to figure out who the heck wants Rose, what the BSAA are doing, and why. I'm not very good at creating OC's. I look more for gaps in the story or abilities that they need to fill, and I honestly really like Erica. She's suspicious but not paranoid. She's tough but she listens to things. She plans ahead as much as she can but she goes with the flow too. She got a pet lizard the holiday after Brittany died because her family didn't know what to do and decided presents was SOMETHING and she named the lizard Brittany. She uses her jouranlism skills to help them in the end. (the fic is "As Long As You Should Have Lived" and I wish I had an excuse to go back to the world since I've finished it. But it ends nicely with no need. I do feel like Erica and her family are still kicking around in RE unless Capcom declares Ethan an only child Orphan. While the relationship between Chris, Mia,duty, grief, and guilt is the core of the fic, Erica is her own angle on those themes too. I love her. She also looks like Ethan's female twin for the most part too. Or a 30 year old Rose)

WHAT this sounds so interesting!! I really like this because I think there is a significant lack of information about what on earth happened between RE8 and the SoR DLC (I don't buy the half-assed "explanations" they give in game at all.) Erica sounds so cool, I love her. I am partial to OC's who are reporters (Kris is a journalist in Chrysalis) so I already love her. What kind of lizard is Brittany?? I think creating OC's is genuinely quite hard when working with existing material and it doesn't get appreciated enough. Like, sure, you can just make any guy and shove them into the story, and honestly sometimes that is very fun and turns out well, but having them actually feel like they fit and belong is sometimes a monumental task. I think looking for gaps and someone to fill them is a great strategy! And frankly even if Capcom canonized Ethan being an only child, I would ignore it lol. They are so, so bad at consistency in their own lore and it's borderline comical.

[picathartidae]

Thanks for the tag, @vestigialpersonality!

Three Ships: I’m not a big shipper and I don’t really understand shipping as a concept (blame it on my aro/aceness). It isn’t how I prefer to engage with media, but I’ll try to come up with some pairings I like anyway. 

Resist!Dark Urge/Spawn!Astarion, Baldur’s Gate 3. To the surprise of absolutely no one, I like these two together a whole lot. I tend to prefer a male Durge over a female one, but whatever. It’s a good fun time and they vibe. I like how Durge is the one character that forces Astarion to step up and be the responsible stable one. I love how you see this more emotionally available side to Astarion in a Durge run. I love how two objectively terrible people can end up bringing out the best in each other, despite the odds. I love the mutual and simultaneous redemption arcs. 

Jonas Kahnwald/Martha Nielsen, Dark. These two are a fucking disaster and I am so taken with how their weird obsessive love for each other is so destructive but also so pure and how that is so tied up with the themes. The way this show deconstructs relationships and the lengths people will go to for the sake of their loved ones is really compelling to me.

Shen Qingqiu/Luo Binghe, Scum Villain’s Self-Saving System. Another trash dumpster fire of a pairing, but whatever they are my boys and I love them. All of MXTX’s main pairs, really, but sqq/lbh are my absolute favourites, likely because Scum Villain is by far the easiest read of them all for me. I like the relationship in how it is used to actively deconstruct masculinity and support the overall themes of the novel.

First Ship: I’m pretty sure it was Scott Summers/Jean Grey from X-Men. Scott was always my #relatable vaguely autistic king, and Jean was genuinely just so cool and interesting to my young self. I’m still salty about it and I will never forgive Marvel. 

Last Song: I have been playing Die For You (ft Grabbitz) on a loop for maybe a month now. This is what happens when my partner rewatches Arcane and then listens to all of the League of Legends and Valorant music and sends me their favourites. And also the song perfectly fits in with my stupid Durge and his stupid Durge vibes, so… yeah. A song from Valorant for you. I have never played it and I barely know what it is, but this song is great.

Last Movie: I think it was Dune Part 2? It’s fine. It’s a good movie. I think it had the same problem as the book for me, in that the messaging was like getting hit repeatedly in the head with a sledgehammer because it didn’t seem to trust that people would get it, but since I’ve seen plenty of people completely miss said message, I can’t really blame it for that. It's very visually impressive and Denis Villeneuve is an insanely talented man who clearly knows the book series so well. Give him all of the awards.

Currently Reading: an eclectic collection of BG3 fanfictions.

Currently Watching: I’m making my way through Teen Wolf for the first time, because I’m legitimately shocked I never watched it when it was on (I was directly in its target demographic and never saw it? Who even am I). At the moment, I’m about three episodes into season 4. It’s a whole experience and I have so many feelings. Is it good? Not even slightly. Does it make sense? Barely. Am I kind of loving it anyway? Fuck yeah. Teenage me would have been all over this show. I’m so mad.

Currently Eating: Carbs! Always carbs. Just finished some spinach and feta scrolls, specifically.

Currently Craving: a decently written character-driven genfic. Please, I am begging.

Favourite Colour: dusty blue

Current Obsession: pretty much anything D&D related. Mostly BG3 specifically.

Last Thing I Googled: lots and lots and lots of Forgotten Realms lore. 

Favourite Season: Autumn, purely for the aesthetic.

Skill I’d Like To Learn: figure drawing, for sure. I am desperate to be able to produce decent character art for OCs, especially since I am poor and can’t currently afford to commission someone.

Best Advice: You shouldn’t have to justify every facet of your existence to others. You’re allowed to take up space.

Tagging: I think everyone I would tag has been tagged already, so I’m just going to leave it as anyone who wants to participate, consider yourself tagged. 

[djarinsbeskar]

NEW REPUBLIC ARC: PART 2 - DARKNESS AND DELIVERANCE

A/N: Thank you all for your patience and the repsonse to the last part! I'm so excited to see the response to this part given we get a small insight into more of readers past as well as some new characters (including our beautiful Kai) who I hope fit into the story relatively smoothly. As always, your engagement means so much to me to know what you enjoyed so I might provide more in the future! Love you all xx

Please see the notes at the end for explanations of lore mentioned and any creative liberties I’ve taken with it.

Word Count: 16k

Pairing: Din Djarin/Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+ (NO Minors)

Warings: Language, injury detail and death, allusions to PTSD.

Summary: Din’s recklessness this time was a step too far.

Stitches Masterlist | Main Masterlist

By Llyrian, you were going to conveniently forget the oaths you made as a medic to save lives and murder the next person who looked at you sideways.

You were not in a good mood and it was all because of men. Typical. The duality of their ability to piss you off by both their presence and their absence was impressive even by your standards.

In a nutshell, you slept like shit and currently had a shadow following you.

You had a bed for the first time in a year, complete with a soft mattress and thick blanket. But you hardly slept a wink. It didn’t smell like him, like Din. You never realized how much you surrounded yourself in the musky spice of his skin to help you sleep, that intimate scent you only got when you were buried in his neck. It was more comforting than any mattress or fluffy pillow and you couldn’t smell it here. Starched linen and the faint smell of disuse – a clean but stagnant aroma – was all that filled your nose, keeping you awake until you finally threw your pillow away in frustration to use your arms instead. It didn’t help—the smell was still there, and his scent wasn’t. He wasn’t there.

A bad night sleep made it easier to let his absence feed into the anger you were already feeling towards him.

How could he have just left you here, so easily too—without a word of protest.

Anger was simple. Anger was power—you were in control, and you felt the gratification of the emotion instantly. You couldn’t be hurt when you were angry—selfish and greedy as it was, consuming you with no room for you to feel anything else.

Your eyes felt tight and puffy now as you wandered the corridors. The weight of your shadow loomed ever present, tugging at you like waterlogged clothes trying to drag you deeper while you struggled just to keep your head above water.

It kept ten paces behind you at all times. It chatted with passing colleagues, gripped the hand of friends it hadn’t seen in days. For all intents and purposes, your shadow appeared no different to any other person who worked on the Star Cruiser. But unlike anyone else, it never failed to follow you as soon as you began walking. Always ten paces behind, always far enough to keep out of your peripheral vision. It was there to give you the illusion of independence when in reality, you were just a dog on a long leash. A dangerous thing, fictitious freedom—and yet, precisely what someone who didn’t trust you – someone like the general – would want you to feel.

Since when were you an enemy to these people?

Was the disparity between a rebel jacket and a New Republic uniform so profound that shared history and former trust was wiped as though it never existed? What was that common phrase… forgetting the past was condemning the future. It sounded ironic on the flip side of war. So focused on eradicating the cancer of the Empire from the galaxy, they failed to realize they were carving out healthy flesh as well—destroying the memory and people they were before becoming the reigning authority. Fearless, hopeful optimists who wanted to make a difference fell into orderly, obedient positions. A decommissioned rebel jacket never worn, only postured to say we’re different, we did something good.

You stopped in the hallway you were currently wandering. They all looked the same, smooth lines and bright – but soft – lighting lining the skirting of the walls and the cornices of the curved ceiling. Clean in colour, but too sterile for your liking. You preferred the rustic, old—lived in feel of the Razor Crest. Like the New Republic paraded their rebel days, these hallways wore warmth like sheep’s clothing.

Your shadow paused when you did, leaning back against the smooth white wall in a bid to look casual. You hadn’t even been on the Star Cruiser for more than twenty-four hours, out of your room for less than three, and already you were sick of it. Surrounded by activity, noise and people—you were isolated under the eyes on an oppressive silence. A partisan divide between you and them, judged and condemned with a single glance for the company you kept and the uniform you didn’t wear.

The only reprieve you had was when Kai met you briefly when you first left your accommodation. In the guest quarters no less – an area of the ship designed to meet the standards of visitors from the Senate and other such important people – but you didn’t let their generosity fool you as being an act of kindness. No, these quarters – on the topmost floor of the Star Cruiser, were hardly used, rarely visited and never exposed to the ships activities.

The general could have had you in a cell, but you weren’t blind to the power Kai held on this Cruiser either—and while you might doubt their intentions you didn’t doubt Kai had a say in your comfort.

Si-Flachitt just wanted you far away from New Republic business.

Kai – ever the rebel – had other ideas. He accompanied you back down into the atrium with a gentle nudge to explore, to eat, to engage—“you’re not an enemy here, little fawn—” he implored with earnest eyes and a warm palm to the back of your neck. The familiarity of the gesture – tactile and intimate – might be normal between you on Pamarthe, but easily made eyebrows raise at the charming commanders indulgence in this no-named fugitive.

Suspicious eyes turned hostile when they believed you to be pulling the wool over their commanders eyes. You wondered if that would be the case if he was old and crusty and not the virile, charismatic thirty-something year old. Dark – almost black – hair that was as effortlessly messy as the jacket he left intentionally open and casual gave him an air of approachable charm that drew people in. Kai was handsome, striking with fiery eyes—a rebel through and through. He was a poster boy that had the New Republic creaming themselves at the knowledge of having such a man in a public, powerful position.

But here he was, consorting with the companion of a Mandalorian bounty hunter who made it clear he had no allegiance to the New Republic—escorting you with warm, easy smiles in your direction as his laughter filled the hall when your sharp tongue lashed him with wit and sarcasm fluidly.

But he was a commander – with a commanders workload – and he couldn’t stay long. Then you were alone again. You had been alone ever since Din had left the night before. You tried to figure out what was so different. It wasn’t the same as being alone on the Razor Crest, even when Din was in the cockpit or on a hunt and the child was asleep. You were alone, but you weren’t lonely. You were lonely here, and you hated it.

A sigh escaped you, your chest caving and the curtain of pretence fell when you heard your shadow scuff its feet, alerting you to its presence once more. You spun on your heels to face the man following you.

“Do you think I have a rhydonium bomb hidden in my cleavage?” you hissed, brows pinched and eyes lit with a cold fury at the blatant mistrust, “What’s the worst I can do by being left alone?”

He frowned, “You’d be left alone,” he parroted your words back at you as a reasonable excuse and your blood simmered. Talk about being made to feel welcome…

Maker, you hoped Din wouldn’t be gone for long—memories of weeks long hunts dotted throughout your time with him rising in your mind and filling you with dread. If this was another one of those times… you would drive yourself insane with worry, with regret, with frustration that he was only in this situation because you put him in it.

If something happened to them because you trusted the New Republic…

You felt sick.

You turned back away from your shadow – you didn’t ask his name, he didn’t fucking deserve one if all he was going to do was follow you – and tried to steady your breathing, pacing it against your footsteps.

In… out… in… out…. in…. out.

It was too mechanical – even to you – and failed to bring you any relief from the fear of being responsible for anything that might happen to either of them while they were gone.

Why the fuck did you trust them?

You came upon a washroom – unisex like they all were – and entered without holding the door for your shadow. Enter or not, you didn’t fucking care. Mercifully, it was empty and you locked the farthest stall before sitting heavily on the lid of the toilet, dropping your head into your hands with a shuddering exhale. The weight of your head in your hands the only stable, solid thing around you—everything else shattering in a rain of brittle glass.

Why the fuck did you trust them?

You only trusted them because you were angry with Din. So… so angry. Angry enough that you didn’t consult him, didn’t ask his opinion—perhaps it was out of spite and you were now selfishly using your desire to protect them as an excuse to satisfy your guilty conscience. But you had hated the way he handled things on Tatooine, and the New Republic were the alternative; the complete opposite of Din. It was naïve of you to assume that just because they were so different that the outcome would be more favourable.

He just wouldn’t listen to you.

You wouldn’t listen to him.

And here you were now—both forced to listen to them.

Separated—with him Maker knew how far away, hunting a quarry the entire of the New Republic fleet couldn’t catch. A quarry important enough for them to want him in the first place. That could only mean he was indispensable to the criminal enterprise he was a part of and if he was taken… and he would be with Din hunting him—they would target the Mandalorian, not the New Republic, as an easier scapegoat for revenge.

You lifted your head – tired again – and stared unseeing at the door of the stall, a pale grey that sparkled every time it was cleaned. What did it matter? People still shat in here. Pristine walls wouldn’t change that fact.

Why the fuck did you trust them?

You stood, a hopeless shake of your head. A brain you prided on knowing so much, couldn’t provide an answer. All you knew was sitting in a washroom wasn’t going to change anything. It was getting late and Kai had said he would find you later for dinner. At least there was one person’s company who you didn’t despise. You just had to wait a little longer. A little longer with that damned shadow following you.

You groaned.

Devilsquid fucking nerfherder—

Didn’t he have anything better to do? Probably.

Your gaze steeled with the glint of recognition and your lips turned up into the ghost of a grin. You might be powerless here, but you could still make your shadow’s task more difficult—give him no pause or respite as you walked, and force him to follow. Insignificant and immature some might say, but it was the tiniest amount of control you could cling to inside this fishbowl.

You washed your hands before leaving, the repetitive motions soothing in the same way you found cooking or rolling the little silver ball the child loved back and forth to him. Up your arms because habits were hard to knock and then you left. Just as you suspected, your shadow was leaning against the opposite wall to the washroom door.

You couldn’t prevent your scowl even if you tried when he ran his eyes down the length of your body suspiciously.

“What? You gonna pat me down in case I found a weapon in the ladies?” you challenged.

“Watch your mouth, or I will,” he threatened smoothly, the easy confidence startling you—could they do that?

You hadn’t considered it, having never been on the opposite side of their authority. Just a happy, ignorant cog for so many years, the trauma of the Rebellion dismissed with calls to do good in rebuilding the galaxy and lost in the system as a result. A damaged toy tossed aside the moment they realized the toy talked back.

You scoffed – hiding your surprise – and turned to start walking again. He groaned and you smirked. One victory you could hold onto at least.

He shouldn’t be here.

In all his years as a bounty hunter, Din had never strayed into the Ghost Nebula. A occluded minefield of asteroids and shadow—it made space seem darker, if it were possible. A claustrophobic awareness of absolute reality that somehow existed. Or didn’t exist—or had once existed, or never existed at all. It brought out the base instinct of humanity – the one that had been desensitized over generations and millennia of space travel – that ‘we shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here, we shouldn’t be here.’

Straddling an area between the Inner and Mid Rim, the Ghost Nebula had never seen light or even the pinprick of stars in the distance. There was nothing. And Umbara sat right in the middle of that nothingness. A shadowland of secrecy; footprints of guilty actions and violent intent concealed with the seeping fog of darkness. It was a planet where the Mining Guild and the former Empire festered, an epicentre of malice that no one ventured to willingly. Din didn’t know much more about his destination beyond that—he didn’t need to. It was the living host for the parasitic entities of oppression, and there—they thrived.

The X-wing he sat in was moving as he left hyperspace over a day later. Moving faster than the Razor Crest could and yet, it felt suspended, held in stasis amongst the suffocating darkness getting nowhere fast. For the rare occasion, Din had to focus on believing what he saw on the navi-computer with his own two eyes and ignore his instincts that gripped his lungs in a vice to turn back turn back turn back.

He set his jaw and continued forward.

In a way, the focus helped him ignore the real problem gnawing at him; you weren’t with them. Maybe he had gone against his instincts on more than one occasion in the last twenty-four hours… They roared and bellowed and ripped through the soft flesh of his resolve to go back go back go back with every step he took away from you in that non-descript corridor of the New Republic Star Cruiser. To leave you there—alone. With those… he didn’t even know what to call them.

Enemies? He would have to care to have that forceful an opinion.

Allies? Absolutely not.

Reluctant associates? Emphasis on the reluctant part.

His skin itched with an uncomfortable irritation—borne of infighting and the dredges of anger he still felt towards you. Maker, kitten… he dropped his head back against the high headrest of the pilot’s seat. He knew things had been rocky between you, divided even. That core thread of your personality, a determined desire to fully commit to a task – a trait he admired about you – had shaken him. When you tried to immerse yourself into his once solitary mission to find the kids people, it startled those ingrained habits so thoroughly—he felt naked with the knowledge in your gaze. He regressed without even knowing, let the shutters fall before you had the chance to crawl under to the other side. He kept you out, kept you safe.

Safe… he scoffed incredulously.

Were any of you safe now?

Anger torched the dry wood of his calm façade when he remembered how it was you who orchestrated this danger. You who sent him to this Maker-forsaken part of the galaxy. You who put yourself on that Star Cruiser alone. His anger was not so charitable that it would allow reason to whisper that the actions you took were in good faith. It attached itself – sponge-like – to absorb the liquid laden mess you had put them all in, leaving you at the mercy of the New Republic and his ad’ika exposed to the innumerable threats likely to greet them on Umbara.

He was furious with you for it.

I’m not angry. I’m furious with you.

Your words surfaced in his mind unbidden, resulting in a snarl of aggression at his immediate refusal to acknowledge your anger and disturbed the child sleeping on his lap. He blinked blearily up at his helmet, and Din’s ire was softened a fraction—even if his helmet remained indifferent and apathetic. His ears were drooped with the traces of sleep still clinging to them—falling down his back with begrudging consciousness, small yawns and noises of complaint lifting from oversized robes when he sat up.

“Sorry, kid,” he grunted distractedly, keeping one eye on the navi-computer –the blinking dot of Umbara getting closer – and the other through the viewport uselessly. It wasn’t like he could see any sign of the planet in the distance.

He didn’t miss the glance left, the glimpse right—the chirp of noise and the perking of one ear up expectantly. That same ear drooped again when there was no response and he looked up at Din.

Where is she?

Din could almost hear the accusation in the womprat’s eyes, watery orbs of star-speckled black. The kid didn’t even have his pod on this journey, let alone you. The warrior had been so single-minded in getting away from that Star Cruiser with the kid flying under the radar, that he hadn’t stopped to consider the consequences—you had been with them both longer than he had the child alone. No one had noticed – thankfully – when Din used the guise of accessing his own armory in lieu of owing the New Republic anything else, to grab the satchel you had purchased on Ryloth to place the sleeping child in before leaving.

Better than letting the little squirt walk… he mentally commended himself for the foresight and inhaled deeply. His shoulders seized—a spasm rippling in a spate of sudden pain from his ribs.

Fucking bantha.

He might have lied to you.

He groaned. It was nothing he hadn’t dealt with before—a few bruised ribs. But when you asked – stone faced and cold – if he had been injured by the dragon, he said no. It wasn’t a lie technically. But that bantha was like solid steel when he was slammed into the dull curve of its horn as they were both swallowed by the krayt dragon. It was a dull pain—one he could stubbornly ignore and often forgot until he stretched or breathed too deep or moved too fast.

Din rolled his eyes, the sparks of anger like a hammer dinging against beskar when he considered telling you. Not when you were acting like a stone-cold bitch, glaring at him so imperiously he wanted nothing more than to drag you over his lap and spank you until you fought and scratched and screamed at him instead of the chilling reproach he was being subjected to.

He was beginning to feel the kindle of regret now that he was injured on a hunt. You would no doubt have had him back in peak condition in no time. But moot pride and a bruised ego sealed his lips when you had so blatantly disregarded his request—his knowledge that it was too dangerous for you to approach victims of the dragon.

The navi-computer beeped before he could fester in his anger further, a stream of Basic filling up the screen. Statistics, weather reports, breathability, closest populated locations—his brain absorbed it all. He didn’t like this planet and he hadn’t even landed yet. Maybe he was just being bullish because of the tension with dealing with that Pantoran general, maybe it was seeing a man you obviously had a history with touch you so casually, maybe it was this whole damn fuck-up of a situation. But as he touched down in a land where it was as dark planetside as it was in space, he knew those feelings of apprehension weren’t unfounded.

“I thought I saw the last of you on the Liberty,”

The cold, painfully familiar voice came awhile later as you wandered down through the main artery of the Cruisers corridors, cut across the heart of the atrium and from where other – smaller – veins flowed in various directions left and right. You had avoided it so far, avoided the people. But this late into the day – with most people either in the cantina or taking advantage of any free time they had – there was less foot traffic as you passed frosted transparisteel double doors.

Perhaps you should have ventured here sooner, the smile that stretched across your lips at that disinterested voice likely to infuriate him despite how involuntary it was.

“Belt!” you exclaimed when you turned to the tall, stony-faced Chiss, ruby eyes set in an eternal glare and the blue hue of his skin about as warm as the icy Maldo Kreis you had escaped from the day before. You fucking adored him.

“What have I told you about—” the medic was interrupted. His attempt to wave away your advance with a disposable glove he had been removing was in vain as you wrapped your arms around his middle and smothered your cheek against his chest. His squirm of annoyance was followed by a sharp rap to your head and you let him go.

“Honestly—” he snapped, brushing down the front of his pressed, white medics uniform, the saturated carmine of his gaze an inferno of dissatisfaction when you met them, menacing in their own right—but endearing to you.

Mitrab’el’tawn – or Belt as he affectionately came to be called during the Rebellion – was a genius. One of the few Chiss to ever leave his isolated home planet of Csilla, he was one of the single most brilliant minds you had ever come across. He was also the greatest mentor you had the good fortune to train and work with in your years of service. He had very little tolerance for… anything and a bedside manner better suited to the mortuary where the patients couldn’t bother him, but for as much as he insulted his students, colleagues and superiors—he couldn’t help but like you.

Even if he would rather die than admit to it.

“You’re like a weed—always growing back the moment I get rid of you,” he sniffed indignantly, turning on his heels back in through the sliding double doors he had come from—the infirmary. His domain.

You smiled to yourself at his words; he was still soft on you. You followed him inside. He hadn’t asked—but if he didn’t want you there, you would know about it. Everyone would know about it. Your shadow for instance, felt the full force of the Chiss’s wrath when he dared set foot in the infirmary without a reason.

“She’s my reason.”

“She’s a medic and all medics fall under my authority, get out.”

He didn’t fight back. Maybe your shadow was smarter than he looked.

“I thought you were retiring after Akiva,” you conversed easily, now that you didn’t have the weight of looming eyes on you at all times. Here was safe. Belt was here. You examined the infirmary with a critical – but impressed – eye. Belt was difficult to get along with, but he ran a smooth operation. You still modelled your clinic setup after his. It was what you were used to, it was what was most effective. The infirmary was huge – they all were on Cruisers this large – and contained the latest in medical technology, no expense spared.

“And leave this place to be run by imbeciles?” he snapped, glaring at you where you perched on the gurney sitting in front of the sink – he must have been cleaning it down before he spotted you. Belt tossed the gloves into the medical waste disposal unit for incineration later, “Idiots, the lot of them—coming to me from the best schools on Coruscant – whatever that means – and they can’t even find a damn vein on the first insert.”

“They have to start somewhere,” you began the age-old defence of the poor apprentices, routine and dry—your heart not in it given you agreed with him mostly, but it was fun to rile him up, “they just need experience.”

“They need to stop wasting my time and pull their heads out of their asses thinking a top score in an exam means shit to me,” he said as he pointed to a silver case sitting on the counter between him and the tall double doored steel locker were the Cruisers supply of drugs, sedatives and whatever else the Defence Corps needed to chew on were kept, “get to restocking those pills, girl. Since when have you been so lazy?”

“Since I’m not stupid enough to touch your stuff without permission,” you hit back, pushing yourself off the gurney and approached the sink to give your hands and arms another wash before you got to work. You didn’t miss the glance sideways and downturn of Belt’s lips—the twitch of his straight, imperious nose as it scrunched momentarily, making you bite the inside of your cheek on a chuckle. Got him. Belt rarely showed anything but contempt, but you knew his quirks.

“I suppose you didn’t forget everything.”

You had to hand it to him, he could even make a concession sound like an insult.

“A good thing too,” he sniffed, “can’t have the only apprentice who never left my clinic blubbering like a child look as stupid as the rest of them.”

“Your track record still stands then, does it?”

“Yes. Until you broke it and I had to start again,” he growled.

“Aw Belt,” you commiserated, “I had to add a little seasoning to your life—it was getting too predictable with all your students being reduced to tears.”

“Yes, well I prefer things predictable,” he refuted, crimson eyes not leaving the documentation he was filling out for the day, “and now here you are, interrupting my peace and quiet again.”

You couldn’t stop the laugh that left you this time, much to Belt’s dissatisfaction.

It would be easy to take offense and be hurt by anything – everything – the Chiss said, but you never did. It was one of the reasons you got along so well. He was a figure that everyone in the medical field wanted to work with and anyone wishing to become a medic wanted to train with. Very few actually had the spine to put up with his nature though, cantankerous and mean but fantastic at his job.

You simply gave back what he threw at you tenfold.

Not in insults or tantrums, but in succeeding at everything – every monstrously disgusting task – he gave you to do. You would complete it diligently, exceeding the standard expected of your level in detail and process, no corners cut and no jobs eschewed. Belt would look for fault; examine every stitch, inspect every report—and when he couldn’t find anything, he was silent. And it was the greatest compliment he could give you.

But outside of that, you knew Belt’s dirty little secret. The one you were sure he would rather go down for being an imperial sympathizer than admit to.

Belt was kind.

Kind in the way the galaxy wrote off for not conforming to the mild pleasantries and smooth corners expected of ‘civilized’ people. But unlike false niceties and placations, Belt’s loyalty—his care was rare, but genuine. Unexpected – a hurricane you only realize occurred after it had already moved on – but it had saved you, that kindness. Mitrab’el’tawn was your lifeline at the worst point in your life.

Your older brother had just died.

Killed on Malastare—mere months after the Battle of Endor and the fall of the Empire. Your last surviving sibling, your last surviving family member.

Gone.

Lost.

Dead.

Belt had found you furiously scrubbing items in the infirmary of the Liberty Star Cruiser you were both stationed on, the bristles of the sponge cleaning tools that had already been sterilized and not in need of washing. A stupid mistake on your part – you never made mistakes – and a scalpel sliced down the side of your hand when he finally intervened.

“Sit down, girl,” he had chided, voice clipped—annoyed. Pulling up a stool to sit before you, he clucked his tongue at the mess of blood on your hand. Those scalpels were sharp and had cut through your flesh like butter. He seemed more alarmed by the tears steaking down your cheeks and the hyperventilating gasps of breath you were struggling catch than the cut. It was deep, but it was clean. Emotions were not.

“Just some blood, you’ve seen much worse—dry those tears,” he tried to reprimand you in a futile attempt to treat you as normal, to ignore the reason for those tears that fell in a constant stream you couldn’t stop. The one task he gave that you failed. Alone in this damned infirmary with only the generator lights on as you dropped your face into your free hand to try hide the evidence of tears, to muffle the sobs. The pain of knowing years of saving lives—had still cost you everyone you had joined to protect.

He sighed.

“Death is the only certainty we have in this life,” he explained, voice uncharacteristically solemn as he dabbed iodine on the laceration to clean it before wiping it down with a sterile cloth, “everything before that is a blank canvas, for us to do with as we wish.”

“We can decide everything,” he emphasized, threading a line of absorbable sutures before pinching the edges of your cut closed and looping the first stitch through your skin. The whisper of a burn stung as the thread was pulled through your flesh, flashing life in front of your eyes, “we can decide how we want to be remembered after the certainty of death claims us.”

You remembered the gentleness with which he wrapped your hand. It was the only way the old – yet somehow always ageless – Chiss could show affection, and for a male like Belt—it was no small thing when he kept your hand between both of his larger blue ones. He met your eyes, yours puffy and swollen—his with the smallest hint of softness, a touch of pain staining his eyes blood red; pain at the untold losses he had suffered in his lifetime or the agony you were experiencing now. You didn’t know, he didn’t tell you.

“Rhydian will be remembered as a hero, a personification of freedom and hope—as will Rhain,” your eyes welled with fresh tears at the mention of your younger brother, killed the year before. Belt knew their names, though you were sure they had never passed through his infirmary. He patted the back of your hand gingerly, looking down at the only wound he was certain he would be able to heal as the wetness soaking your cheeks dripped onto his hand, “now… take that pain—all of it, and put it to use.”

You had watched him through blurry vision as he rose slowly, joints tight after a day’s work—the trials of age he blatantly refused to let anyone see showing themselves. Anyone apart from you that was.

“I didn’t spend three years training you to see you fall to pieces now. You’ve saved countless lives and you’ll save infinitely more if you channel that pain into passion.”

Belt wasn’t soft or empathetic or indulgent in emotions he considered petty or in the way of good work. But he had done you an inexplicable kindness that evening when celebrations were still in full swing. He had seen you cry, and he hadn’t dismissed it. He had seen you; the pain beneath the steel spine and sharp mind. Saw the child that war had stolen so much from and what was left at the end of it. Charred remains and raw nerves exposed to a galaxy of observers who would never understand, never accept. He saw the path to healing, and did his best to offer you the tools to start on it.

You signed up for the New Republic’s medical outreach program not three days later, in its’ infancy and tasked with assisting the communities devastated by the war and nearly twenty years of oppression under the tyrannical Empire. You never went home, never took a break. You went straight to where you had been stationed; Klatooine. Yes, you owed Belt a great deal… more than he probably knew.

You smiled a little, a comfortable silence neither of you felt the need to fill as you reviewed the datapad of inventory for the delivered medication. Cross-referencing it to the appropriate containers, you ticked off each one with your stylus before you began restocking. Pulling out the correct bottles of medication from behind the secure doors – the code to which Belt offered you freely in what surely must have been a breach of protocol – you got to work.

One of my medics? Denied access by stuffy officers who wouldn’t know a syringe from a scalpel? As if I’d let them give me orders in my infirmary.

You could hear him scoffing the words in your mind at the audacity. You would bet good credits that half of the officers were terrified of Belt, and the other half were in denial of the fact that they would rather face down an AT-AT in the buff on Hoth with just a vibroblade than try and sanction the medic.

“What can I say—I figured you were probably getting bored and needed me to disturb the peace a little,” you quipped while he snorted, “besides, medical outreach didn’t last long.”

Crimson eyes slid down to you, your own kept resolutely on the jars of medication.

“I heard they cut the funding, I swear—this new government is run by infants, infant Tauntauns in the middle of a blizzard,” he spun to face you, waving his stylus threateningly in one hand, “half the people with any experience are dead, and the rest think that winning a war makes them experts at governing the galaxy.”

You pulled out an empty beaker, pouring what remained of a painkiller into it so you could put the newest stock in first. He wasn’t wrong—but you had a little more sympathy, not much—but a little. It can’t have been easy for anyone who took up the mantle of leadership. You only hoped they did it for the right reasons.

“Yes, well—a tauntaun might have been more discreet with cutting the funding to pay for a new spaceport on Corellia,” you snorted with a humourless laugh, “but it wasn’t all bad. Worked with a Mirialan in a practice on Dandoran for a few years after that.”

“Dandoran?” Belt stopped filling his datapad, strong eyebrowed dropping low over his eyes at the name when he looked down at you, “what in Malachor possessed you to work on that cesspool of a planet?”

You shrugged, replacing the container and moving on to the next to repeat the process, “Wasn’t so bad when I first got there—nothing I hadn’t seen before on Klatooine. It was… different when I was leaving.”

“I’ll bet,” he muttered under his breath before exhaling, “and now you’re here – my own personal menace – returned to torture me with her incessant chatter and sloppy stitching.”

“It was one stitch that was slightly out of line—Maker, that was years ago, and there hasn’t been a stitch out of place since,” you defended yourself with a huff, but you could see the quirk of a smile on the older males face. He was happy to see you again. You smiled back, wider when his expression soured to cover himself.

“I expect you bright and early first thing tomorrow, girl—”

You blinked, caught off guard.

“I—what?”

“What? Did you think I was going to let you laze around the Cruiser like you own the place? Hardly,” he finished his report with the flourish of a signature, “My current staff is abysmal, I could use someone with at least some skill to help me work.”

A smile cracked the corner of your confusion, a glimmer of gemstones under the dull surface rock of understanding—and you nodded. Perhaps this stay wouldn’t be so terrible after all. Your shadow had been chased away, Kai was here, Belt was here—you could just be. If only Din and the child were here too.

Before your thoughts could turn dark, the doors slid open once more and Kai strolled in.

“There you are! I knew Belt would find some way to abduct you the moment he found out you were onboard.”

“Commander Carria, any more lies out of that foul mouth and I’ll forget to give you anaesthesia the next time you crash land that modified murder machine.”

You arched a brow at the camaraderie, surprised. The last you had known of Kai’s relationship with Belt was their decided dislike for one another.

“Threatening a commander with medical negligence, old man? I see how it is—”

“Exactly. So don’t make me follow through with it, commander.”

Kai shook his head with a deep chuckle, eyes falling to you when your laughter joined his. The back and forth was… refreshing to see again. Kai could turn anyone to his side with enough time. Good looking, charming and with an integrity that many gravitated towards for guidance. It was only a matter of time before Belt begrudgingly accepted he liked Kai. That or perhaps Belt simply had a soft spot for Carria members. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had been swept off their feet by the quiet beauty of the stag and doe.

“C’mon, little fawn—let’s get some food into you. Can’t imagine you’ve been eating much with that Mandalorian—”

“A Mandalorian?” Belt’s curiosity piqued, his red eyes flashing with interest.

“You can interrogate her about her… shipmate later, Belt—” Kai waved the Chiss off as he led you out the main doors and you offered a wave and a promise to be there on time the next morning to your old mentor before the frosted glass doors slid shut behind you again.

Naturally, the tracking fob he had grabbed from the shaking officer waiting at the X-wing provided for him didn’t lead Din to any known areas populated by native Umbarans. He was sent to the middle of nowhere. The middle of nowhere in the middle of nothing. Maker. He hated this place.

The bioluminescence of the Zabrak spines, matchstick tops of fiery red crowning tall stems of shadowy black swayed ominously in a non-existent breeze and stood much too tall over Din’s head for his comfort. They stretched for miles. Far as he could see when they weren’t interrupted by hills of dark rock and the imposing face of mountainsides—the landscape of obscurity and phantom shadows was lit only by that same slow sway of false flames dotting the tops of countless spines.

That and the tracking fob that flashed periodically.

Adjusting his helmet, the night vision hardly helped—for all it removed the darkness and improved his sight, it only highlighted the suffocating nothingness. A repetitive labyrinth Din could easily see driving a person insane if they got lost for too long in its maze.

The fob was leading him through the spines. Of course it was. A narrow gap in the overgrown stems creating a makeshift path that suggested this area was not wholly undisturbed—a good sign if it was the bounty, a bad sign if it was something else.

A chirp from the satchel.

“I know, kid.”

He glanced down at the child’s less than enthusiastic face.

“That’s our path.”

A grizzle of dissatisfaction.

“I’m all ears if you have a better idea.”

His ears perked, cooing with spirited passion.

“No, we can’t go back for her yet.”

Din sighed the moment a chuff of annoyance left the kid, making the Mandalorian arch a thick brow from beneath his helmet. He wondered where he learned that from. He hadn’t thought about the kid—how he might miss you. Maker, when was the last time you two were even apart?

He quashed the guilt starting to bubble, an unwelcome gurgle low in his stomach. He would have been more distracted if you were here, with your penchant to dismiss his words so easily and do what you wanted with stubborn obstinance. He didn’t like the New Republic, but he knew they would keep you safe. If only to guarantee his return with their bounty.

Speaking of which…

The burnt umber of his eyes fell to the fob, rolling the small rectangular device in his palm.

Vero Scurra.

He was a piece of work if the information brought up when Din entered his chain code was anything to go by. He was the kind of criminal Din detested most; the one that orchestrated destruction and then fled from the flames. But that wasn’t what caught his attention when the mugshot popped up in the top right corner of his arrest warrant. It was the lanky neck. Too long to ever be considered attractive and more surprisingly, too distinct in Din’s eyes to be a runner. Most Hutt runners he had come across in their heyday were non-descript, forgettable.

And maybe Scurra was forgettable to others, but not to Din. Din recognized Scurra, an itch of familiarity before he was finally able to place him. A handsy Twi’lek grabbing your arm in front of the fishmongers stall, squeezing—your pulled blaster and whispered cautions by a beady eyed, long necked human against taking the Mandalorian on in the market.

Son of a mudscuffer… the nerfherder survived long enough to become invaluable, huh.

A sneer twisted on Din’s face as he took his first step into the brush of hostile shadows—alive with threat and effusing an unwelcome tang on the air that stalled thick in his lungs with every exhale.

The darkness of Umbara didn’t feel natural, the planet itself a basin in which to capture the foggy mist of shadows that settled within its embrace. The echo of soft footfalls bounced against the darkness that tried to conceal itself in its façade of nothingness. There was no room for anything but darkness on Umbara, and the planet made that fact abundantly clear in the truculent noose of tentacled plants, fat bellied and big. Stray too close and one would never escape its snare.

His steps were measured, intentional—and made the journey inextricably longer because of the fact. He was burdened with minimal sight ahead, a few feet and no more—with a narrow path of dense Zabrak spines that made him need to shuffle sideways half the time with the breadth of his shoulders.

He kept the child pressed to his side, one hand on the satchel where he was sitting and the other ahead to push aside stems to walk through. He didn’t want the little womprat wriggling out of his hold to be gobbled up by the carnivorous plants or scuttling creatures Din could hear but not see.

He walked on… and on… and on… the tiny red light of the fob the only thing stopping him from completely giving up as the hours crept by. From the steadily growing weight of his armor, he knew more time had passed by than he could tell from an absent sun. But he kept going, there was no way in Malachor he was stopping for rest here.

No wonder Scurra chose here to hide out—only the most desperate would come to this cursed place. But it confused Din, because Scurra did have something lose, had a lot to lose—so to risk his own life coming to a planet like this, it didn’t make any sense. The repellent nature of the planet would assist in keeping the New Republic at bay, but in the same breath—it also meant Scurra had to be here, and put himself in equally as much danger.

If Din knew anything about these types of criminals, it was that there was nothing they valued above their own survival.

So why here?

It itched and irritated and annoyed him the entire time he walked, muttering offhand to the kid whenever he chirped in boredom—and resolutely keeping his mind off you and where you were and who you might be with. He didn’t need any other reason to be mad at you.

The answer to his question—to why, came the next day. Or, what he assumed was the next day since the atmosphere and weather never changed here. His gait shifted to certain steps in an unhurried prowl when the brush thinned enough to reveal a shadowed structure against the face of a cliffside that crept high into the sky and went who knows where.

It looked like an old refinery.

According to the stats Din had pulled up before landing, Umbara was rich in doonium, a heavy metal used in the construction of starships. With a galaxy to rule, the Empire needed a lot of ships. Taken from deep within the crust of the planet, the refinery doubtlessly worked non-stop to extract the pure metal from within the rock it was embedded in. It was coveted, and those who had access guarded it like beskar.

As a result, the refinery looked more like a fortress. With high walls and no windows – nothing much to see outside anyway – the scan in Din’s helmet detected a durasteel exterior wall measuring an arms-length in thickness at least. Not impossible to breach, but getting in undetected might be problematic. He looked for high ground and – apart from the cliffside where the doonium was likely mined – there was none. Only Zabrak spines and vicious Devil’s Embrace that made it impossible to observe the location without coming out into the open.

He doubled back—keeping the refinery to his right as he circled around it. It looked totally abandoned, but those were usually the most dangerous locations in Din’s experience. Anyone who relinquished the intimidation of many weapons or guards being visible, usually had something more lethal at their command from within.

He tried to avoid the rustle of spines as he moved through them, keeping one hand on the butt of his blaster the entire time. The smallest of sounds easily highlighted that engorged darkness that wished to remain undisturbed, wrathful vengeance taken on the perpetrator with discovery and sabotage.

And then—a noise.

Din paused, crouched down until his hamstrings burned and his back ached—his ribs complaining from the crunch of his stomach. He didn’t move, marbled and silent—listening. He lifted a hand, a spectre of movement—unseen, unheard as he turned on the thermal reader on his helmet. The child chirped as he looked up at Din, his helmet staring out to his right, scanning slowly.

There it was again—a distinct crunch crunch crunch in paced intervals. Footsteps? Perhaps… but too rapid to be only one person. Frustrated, he scanned the direction he picked up the noise from again, unable to detect any heat signals.

Fucking bantha balls.

He wasn’t hearing things.

Crunch crunch crunch.

He bit his tongue to stop himself from growling in irritation. Blind—it sounded like two, maybe three sets of footfalls if they were bipedal. They all remained in the same vicinity of space, the footsteps fading before they returned. Forty-seven seconds, Din counted after twenty minutes of measuring the gait of whoever was walking. Forty-seven seconds to go from the furthest part of the refinery to the closest position to where Din was.

Patrolling?

He wasn’t expecting that level of organisation for someone who was apparently on the run. That prickling of doubt, of worry—rose in him again, why was Scurra here of all places? With what sounded to be security.

Din moved on to scout the rest of the location.

Be careful…

Your voice filtered through his helmet, and the silence was so absolute—he was certain he had heard your voice for real. Those achingly honest eyes as you asked him—without fail, every single time he left the Razor Crest. Nearly a year, and he was always surprised by it. At first he had reacted the way any Mandalorian would—with disdain, brushing it off as an insult. Did you not realize how dangerous Mandalorians were? That it was others who ought to be careful of him? But over time, he came to realize you knew exactly how dangerous he was—it wasn’t a slight against his abilities, it was a hesitant touch of affection beyond the physical that somehow took longer for him to understand.

Be careful… meant ‘come back’.

You didn’t say it to him this time. And he suddenly felt the hollowness of its absence—how unnerving.

He shook thoughts of intelligent eyes and pretty smiles out of his mind – he was angry with you, focus – and made his way towards the colossal wall of rock the refinery sat in front of. Around the back, the spines thinned—trodden on and stamped down into a path from the mine shafts to the chute where the rock was deposited into the refinery.

More crunching… less frequently—one guard at the back.

He scanned the water tanks, cylindrical vats and ventilation that covered most of the back wall as well as the caved in, completely congested chute. A collapse of rubble and metal wrote that as a means of entry and likely the reason for the refinery’s abandonment.

Due to the amount of curved metal and joints in the construction—the back wall was weaker, less dense—and easier for Din to get a read on any heat signatures from within. And fuck… he couldn’t stop the growl that filtered from under his helmet when he flicked on the thermal reader again.

He counted… and counted… and counted…

Twelve. Twelve individuals he could count, excluding the guards outside. Split over two floors—five patrolling the ground floor and what looked to be a cluster, a meeting of seven on the top floor.

Din’s stomach sank. Scurra wasn’t on the run, he was working.

Umbara wasn’t a hiding spot fled to in desperation.

It was neutral ground for business.

“Trust Belt to have you working,” you heard Kai snort from the booth next to yours at the firing range onboard the next day.

He had to come find you again at the infirmary. You had lost track of time as you worked—falling back into a familiar routine alongside Belt. It kept you busy, kept you sane, kept your mind off things that you had no control over right now.

Kai had mentioned a need to log hours of practice, offered to take you back to your quarters—but more time alone meant more time to think, to worry—so you asked to come with him. He hadn’t voiced the surprise on his face – you had never been one for blasters beyond basic training – but had happily agreed. Whether the amenities of the ship extended to you or not was anyone’s guess, but no one questioned Kai.

Nothing more than a hesitant glance down at his side to you when Kai slid the datapad over for you to sign in. He silenced the supervisor of the firing range with a sharp glare, and you were taken by just how much Kai had… grown up in the years since the Rebellion despite being five years older than you.

“I like working,” you huffed, trying to focus your arm proving more difficult with someone distracting you, “keeps my mind busy.”

“You’re always working though,” he complained, a steady slew of blaster bolts firing from his weapon and hitting the steadily approaching dummy droids easily. He wasn’t practicing as much as seeing how quickly he could take them all down.

“Says the guy who literally lives at work,” you threw back, ribbing him gently.

His deep rumble of laughter from the other side of the clear transparisteel screen that separated you both distracted you, your eyes flicking to him just enough to make you fire wide when you pulled the trigger.

“Bantha balls,” you grumbled, clicking your tongue and rolling your shoulder—the recoil still got you every time.

“Thought you’d be a pro at firing weapons with a Mandalorian in your bed.”

It was said casually, continuing the tone of your previous banter—but your blaster paused halfway as you went to raise it again. When you looked at him, he was already glancing down at you knowingly, no accusation or anger—just golden eyes soft and knowledgeable enough to make you sweat a little internally.

“There’s only one weapon I’m interested in when he’s in my bed,” you replied smoothly and from the choke that caught in Kai’s throat, you knew he wasn’t expecting you to admit it so easily—even if he did put two and two together. You smirked, a faint quirk of your lips and you dropped your gaze back to the targets and pulled the trigger. Gotcha. You hit the dummy droid.

There was a weighted silence, the wind of taken out of Kai’s sails with what he had planned to say to get you to admit it, evaporating in a lacklustre pause.

“Huh,” he hummed noncommittally.

You maintained a calm front—collected. Wearing your dishevelled hair from a day’s work in the infirmary and the dusting of colour across your cheeks as if it were armor and not an admission of your nervousness. Impenetrable. No wonder Din always felt safer beneath his beskar.

Kai obviously knew there was something between you—but saying it out loud to someone you knew? It stirred a strange feeling inside you. A clash of anxiety and excitement fighting to overpower the other, a rut of antlers colliding with hooves thrashing the ground in a bid to dominate. It was the first time you had—said it. How were you supposed to feel? Should you be saying anything when you had no clue where it was going? Weren’t you still mad at Din to be feeling flustered over your feelings for him?

Your mind was going a mile a minute as the silence dragged on and you had no idea how to fill it until Kai spoke again,

“Doesn’t seem like the type,” he muttered to himself, loud enough for you to hear and it made you arch an inquisitive brow.

“What type?”

Harvest eyes – written with surprise and sheepishness – met yours when he realized you heard him, a hand running awkwardly through his dark hair and musing it further.

“I mean—he just seems so… practical?” he tried to explain, “efficient, gets shit done—does it well and moves on. Sex, pleasure—”

“He does it well,” you interrupted, throwing his own words back in his face—your brows pinched at the direction this conversation had taken and feeling unusually territorial of Din’s reputation as a lover, “Mando does sex well, does pleasure even better, does me every night.”

Kai blinked.

Sex wasn’t a taboo subject on Pamarthe, especially within Clan Carria—a stag almost always having a harem and indulgence in physical pleasure one of the things people enjoyed most there.

“Right…” he conceded warily, noticing the snappish impatience of your tone.

“Odd question for the general to want answered.”

“I’m not trying to get information out of you for h—”

“So you just want to know who I’m fucking?”

“I want to make sure you’re okay—” he hissed, uncharacteristically sharp and you shut your mouth, wet your lips with your tongue and turned back towards the targets. You didn’t want to fight with him, but you were reluctant to talk about what had obviously driven you both away from home to hide out among the stars instead.

He sighed, holstering his weapon and dragged a weary hand down his close shaven jaw, the line of his shoulders under his jacket tense. He rounded the booth to stand inside yours, the proximity giving you no space to comfortably fire the weapon, the weight of his eyes on you forcing your hand to click the safety back on your blaster.

“Don’t be angry with me, fawn—”

You narrowed your gaze, trying to cling to the annoyance—but Kai had a way of making anger melt with his earnestness—the forthright attempts to make things better. His tone had gentled, softened in the back of his throat where the hint of a tease – neutral ground – could be heard.

“You can’t blame me for being curious, the sexual tension between you two made even my head spin with the potency,” he folded his arms across his chest as he cocked his head.

“Not all sexual,” you admitted with a sigh, deciding to let your previous irritation go when faced with someone like Kai, someone familiar—someone genuine. You turned to face him, leaning back against the counter that separated you from the dummy droids, “He doesn’t let me help—”

Kai frowned, “Help how?”

Shit. You couldn’t tell him the truth—regardless of how close you both were.

“With hunting,” you settled on, the arch a dark brow making it obvious Kai was taken aback by the idea of you bounty hunting, “I mean… putting my skills to use to help him find them faster.”

“He doesn’t let you?” he confirmed, nodding in greeting at a passing command floor worker.

You shook your head, chest caving on a sigh. Maker, but it felt good to finally admit it to someone other than your reflection or a baby who couldn’t respond in any language you understood.

The commander tapped a gloved finger on the crease of his elbow—thinking.

“Good.”

You froze. That was decidedly not the reaction you were expecting from the guy who got you into trouble more times than you could count back home as kids. Your head snapped up to stare incredulously at him, but his face had set in an impassive frown, a dangerous heat turning the gold of his irises molten,

“The galaxy is a fucking circus, fawn—the trafficking alone is a danger to you, to anyone remotely desirable. I’m glad he’s not letting you get close to the danger.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes at the testosterone fuelled protectiveness all these men from clan cultures seemed to think they were entitled to have over you. Fuck sake, you were a woman, not a lamb. You had seen more gore than Kai and more war than Din—and yet, you were the one who needed to be sheltered? Please—it was getting old, and you were just about over this overbearing posturing.

“Just because Rhydian is dead, doesn’t mean I need you to take his place as the protective big brother,” you bit out, a snap of cruelty that shook you as much as it visibly startled Kai. You couldn’t remember the last time you had said your brother’s name out loud—hadn’t seen Kai since before it happened, and the devastated agony that shattered those beautiful irises in a split second before he looked away made you sick to your stomach.

He still wasn’t over Rhydian’s death either.

You wished you could take it back—that unfair, untrue—and unkind swipe of claws to once again keep yourself away from the things that hurt you the most ended up hurting someone else. You gaped, mouth opening and closing to try and rectify it,

“Kai—I didn’t mean…”

“Does he know?” he cut across you, a frigid pain makes his voice rough—brittle in its control not to snap at you, “Have you ever told the Mandalorian any of this?”

You stared up at your friend, wide-eyed—exposed and shook your head slowly, puppeted and unable to lie when his eyes bore into yours so nakedly.

“We protect our own, with our everything,” the often used mantra sounded so strange to hear after so many years of silence and made you drop your eyes to the ground, “Why won’t you just tell him why you want to help and not just how?”

“I shouldn’t have to defend myself—I’m not… anyone’s possession to tell me what I can and can’t—”

“Stop taking someone caring for you as a slight against your independence, fawn!” he snapped at you finally, teeth bared and gleaming when he barked—you weren’t the only one who lashed out when you were hurting.

When the shock of his words abated somewhat, the both of you glaring at each other in a fruitless desire to make yourselves heard, you made to speak again but he held up a hand. A commanding action that demanded you press your lips into a tight line—an unwilling deference to a member of your head family.

“Someone who cares, someone who wants you safe, Maker—even someone who fucks you good—it’s more than a lot of us have, fawn—don’t throw that away in a pointless sacrifice for meaningless pride.”

Your heart sank, there was a strangled strain of emotion Kai was trying to smother as he spoke—an old wound incorrectly healed, flaring with pain as he spoke.

“Kai…” you placed a hand on his forearm, running it up over his jacket to his bicep where the inked ring of antlers was tattooed into his skin, a touch of home—a touch of family and he offered you a wan smile, covering your hand with his where it rested against his muscle,

“Don’t wait around, fawn—don’t wait until it’s too late.”

Fuck the New Republic.

Fuck General Si-Flachitt.

Fuck Commander Kai.

Fuck you.

Din bit down a snarl, the expulsion of aggression he wanted to release churning inside him instead, grating against bruised ribs and squeezing his organs. He had to stay still and stay quiet.

The general had conveniently misinformed him when he took this bounty—it wasn’t just to capture a link between the Zygerrian’s and the Quai-Kisu, it was to disrupt whatever this meeting was. Din had no idea if Umbara was under the jurisdiction of the New Republic—but he knew for certain that a runner settling in a location they didn’t control – completing business right under their noses – would be just one massive headache for the bureaucratical loving signatories.

A bounty hunter though? He could side step the paperwork, ignore the law to an extent. And the general took full advantage of it. Of him.

He tempered his anger; it would get him nowhere and regardless of the situation—he still needed to bring Scurra back to them alive.

Okay.

He re-evaluated his plan of action, checked his ammunition— patted the kid’s head and reassessed the size and layout of the refinery. There was only one guard at the back, the collapse of the wide chute into the refinery for the doonium rich deposits providing a sizeable defence to the rear. But while the front was the main focus of their security—and obviously where the gang thought was most at risk of being breached, Din still planned on entering through the back—his helmet already picking up weaknesses in the structure obviously overlooked. The only good thing about the refinery being so barricaded, was there was no windows for additional guards to observe from a height so he could take his time. They were entombed inside, unaware and ignorant to what might be lucking outside. Namely, a Mandalorian.

One hand for balance on the black, stony soil—he took a single step forward—remaining crouched, predatory and hidden by the stem line of spines. The bioluminescence caught the white skin of the guard. Deathly white—almost a translucent alabaster that made the hairs on Din’s arms stand on ends. Had he not known there was a race native to Umbara—he would have thought it a reanimated corpse. But it was a species adapted to the lack of sunlight, lack of warmth—a race that thrived in darkness. That explained the inability of his thermal reader to pick up a body temperature—given theirs was so low.

Umbaran guards. Bald headed and tall—lanky in a way that made Din’s joints ache as the male turned his head to glance towards the chute. Din held his breath. This was their planet, they were physically built to thrive in this environment in the way the Mandalorian was not.

Translucent, colourless eyes scanned the dense line of Zabrak spines slowly—long, pale fingers fidgety on the trigger of the blaster rifle he held in both hands. Din retreated, back a few feet deeper into the spines, side stepping a tentacle that slithered closer than he liked to his ankle and made his way back around to the front. If this was where they assumed someone would attack, Din was only too happy to play into that plan, for now.

The party of guards were still lined outside the main entrance, flanking it while another patrolled the length of the wall. Leaving the sides exposed – there was no way in – Din pressed his back to the steel wall, shuffling towards the corner the Umbaran patrolled to and waited.

Waited… crunch… waited… crunch… waited… crunch… waited—

His hand shot out around the mouth of the guard like a viper, yanking him viciously around the corner and with a dull snap of his neck, the dead weight sagged against him. He kept time in his mind—forty-seven seconds—and softened his gait to emulate the pace of the guard. He walked along the same patrol, silencer attached to his blaster and stoic as he came upon the guards focusing on the wilderness ahead of them instead of the threat looming with that same crunch crunch crunch as their – now deceased – companion.

Two fatal shots to the head, and they were dead before they even realized what was upon them. Din took issue with killing where it wasn’t necessary, but anyone on the payroll of the Zygerrian’s, were paid in blood money obtained from the sale and abuse of innocents. He had no sympathy, no mercy.

Removing three detonators lining his bandolier, he arranged them in a triangle around the seals of the heavy steel door. And then he walked away. Casually made his way back around to the back of the refinery and took his time checking his blaster, checking the kid, and checking the situation inside. Then he activated them.

The explosion was instantaneous.

A harrowing noise so deafening, it travelled across the silent darkness of the landscape in a booming echo of destruction. It lit the land reluctantly as the highly oxygenated air exacerbated the blast—a hiss and recoil of fat tentacles and skeletal spines. A vision of things ought left in the dark, of tangled vines covering the ground in nets of veins that fed the beast of Umbara with the litter of bodies and detritus of those unfortunate enough to find themselves trapped in such a place. The swirling weight of rain-filled clouds, black and heavy—refused to release their burden on the planet, reluctant to nurture the aggressive terrain. Like all things, the rain only fell on Umbara when it had no other choice.

Din watched as the single guard at the back of the refinery took off at a sprint towards the front—bolstered with the false confidence that he would be joining three others in defence of this hovel. Safety in numbers or out of a warped sense of loyalty—Din knew what he would put his credits on.

There was a flurry of movement from inside, a number of heat signals racing from the upper floor downstairs to be swallowed by the massive heat signal of the explosion. And during the pandemonium, Din climbed. A curved pipe connecting one of the water vats to the main building served as his perch—a sliver of space just wide enough for him to stand on.

Shooting his whipcord into the air, it latched onto one of the old ventilation shafts high up on the wall. The sound of shouting and arguments in an incoherent buzz covered the noise of him kicking in the grate. He gripped the sides of the vent, a funnel down onto the top of the now rusted processing unit—and pushed himself down to free fall the short distance—landing in a crouch.

Not a bad spot…

The ground floor of the refinery was mostly filled with vast conveyor belts and empty trollies—the patches of flames his explosions caused the only light source. There seemed to be less guards than he anticipated, the more formal attire of some of the Umbarans and the emblem of the Mining Guild on several of those rushing around confirmed that Din had interrupted a meeting—a negotiation table perhaps. It didn’t matter to him. He crawled to the edge of the machine he landed on, tall enough to put him at an advantage and loaded his Amban rifle.

He picked off three of the remaining guards, disintegrating them with lethal precision before the others realized their adversary was inside. He had to get upstairs. If Scurra was as slippery as the general made him out to be—he wouldn’t waste time trying to abandon the others.

Jumping from the machine as a Gamorrean guard wielding a vibroaxe charged him—too slow as it swung in the air, Din ducked to the side and drove his elbow into the sensitive snout of the swine soldier. It squealed, the unyielding force of beskar and Din’s own strength resulting in a sickening crunch and the guard staggering back a few steps before the Mandalorian’s vibroblade made its’ home in the Gamorrean’s fatty neck—the spurt of blood an instant death sentence.

It splattered across his right side, drenching his pauldron, vambrace and chest plate—the child thankfully shielded on his left side from the horrors behind his cape as he stalked forward towards the paltry few caught between him and the stairs.

“Scurra,” Din rasped.

Din might have found it comical – the way they all pointed up the stairs, eager to sacrifice another in place of their own lives – had he not been so fucking pissed. He narrowed his gaze, the flames licking across the T-shaped visor like a crack in the door to hell they were finally witnessing with fearful eyes and shaking bodies. No guards remained down here, only villains adept at causing worse harm than a blaster.

He passed them by, a wraith summoned to collect its next victim whose time was up—his shadow stretching across the cowering few that remained huddled together amidst the bodies of their security, the dark light of his armor condemning them—not you, not yet.

You spent the entire evening and the next day thinking about what Kai said. You worked on autopilot, completing tasks assigned to you by Belt and keeping quiet while your mind was far away.

Tell him.

Whatever profound message you thought you needed to hear—it wasn’t that.

We protect our own, with our everything.

Din and the child, they were your own. You slowed as you wiped down a counter as the hour grew late—an unmistakable sting of tears burning with needle pricks at the back of your eyes when you realized they were your everything too.

Tell him.

You were dismissed with a brusque wave from Belt—irritated with your silence all day and lack of conversation.

Kai was right – loathe as you were to admit it – you didn’t want to lose them. That you were here, and they were—gone. You swallowed the pulse of emotion down as you wandered through the empty Cruiser, finally released of your shadow after he had gotten sick of the late nights.

It gave you a reprieve—to walk, to think about those things you usually liked to lock away. If there was no one here… there was no proof you ever thought about them, it was a dreamlike situation where you could contemplate without fearing the repercussions of your own logic.

So, you walked… and walked… and walked.

You knew these ships, knew their layout—and your body moved on autopilot through a similar walk you used to take aboard the Liberty, floating through corridors and down elevators—coming to a stop across the space deck. A bridge of steel surrounded by the artificial gravity that allowed one to look out upon space and feel like there was nothing in your way.

But someone stood in the middle, overlooking the abyss and looking far away in his thoughts.

Kai.

You moved to turn around, but wasn’t that exactly what Kai accused you of doing the day before? Avoiding? You stood your ground, took a breath and continued on towards the commander.

“You know those things will kill you,” you began as he exhaled a billow of smoke into the ventilated air overlooking the vacuous expanse just on the other side of the gravitational field that kept you all breathing and not floating around. He arched a brow – a wariness to his gaze – and placed the cigarette back between his lips, pulling out the pack from his back pocket to wordlessly offer you one.

The cigarette hung loosely at the corner of his lips when you shook your head, speaking around it as he put the carton back, “If I can survive that Maker-damned war, I can survive lung cancer.”

You stood beside him, settled in his company when the awkwardness from your heated exchange washed away, Kai didn’t hold grudges—only an admirable loyalty to you and what he thought was best for you.

“Isn’t it prohibited to smoke onboard these things?” you challenged, narrowing your gaze playfully when the tension bled away.

“Maybe. But I need something to take the edge off—” he shrugged, taking one last inhale, the cinders lighting in flecks of amber and orange as it burned down to the stub before he pinched the bottom to extinguish it and throw it over the edge of the bridge into space.

Something about the way he said it—he sounded rattled. Shaken. By your disagreement, by your arrival—by the reminder of Rhydian with your presence. Or something else altogether.

He exhaled slower this time, through his nostrils as he watched the nothingness you were suspended in. You knew him well enough to know that a silence that stretched this long meant he wanted to say something but was pulling together the words in his mind.

“How long has it been?” he ventured, rubbing the slight dusting of ash off his fingers from where he had put out the cigarette, “Since you’ve been home—”

Oh.

Fuck.

You weren’t sure this was a conversation you wanted to have right now—one area of yourself to work on was homework enough without being given a verbal lashing for avoiding Pamarthe. But… there wasn’t a way to avoid it—Kai didn’t deserve that.

“Since I joined—” you hummed, struck by the passage of time as you mentally counted the years since then, “So… eight? Nine years? You?”

“Can’t say I’m much better,” he admitted with a derisive exhale of laughter.

“I’m heading back there soon,” he continued, fishing in his back pocket for the pack of smokes again, amber eyes dropping to yours, but you continued to look out over the bridge, leaning your elbows on the railing for support as you absorbed his words, “something isn’t right there, fawn.”

You turned to look at him then, eyeing the seriousness in his expression—the lack of jovial mischief that once upon a time, had been a near constant on his features.

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, “A sickness—hangs over our lands, stretches nearly as far as Leyghin territory but so far as I know hasn’t entered yet.”

You pushed yourself to stand, worry filling you.

“A sickness? What kind of sickness?”

“I dunno, little fawn—there’s…” he puffed a breath, took a drag of his cigarette to buy himself some time and exhales the cloud of smoke slowly, “there’s talk of the danu.”

The solemnness of his tone, the grave expression—you blinked. And then you burst into laughter, peels of tinkling sound echoing off the metal flooring and through the tunnel of space the gravitational field created around you both.

“The danu, Kai—wow, you really had me there.”

His expression didn’t change, apart from the look of shock entering those golden eyes as he held the cigarette up to his lips. Your smile fell to a shadow of what it was when he didn’t join in the laughter, and even less when he didn’t speak,

“They’re a myth, Kai—there’s no such thing.”

“People didn’t think the Jedi were real once upon a time either.”

Your heart seized at the mention of the Jedi – too close – and you tried to brush it off with an awkward chuckle,

“The Jedi are sorcerers—magic? Not shapeshifting phantoms who kidnap kids and taunt the living with the cries of lost little ones,” you remarked flippantly, dragging a hand through your hair—Maker, what you wouldn’t do for a hard drink and a shower right about now.

“Danu, Jedi—maybe they’re one in the same. It doesn’t matter. Kids going missing from their begs. Decay in Siodam’s forest—when have you ever seen leaves fall from those trees, fawn?”

You couldn’t answer him, his face scrunching at the unsavoury thought and blew out another plume of smoke.

“Is there—not some natural explanation for this?” you offered, your mind racing with the thought of there being some sort of Jedi signature or presence on your own home planet. You had no idea of any other race or people who could perform magic the way the kid could—only the Jedi. And after two months of looking for Mandalorians with only the empty armor sitting in the Razor Crest to show for it—you didn’t have many other choices. Maybe it was a moot lead… maybe it wasn’t—Maker, you hoped Din returned soon.

“I think we both know that not everything in this galaxy has a logical explanation,” Kai muttered around the butt of his cigarette, running a gloved hand through once perfectly styled hair and leaving strands to fall in his eyes as he glanced at you.

“All I know, is Kyr sounded worried when he called. My brother never worries.”

That caught your attention. The Rhaer – chieftain – of Clan Carria and a man easily ten years your senior, Kyr was always that strikingly wild, unattainable figure the younger members of the clan looked up to. The guy who bailed you out of trouble constantly and even took the fall a few times. He had taken up the mantle of leadership when he returned from the Rebellion—he would make a good leader, you always thought it. Was always meant for it as the Clan Carria’s heir. He was the perfect buffer for the stags against some of the more ruthless clans he had to make nice with in the joint ruling of Pamarthe.

“Kyr was worried?” you double-checked. Surely not—

Kai nodded, “He never asks for help, fawn—and he still asked me to come home, there must be something to those stories…”

You were inclined to believe him, if only for that piece of information. The clans on Pamarthe didn’t take kindly to outside interference. The Empire, the Republic before it… they all maintained tenuous relations with the planet—but they were stubbornly independent. Trade agreements were the most any government could expect when it came to intergalactic relations, especially after how much the war had cost them.

“What other stories have you heard?” you risked asking.

“Plenty, Kyr said there were things happening—things that couldn’t happen. A kid fell from one of the rope bridges, handle snapped from wear—and he didn’t fall. He hovered, suspended in the air before being pushed by something back onto the planks. Went missing that same night.”

Fuck.

That sounded exactly like what the kid could do. An image of the Trandoshan running in place rose in your mind—his feet hardly touching the ground as his vibroaxe was frozen in a downward slash when the child saved you.

“I leave in the morning,” Kai explained, holding in the breath of smoke before he exhaled it.

“So soon?” worry etched across your face at being left here.

The commander noticed, turning to you fully to weave his hand around the back of your neck,

“Come with me, little fawn—come home.”

Din crept up the stairs, his shadow crawling up the side of the wall—an omen of terror for those trapped above. Blasters fire lit the top of the stairwell from where erratic fire was concentrated; none of the guards remaining willing to venture closer to his steadily approaching shadow.

But Din got too comfortable, too angry at the situation he had been put in—the danger he was trying to shield his ad’ika from with every twist of his body, that he didn’t anticipate anything more than blasters. But he forgot who were involved… forgot that despite their absence at this meeting—the Zygerrians were a crafty bunch, and mere blasters were never their weapon of choice.

A burst of pain ripped through his shoulder when he turned the corner, a modified energy arrow fired so precisely it missed his pauldron and struck him through the vulnerable point of his duraweave. A purple glow pulsed, and with every pulse—pain ripped through him from the source.

He grunted, staggered back with the same debilitating rush of a rampaging Houk that knocked the wind right out of him. It wasn’t unlike the time his shoulder had been dislocated by Teff, but this pain was different. It was instant. And it didn’t stop. He braced his uninjured arm against the wall, turning his head with a hiss to try assess the damage—the arrow piercing muscles he needed in order to turn—and recognized the pulsing purple glow that imparted an energetic charge into the metal arrow. Energy infused arrows—wonderful.

It was a clean shot – thankfully – the arrow tip barely protruding out from above his shoulder blade but it still hurt like a mudscuffer; the shock waves of pain from the energy designed to inflict maximum pain with no respite. Blaster fire still rained from the back of the room he was trying to get to—the stairwell his only cover when he considered snapping the arrow to remove it.

But fuck, the metal was treated—solid, his strength not enough to break it from such an awkward angle. So, he gripped the metal fletching—clawed shards of metal to bite into his hand—in order to pull it out but then your voice rose – panicked and fretful – in his mind.

Unless you’re close enough to treatment, do NOT remove an impaled object.

Fuck.

His helmet clunked against the steel wall, sucking in ragged breaths that sent ripples of pain from his shoulder and ribs to combine in a cold sweat that broke on his forehead. He could hear them—the few that remained up here, shouts of Mandalorian—slow and panicked despite his injury, and he realized Scurra wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

The child was gazing up at him, and he wished he could convey emotion—reassurance as easily as you could with just a look, but he was left with the impassive coldness of his visor—the only face the child knew him by.

“It’s okay,” he ground out, knowing those big ears would hear him over the fire—and he didn’t know why he needed to say it—for the child, for himself… a promise unspoken that he would get them both out, get them both back to you.

If he died now—if they child was taken or killed, would you ever know? Would you ever find out? Blood gathered in his flight suit—a hot, sticky rust that formed a condemning film of sapped strength over his left arm and torso. He exhaled, gritted his teeth and threw one more detonator around the corner into the room, uncertain of the integrity of the structure and not willing to risk the child’s life should it collapse.

A raindrop of understanding disturbed the dark waters of his mind—you… you hadn’t been willing to risk the child’s life—his life on Maldo Kreis. Not when you saw a way out…

Fuck…

He snarled, forcing the thought away as he pushed himself around the corner and into the billowing smoke and ash from his explosive, the arrow still embedded in his shoulder. He side stepped a body, the fucker with the bow—and drove his foot down onto the sight window of the bow to snap the limb in half. He had been hit once already, he didn’t fancy being shot again.

The scarce few people remaining where scrambling, dignitaries trying to find their guards and only finding each other or the Mandalorian. He gripped them by the lapels of clothing or the back of their neck to examine their faces, tossing them aside when none of them fit the profile. The blood seeping from his wound draining him with every pump of his heart.

And then he saw someone—tall, long neck, lanky. Scurra.

Locked on his prey, the pain and fatigue faded as the scent of blood invigorated his determination. He shoved another Umbaran out of the way, the solid grip of his good hand banding around the back of that stupidly long neck and his boot found the back of fleeing knees.

“There you are,” he growled as the man whimpered—covered in soot and already pleading with beady eyes squeezed shut and watering from the ash and fear. Offering Din everything, anything he could want before he even knew who Din was or what he wanted. And what Din wanted right now, was quiet. The butt of his blaster found the back of Scurra’s head and put an end to the yammering. He sighed, it had been giving the Mandalorian an even worse headache than the explosions and blood loss.

The others fled around him—and while his integrity wanted to dispose of anyone who dealt in flesh trafficking, he knew he was getting weaker. And he still had a long trek back to the X-wing. He resolved to stand guard over his prey, blaster clocked and aimed at the stairwell as the others scurried down to escape the refinery. At least Din had been correct about their loyalty to one another. It was non-existent unless credits were on the table—and by the overturned table to his left, Din had interrupted them right as they were getting to the good part.

It was suddenly so quiet then, as the dust settled—the commotion of screaming and yelling—the blaster fire and blood quietened. Only the laboured pants of his breathing and the inquisitive chuff from the satchel at his side. He nodded – regretted it immediately – and dropped to one knee beside Scurra’s prone form. The child watched the rise and fall of his chest—rattling exhales more difficult as the steady pump of blood from his wound continued to darken the duraweave, saturating it in his lifeblood.

“S’okay, ad’ika—” he strained, and when the kid lifted a hand—immediately wanting to heal him with the magic that still made Din’s head spin, he covered the kids small clawed hand with his own.

“Not—not with the arrow still in there, kid,” he tried to explain, sighing at the confused tilt of the little womprats head and the chirp of annoyance when he tried to pull his hand from Din’s to try again.

He weighed the choice of leaving the arrow and possibly bleeding out in order to get back somewhere safe, or going against what you would advise, in the hopes the kid might be able to close the wound somewhat. Enough to stop the bleeding at least.

“Fuck, kitten—” he growled at the ceiling, sweat dripping into his eyes from the strain of keeping his body up—why were you so far away? His eyes rolled closed with a sigh.

In the past, he wouldn’t have had a second thought about how to deal with this—he would have just ripped the damn thing out. But now – in a voice that annoyingly sounded like you whenever you were scolding him – he was thinking of shit like nerve damage and scarring. He worried over moveability and cleanliness and infections—all things you had at one time or another, chided him for when he tried to deal with his injuries alone. Maker, when was the last time he had to deal with something like this alone?

You were always there, always there to ease his pain.

His eyes cracked open—eyelids feeling heavier than the beskar on his body. He didn’t have anything with him; no bindings, no cauterizer—more importantly… no medic. He had left in such a belligerent fury that he had only remembered to grab weapons and the bag he was carrying the kid in.

There was nothing else for it.

He clenched his jaw—but nothing could stop the grunt of pain from escaping his lips when he tore the arrow out of his flesh, choking on the sear of white hot pain as the barbs tore through more of his muscle on the way out. Maximum damage was right. He swallowed the nausea, blood gushing from the now open wound. He pressed his gloved hand to the entry wound—feeling the same warm trickle down his back from the exit.

“Okay, kid…”

His ad’ika’s ears perked and Din hesitated, a feeling of—disgust filling him. That he would use this child, knowing how much it drained him. The innocent willingness to help him shining in alien eyes tinged with distress as Din grew weaker sending a crack through the Mandalorian’s heat. He had no choice… he had to—had to get him off this planet, somewhere safe. Lifting the little womprat up in his good arm, his tiny body weighting nothing and holding his life in his little hands—Din felt like the worst sort of person.

When the kids small palm hovered over his shoulder, he expected pain—but it never came. It felt strange. Like an itch—that annoying scratch beneath the surface of the skin when muscle knitted back together. It was joined by a warmth, liquid warmth—not unlike blood but cleaner. If Din could ever describe what light felt like—if it could be touched, if it were tangible—it would be that. Permeating his nerves and chasing away the malicious darkness lingering from the intent of the injury. He closed his eyes, relief filling him where pain had once overwhelmed him.

His ad’ika did what he could by closing the wound—knitting as much of the muscle back as his little body could manage. It was still raw – probably still in need of mending by your estimation he guessed – but the pain was bearable and he wouldn’t bleed out, that would have to do for now.

He caught the little womprat in one hand when he sat down heavily, fatigued and drained. Guilt ate at Din, to feel so much relief at the expense of a child, a foundling he was supposed to protect. He belatedly worried over the effect of such a feat on his little body and made him grit his teeth, brushing a gentle hand over the white peach fuzz covering his head.

He didn’t seem in any pain… just tired—but how was he to know? He set the kid down in the satchel to sleep, knocked out from the endeavour and turned whiskey eyes to his bounty.

Vero Scurra.

Din should have killed him when he had the chance all that time ago in Mynock.

He nudged the man onto his back with the toe of his steel-toed boots, out cold and with a bloody nose from where he had fallen on his face and no doubt broken it. Served him right. The incriminating green of his sleeve catching Din’s eye immediately. So, the gang that had gained such a footing in the galaxy’s criminal underground was the Quai-Kisu. Din hadn’t been sure if they were still around after their takeover on Dandoran, but this confirmed it.

Grabbing energy binders, he bound the quarry’s wrists behind his back. Sighing at the prospect of dragging this guy most – if not all – of the way back to his ship, Din grabbed the back of Scurra’s jacket and began dragging him towards the stairs. A few bruises wouldn’t go amiss either.

Keeping his blaster clocked and aimed as he turned each corner, the refinery was once again reminiscent of how it had been before becoming a meeting point. Desolate, abandoned, the ghost of a long forgotten operation that stood as a testament of the imperial power once held over this land.

Din wondered vaguely if he should be worried about the few who got away—what their business was here, but then he remembered that this wasn’t his problem. He wasn’t even getting paid for this. If he caused a bigger mess for the New Republic in fulfilling their demands… well then—he couldn’t say he wouldn’t enjoy that just a little bit.

They fucking deserved it after sending him on a damn suicide mission he barely escaped. They sent Din straight into the eye of the storm to get what they wanted from him. Typical. They were all the same.

Even that commander you seemed so taken with.

He growled.

Kai.

It was the first time in months – ever really – that Din had been truly shaken by your position in his life. That you didn’t have to be with him, with the kid—cramped on the floor of the Razor Crest. There was a life, people outside that steel barrier that you could go back to, build a life with. You had a life… one you could leave him for—one you should leave him for.

It was both sobering and nauseating.

A realisation that made the primal force of his rage snarl with a rebuttal that you were his his his and he could give you everything you might be missing from another life. He had to tamper it down with muzzles and chains—the inappropriate line of thought shaking him despite the intimacy of your relationship.

What even was your relationship?

You fucked, you tended to each other’s needs to the best of your abilities. He… enjoyed your company. The yammering conversations you didn’t need a response to as you told him about this or that in the medical field, the laughter that filled the Razor Crest every time the child entertained you. The interest you always showed in anything he did or said that you didn’t understand—gaze hungry with a desire to learn, to know him.

What did he know about you?

You were young. Well—younger than him. He hardly kept track of his age, but he was certain you were probably at least twelve years younger than him.

You were from a clan on Pamarthe. All he knew about Pamarthe was that they had exceptionally talented pilots but you didn’t seem too interested in flying more than was required of you.

You were a medic who joined the Rebellion to work in the field and then ended up on Klatooine where he met you.

He wracked his brain the entire way back, dragging Scurra’s slumped figure all the while—the return journey somewhat easier as he followed the path he made on the way there.

You liked water.

The expression on your face when he found you naked in that river on Bharani V still haunted his dreams, still made him weak—the sheer enjoyment you got from the way water tantalized your senses. Eyes closed, facing towards the warm sun, fingers gliding through the crystal depths of its gentle course. He thought about it more often than he cared to admit. Wanted to see it again, see you again—happy and soaked and radiating life.

What else did you like?

Berries. He liked berries too.

You had squirrelled away one of the bags you had purchased on Ryloth for him to keep in the cockpit so it would have a better chance of surviving the little womprat when he inevitably finished pilfering the others you had bought. He still remembered the pout that had formed on your lips when he told you he had eaten them all, breaking into a blinding smile that lit your eyes when he pulled out the bag to show he had been teasing.

What else?

Fuck.

He knew… he knew—

He knew how much pressure you needed on your clit to make you come—knew the exact curl of his fingers inside your cunt to make your back arch. He knew how to interpret your moans and translate the babbling pleas to know what you wanted, what you needed. He knew how to fuck you if you were stressed—how it changed if you were tired, or if you were in pain with cramps from your moon cycles. He knew how to talk to you in kisses; how some made you melt… others made you submit to him… and all of them made you drip with desire. He knew the scent of your arousal between your legs and the intimately sweet scent of your neck. Din knew you… or—at least he thought he did.

He didn’t know your age. Didn’t know if you had family. Didn’t even know your favorite fucking colour or what that ring of antlers around your thigh that drove him wild meant.

Why did he even care about those details? Must be the blood loss. They were inconsequential. You guys fucked, fought, fucked again—talked sometimes, bickered most of the time. And he… liked it. Yet, there was a hunger, a greed for more, an insatiable lust he couldn’t slake in taking your body, your mouth—your cunt. He wanted to know you.

What was your favorite colour? Blue? Like the oceans that covered your planet?

Or maybe gold… you had been so taken with the tusks of the boar on Bharani V that boasted a stunning golden hue to the point that they still sat in the Razor Crest now.

Perhaps some shade of purple or green he had no idea what to call other than purple or green. Nothing dark though… he had a strange inclination that you would like something bright—but what did it matter?

Maybe it was a way to see you smile again, intimately like in the river—or brightly when he showed you that bag of berries…

Maybe there was no logical reason. Maybe he didn’t need one.

Din came to a stand in the middle of the Zabrak spines, almost back to the X-wing and hopefully on his way back to the Star Cruiser thereafter.

Maker, he was so fucked.

****************************

Notes:

1. Llyrian - Pamarthan sea god.

2. Rhydonium - A volatile, explosive starship fuel (the same substance being transported by Din and Mayfeld in Chapter 15!)

3. The Ghost Nebula - a sector in the Slice portion of Expansion Region that blocked light from most of the stars beyond and within it, isolating it from the galaxy and inspiring its name.

4. Umbara - Anyone who has watched TCW knows how horrid this planet is, especially what it did to our beloved Captain Rex. For reference, I used the episode "Darkness of Umbara" and this art by Tara Rueping as inspiration! Notice the tall Zabrak spines and tentacled Devil's Embrace that Din encounters on his journey through the hostile landscape.

5. Doonium - A heavy metal used in starship construction. Following the end of the Clone Wars, the Empire extensively mined and stockpiled large amounts of doonium, secretly utilizing it in the construction of the Death Star superweapon hence the large imperial presence on Umbara where it was predominantly found as well as on Batonn, Lothal, Samovar and Soccoro.

6. Chiss - a humanoid species from the planet Chiss. Think Grand Admiral Thrawn, the most famous Chiss in SW lore. These have to be one of the most fascinating races in SW, for their secrecy alone. But where my linguist brain lights up-- is with their system of naming. Every Chiss has a core name which was a shortened version of their full name. Members of the Chiss species used their core names rather than their full names for at least two reasons. Among Chiss, core names were used in all but the most formal settings. Chiss also gave their core names to members of other species, as non-Chiss had difficulties pronouncing full Chiss names. For example, Mitth'raw'nuruodo is shortened to Thrawn and Mitrab'el'tawn is shortened to Belt.

7. Liberty of Malastare - confirmed that one rebel/New Republic pilot sacrificed himself for the victory. I've taken some creative liberties in giving this role to readers brother, Rhydian.

8. Pamarthan Names - while not a requirement, those in Clan Carria often name their children in a certain way to determine rank (eldest, second son, first daughter etc.). We can see from this chapter, that both eldest sons (Kyr and Rhydian) contain the denotion 'y' for the most powerful Pamarthan god Llyrian. Second sons are denoted by the 'ai' in their names (Kai and Rhain) and siblings are usually (but not always) connected through a similarity in given names (Rh and K for the respective families). This changes from clan to clan and the above is only in reference to Clan Carria.

8. AT-AT on Hoth - throwback to 'The Empire Strikes Back'!

9. Tauntaun - these incredibly cute reptomammals I always thought would be so super cuddly to hug.

10. The danu - monster-like creatures told in stories to scare/teach young children on Pamarthe. A myth.

11. Modified energy arrow - think of Jarrah's modified energy bow that imparted an electrical charge to a solid arrow. Not a full energy bow used by Omera in TBB or the Zygerrians.

[doubleedgemode]

My take on A.B.A returning to Strive and getting a redesign.. I’ve seen some really good takes on the concept but I decided to focus on her alchemy theme!

LONG explanation, a picture of the backpack and lore under the cut:

Lore:

 I thought, that lore wise, after all this time out of the limelight she has developed more confidence and improved her relationship with Paracelsus. Regardless of which one of the three GGXXAC endings is canon, it comes a point where Paracelsus points out the hipocrisy of being so possessive with him, (especially in that ending where she pulls a whole Misery-esque “I’ll keep you trapped in Frasco, even worse than I was before you”.. Yeah that hasn’t aged well at all in many respects.. I would either not count it or heavily modify it) when her big ideal and obsession was freedom for herself, and now she was the “captor”, for lack of a better word. She was what Frasco was for her, but towards her alledgely most loved individual.

One small existencial crisis and realization later, A.B.A understands her wrongdoings, and decides to abandon her goal of selfishly giving Paracelsus a body. She even weighs in if Paracelsus would leave her, but accepts it. To her surprise, he wants to stay and not only because his chosen ax form doesn’t allow much movement. He likes her afterall, just not necessarily in a romantic sense, and both start a new healthier relationship from the ground up: Mutual Friendship and partnering. They are both aware that A.B.A still harbors feelings of the romantic kind which he does not reciprocate, but both are alright with it. Hell, Paracelsus comes to be amused by that now that their friendship is better. So the pair are sort of.. Married, indeed! And both willingly wear Alliance-like gear, as a sign of trust.

Now A.B.A focuses on studying alchemy, going from being a creation to being creator, travelling through the world with her key husband to learn new methods and disciplines, and to enjoy freedom. She still considers Frasco her home and laboratory, tends to it and even made friends with the ghosts! She and Para still have in mind finding the original Paracelsus, the creator, but that’s perhaps second to finding new ways of improving alchemy.

She’s ultimately a bit more confident, determined and slightly sociably adept, but she’s as idiosyncratic as always.

Design:

Her main design motif is the Tria Prima, composed of Sulfur (mind), Mercury (spirit) and salt (body), coined by the real life Paracelsus, so I used the alchemic symbols for them. Her head key is new, this one is modelled after the sulfur symbol, though not exactly the same length to have it fit. The rest of the key is normal. Her “robe”-like collar does not only resemble a stereotypical alchemist tunic, but also has the symbol for mercury in a Golden metal. Lastly, her apron has the symbol for salt.

She wears a a dark grey top with some brown cloth stitched in, covered by her upper chest/neck bandages. The clothing choice was to give her a bit more coverage while mantaining the stitched motif of her bag and resembling own wound closure strips/stitches (more on that later).

A.B.A wears an apron, full of belts in typical Guilty Gear fashion. The upper left part has a Golden lock which actually is a pocket containing a syringue with blood and one of her many keys. (The key to her heart…?)

The apron, also vaguely inspired by her ggxxac ending one, has blood splatters. Some are fresh, most of them dry. One of the splatters is purple, referencing the blood of the Monster she chops in the same ending. Plus it’s a small contrast to her green eyes.

The ggxxac bandages are kept in the right arm, her glove too, except this time she wears in both of her hands, now shaped more like classic mad scientist gloves. The borders have the words solve (right hand) and coagula (left). This references the motto of alchemy “solve et coagula” coined by the real Paracelsus. Besides, coagula reminds of blood coagulation. It fits.

The black pants follow the stitched motif. The leg bandages and shoes are the same as in ggxxac, but the right leg has less bandage to show the infamous wound suture strips or stitches (I thought the former when drawing, but not sure.. I think A.B.A at this point in time does wear strips even if she wore stitches in the past).

A.B.A discarded Paracelsus’ chains for one of her inventions, that allows more flexibility (yet it is as durable as metal). The invention is a cannula that is either red or full of blood (medical motif for both) that I designed to reference the Red String of Fate from chinese and japanese folklore/media. I’m not sure whether to have it be blood powered or not. If the blood option is chosen, it does NOT power Paracelsus, but acts as the fuel for the device. Both of the cannula’s ends can be removed voluntarily by both users, but won’t go off if it moves. The ends connect to rings. (Obligatory “It doesn’t work as an actual cannula, it’s like a chain.) A.B.A wears hers in the ring finger. Yes of course this all references wedding rings. It symbolises their friendship, love and trust.

Paracelsus himself is not very changed. I only drew him with his horns extended to add novelty and resemble the mercury sign a little bit, but he is usually like normal. He keeps his normal face but smiles a bit more often. His neck is silver, matching with the golden ring below, and has the mercury sign. His down part gets added the spine motif from Daisuke’s prototype drawing of him, but are less pronounced. The spines have the alchemical symbols of fire, water, air and earth.

The backpack:

 Lastly, as explained in the drawing, A.B.A wears a cloth strip with two buckles that clip into the one’s of her backpack. The skeletal looking sack is based on her notebook’s face. And it’s alive too. The bag’s interior is a hammerspace holding a lot of keys (including the original head key) and beakers, aside from storing the notebook. A.B.A uses her beakers and keys in some attacks. There’s, lastly, some extra bandages and of course, the blood packs.

[popurikat]

back on my soriku train of thought I guess

I just finished watching a playthrough of kingdom hearts re:coded with my bestie here @skquill and when I saw this I thought, hey lets talk about yet another symbolism we find in the kh lore revolving these two boys. CAUSE I THINK WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT IT.

Though this series created virtual copies of our beloved characters who don’t have the memories of their counterparts, they still feel and react to the given circumstances and the events in Jiminy’s journal like they would if it was them. What caught me off guard in the beginning was that digital Riku was confirmed to be the keeper of the journal, the guardian angel if you will of the information and to an extent memories of everything real Sora has been through. 

It’s never explained why the journal takes the form of Riku, only that it simply exists as so. And though there is a sense of difference between data and real (Data is more soft spoken, apologizes frequently, and doesn’t want Data Sora to get hurt in ANY sense be it physical or emotional. Yet he still retains the sarcasm, calculative nature, and fondness for Sora as the real Riku would.) He’s also the main one in story to follow Data Sora into defeating all the “bugs” that are corrupting the journal as well as stopping Pete and Maleficent from doing further damage. I did quite enjoy this scene of Data Riku asking Sora to stay away when Pete corrupts him with said bugs:

Data Riku takes his role seriously, even if he knows they aren’t the real deal, he has the instinct of keeping the face of the one he cares about alive at all costs, even if it means he goes corrupted. Huh, kinda reminds me of KH2 when Riku is ashamed at the thought of his friends looking at his Ansem form when he assists in Sora’s awakening. And we see another parallel again of the extent of Riku’s sacrafice:

And what I absolutely adore is that Data Sora is always there to tell him he’s not alone, he has his support, and that self sacrifice is in vain if they don’t have each other or their friends. It grounds them, helps them get where they need to be and eventually helps them open up to each other a lot more easier. I joked in my watch through that “Oh, this Sora is the Chaotic good that we would’ve gotten if Sora never experienced Trauma and this Riku is the one that we would have gotten if he trusted in Sora and blocked out the control of Maleficent’s darkness!” But in reality, these two are the just purest essence of their true selves, its the sora and riku we should have ended with when all was said and done, just two people who look out for the other and confide about their fears, their strengths and weaknesses, and give each other the strength to move on.

I also would like to point out that with Riku’s more mellowed attitude in this version, Sora takes charge in bringing up his self esteem, and in turn comes off as though he has grown more mature with each world they pass. But really the only difference is that this Sora is taking every bit of advice he’s taken from his peers and rewording it to fit the situation at hand. Riku’s down? Use a friendship quote he picked up from Donald/Goofy. But he is also sincere with it, where he doesn’t boast about being right or tease Riku when he feels insecure about a statement made, he genuinely wants Riku to feel worth and understand theres no need to apologize as nothing is wrong and what matters now is how they move forward.

And after this set of pictures where Riku is about to send Sora to King Mickey to finalize their mission after they realize “uh oh, Sora’s heartless got illegally downloaded and is causing another virus!”, it brings us back to the top image...waaaaaay back in the beginning of this long post of a pretty little glass stained door. And BOY do I have thoughts on this sequence! Riku’s instinct is to summon a portal specifically for Sora, his priority is to keep him safe as usual. But out of all the doors hes created thus far in game, this one is the most detailed and symbolic. He MADE THE DETAILS INTO ROSES. A flower well known for its tie in with romance. And the colors? Blue, Red, Lilac, and purple; with a few accents of pink and lighter blues. Do you know why the colors matter? BECAUSE THEY ARENT FRIENDSHIP BASED. THEY ARE AS FOLLOWS:  - Red roses: passion, desire, romance, eternal love (also Sora’s color) - Blue roses: Mysterious, Extraordinary, Unattainable Love (also Riku’s color) -Lilac: A promise to a future together -Purple: love at first sight -Pink: Appreciation, Gratitude, Admiration, unconditional love/affection

See, personally if I would’ve wanted to express a “friendship” between the puppet apparatuses of “real” individuals who carry very similar ideas of their counters, I would have gone with maybe a design that looks less like overlapping rose petals that concave into a secret tunnel, and gone more with a design thats like a forget-me-knot and stuck with blue for it as it IS Riku’s doing in this situation. He’s opening an escape for Sora. We don’t see a special portal like that when he teleports Mickey and co out the second time, its just bright light. So why give such a great detail to supposed best friends? On top of the design, it looks like stained glass. You know, like the ones used in churches? Typically meaning hope, togetherness, and love? Not to mention that the structure of the portal looks like a wedding arch, you know, the ones where people stand under to say their vows? SPEAKING OF VOWS! Don’t Sora and Riku in DDD create a heart song literally called “Dearly Beloved”, you know, the phrase said before wedding vows, and coincidentally with these characters creating the same colors we see in the portal. Listen, I couldn’t make this up if I tried. But at this point I will yell at the skies that Sora and Riku love each other in every form they take and are quite frankly married. Sorry, don’t make the rules, but this is def. beyond friendship.

In conclusion, um...Riku and Sora? Yeah if their digital versions understood that they can be separated from their friends but live on in their memories as long as they have each other just through the sheer shared experience of a walk through memory line of Sora’s past....then what is stopping the real ones from realizing this? And the thing is again, we got something very close to this realization when real Sora and Riku were trapped in the darkness and just kinda kicking back contemplating life and how glad they have each other at least. But in this iteration, its a lot more than just giving in to the fact nothing else can be done, its honoring the adventure, the time spent, and the amount of growth they’ve gone through. This iteration understands their work is done and its okay to find solace in the other when all the rest of their memories from those not in the digital world will erase, yet never truly be gone because THOSE friends on the other side will always have them in their hearts. This was supposed to be how in my eyes KH3 ended and why after seeing this, I know that we need to get back to this point, because OUR story with OUR Sora and Riku has yet to aquire this level of understanding. I’m expecting a sorta, KH 3.5 in the future or some spinoff to tie their stories up and to have them be at peace that they probably will never return to the world they grew up in, but thats fine because they have each other and a whole new adventure. And thats what I enjoyed about this part of re:coded. In summary I guess, Sora and Riku are destined to end up in the same realm helping the other, thats their fate, reaching contentment in the others presence and to stop feeling like its their job to save everyone out of their reach. The heroes journey is over, its time to find the conclusion of their own inner turmoil and remember who was there since the start for them.

[spatteringstars]

Alright, now that I can have *coherent thoughts* because what the actual fuck Wilbur Soot, my brain was melting, here are some genuine thoughts on the characters and lore :')

Spoilers for the Wilbur Soot finale btw if you couldn't tell

So- let's start with Wilbur (duh?). This entire apology arc has just been pain after pain leading to this and I love it as an author but I hate it as a fan because it makes me sad. Phil told him he needed to heal on his own even if people didn't forgive him... so he did. Fundy didn't forgive him and ran away to get away from him- Wilbur didn't forgive himself and ran away to save Tommy the pain of having to do it himself. Wilbur freed Tommy from Dream, then he freed his little brother from himself. Niki taught him that everyone deserves happiness, Wilbur went back to Utah to find it. Wilbur saw what it looked like when Tommy hated him, when he was unforgivable, and he decided he'd do anything to never see that again. "Never trust an American" - "Never trust me (we all heard that much. I'm not going to pretend its profound). Never trust me, I've showed you what happens when you trust me. You lose your lives, you loose me, and even if you loose nothing, I can make you believe you've lost everything." I would love to say that this had an impact on his character from the very creation of Lmanberg, but it started and ended with sillies so we're just gonna let them all be sillies and goddammit I need at least one thing to laugh about right now let me HAVE THIS.

He left to go find peace. He followed in Phil's footsteps, he left Tommy to watch as he took Wilbur away from him; he followed in Fundy's footsteps, he ran away. For all Wilbur preaches about himself being a leader and the only fit to be in positions of power, he sure as hell doesn't make his own paths. For all his bravado, Wilbur follows.

If this was the end of cTommy in the dsmp, I will be even more sad. If this is legitimately it for him, then I don't know how to possibly spin it into a happy ending for him. But I'm going to start my genuine analysis further back.

The start of the apology arc: do we all believe that Tommy didn't hear a single word of the advice Phil gave Wilbur? I don't. He was probably right outside the door listening in and finding a growing hope that his brother would realize his mistakes and then they could find happiness again. Together. That "Wilbur" as he stood outside the doorway was hopeful, expectant even. He was disappointed, but he's learned to not expect perfection from Wilbur so he sticks with him. Even if he has to wait, even if he, the one closest to Wilbur, is the last to receive an apology, he'll get to be happy with his big brother again.

Then the discs. Its something of a final straw. He wants to trust Wilbur. Even if he's hesitant, he still gives in and he trusts him. Then Wilbur threatens to destroy himself and he destroys the discs. He has attempted to burn two of Tommy's greatest treasures. But again, he wants to trust Wilbur, so he apologizes and Tommy forgives him. Again.

Wilbur takes him past where Boner was killed. Tommy hates it, this is where Ranboo lost a life because of him, where Wilbur lied and denied that he hurt Tommy. Wilbur acts like its a good thing. Tommy realizes that Wilbur still hasn't healed. This isn't the man who started the drug van with him. Wilbur tells him he's going far far away and the last time he saw him he was threatening to kill himself for Tommy's sake. What else is Tommy supposed to think? If he's leaving Tommy, then this has to be his apology because he wouldn't just not realize how much he hurt him right? Right? And if he's willing to go to that lengths for the discs, then why not for justice. Then he says he going to Utah. He's American, the reason they started L'manberg. It's all been a lie. He asks in the way he was taught by dream, hurt them, dig in where you know it hurts with your words, demand, and when words fail, use violence.

"I don't know why I did that... I didn't use to be this angry" You used to be a kid and in many ways you still are. You used to be happy, you used to trust, you used to know you were loved. And now Wilbur is trying to leave and that last bit of your childhood it starting to look further and further away Tommy.

AND THEN HE SAYS THE QUIET PART OUT LOUD! WHY CAN'T YOU EVER SAY SORRY. And then Wilbur says he's leaving because if someone doesn't fogive you you have to accept that and get out of their life because he doesn't believe Tommy could eve forgive him. And then we get the Utah reveal and the "it can't end like this" because how can everything that they've stuck together through and the death and pain they've endured, how can it all culminate in Wilbur running back to a gas station in Utah. And even as Wilbur says the discs and dream were an apology, he can't even say the words "I'm sorry in reference to it. Tommy tells him to forgive himself because maybe, just maybe, if they're still brothers bonded together, Wilbur will keep that part of his heart that is Tommy and he'll choose to stay.

Tommy gets his apology (I would kill to know what that book says) and they both laugh as Wilbur rows off into the sea towards Utah. But Tommy's laughs are choked with sobs that Wilbur doesn't hear over the sound of his coming freedom. And then he's gone and for the second time, Tommy has watched Wilbur leave. For the who even knows how many-th time, someone doesn't give Tommy the only thing he wants: For someone to stay and love him.

Wilbur's gone and Tommy is left on a beach (not Logstedshire this time) crying, alone, and in the rain. Exile broke Tommy because he was alone. Tommy is alone, so he breaks.