#but still i never understood the term comfort ship until now

[randomnumbers751650]

Talking about a ship for me is complicated because the feeling that I might be missing something or extrapolating too much. But still, I want to talk about Kafka/Blade.

Since HSR is a gacha, the chances of playable characters having romantic relationships are very low, so the fans have to pick the crumbs. Sometimes it’s pretty much obvious the devs want certain characters together, but the hand of the gacha business model holds them back. Other times, not really, maybe the devs are really aiming for platonic or other. And, of course, fans are free to interpret their own. So, I’m here to give my interpretation of KafBlade, why it called my attention.

From their interactions, they are working together and they have a level of affection: Kafka calls him Bladie (and he’s upset if others call him by that), Blade loves hearing her singing and is receptive to her whispers; they also seem to have good synergy in the battlefield. It also works in accomplishing missions, with Kafka’s lack of fear making her prone to injuries and Blade acting as her immortal bodyguard. Plus, there’s the implication they had to fake being a couple for a mission, which I hope it never gets a full flashback because imagining how it went is funnier. How they complement each other is what makes them so interesting.

They are both fundamentally broken people. We know Blade’s story, but it’s pretty implied Kafka has some tragedy in the closet (with Blade commenting he doesn’t want to see her sad; would it really be surprising?). And, they are villains after all.

But still, what I see in them is how they can still experience with each other things that they couldn’t imagine to experience or that they thought that they’d never experience. For example, Kafka is a liar. It’s a strength in her job, to the point even when she’s telling the truth it still feels she’s lying. She uses her whispers to dominate men and then discard them when they’ve done their jobs. She goes full “nothing personnel, kid”, because for her everything is just a job.

And then, one day, appears a guy who’s like “can you do that again?” A guy who wants to be whispered, whose lies sooth and motivate him. And then she learns he’s an immortal that wants to die and then she decides that she’ll help, but that she will strive to make his life more fun until that day because he amuses you. She has no feelings for him, because she has no feelings at all (or are very different from what normal people think to be); either she wasn’t born with them or the organization she learned her skills remove them, but still she just wants to make him feel good about his journey to death.

Blade is similar: he wants revenge. He crafted his entire life and used all his bladesmith skills to pursue that goal; it’s easy to imagine him forgoing everything, his feelings, his self-care, eating whatever slop he puts on his face, a very miserable life. And then one day a woman appears saying “join me” and she’s actually…fun to be around. Sure, they are using each other to their respective objectives, but there’s something more to it. He starts to pick her habits and helps her whenever she needs carry her stuff. And then he starts to wonder that, yes, his life sucks, but it sucks a bit less with her around. The blade he crafted for revenge can be used to protect, unexpectedly.

It should be noted that the devs already had opportunities to portray their relationship as toxic and abusive, but they haven’t. I’m not sure I’d call healthy either, but there seems to be a mutual respect and trust about them. I mean, they are dangerous (along with the rest of the Stellaron Hunters, Silverwolf, Sam and Elio himself (it’d be really funny if he was the cat)), but still it’s not hard to imagine them as a found family. We have to wait for future updates to see how they’ll be developed, but their Team Rocket dynamic with the heroes is fun.

One last thing is how I think it’s funny that KafBlade is “what if Gojo and Marin (from My Dress Up Darling) were evil?”. Kafka is the extroverted girl that loves shopping and fashion, while Blade is the recluse artist, but that grew bitter - as Yingxing, he was one the best bladesmiths of the Xianzou, he knows what beauty is (also please read the fanfic “dal segno al fine”, it really captures this side of his) – and would be reluctant even if Kafka’s feelings were like Marin’s; Kafka would have to have a lot of patience, but I think she’s not one to give up once she set up a goal.

I didn’t really review their text and quotes, I’m remembering all of it in the game and some comments in the internet. Even so, I wonder if others share these thoughts on them, especially the fact they bring out things that were previously kinda buried in each other, so it has potential for a more mature love story.

[geekywritings]

I thought you were dead

Another Cal Kestis x Reader story as requested by one of my lovely readers! Thank you very much for the idea: “Your writing is GORGEOUS! Would you mind wrighting a Cal x Reader where they get separated for a while (I mean like everyone is almost sure that Reader is dead) and the reaction to when the Reader shows up or when they run into Reader on a mission? Perhaps with a new scar? Like on their leg or something.“

_________

The chance of something bad happening to either of you, or any of the crew, had always been high. Such was the risk of working for someone like Saw Guerrera, after all. But Cal had not been prepared for the crippling sensation when the day did come.

The mission had appeared so easy. Go in, demolition the newly built Imperial supply base on Alderaan, steal as much intel as possible and leave. You had done it a dozen times already.

But this time, the clue you had received had been a trap. They had been waiting for you, ready to apprehend the terrorists that had been messing with their logistics for far too long. The crew had barely made it out alive. Well, most of the crew. You had been captured.

“We need to go.”, Bode, the newest member of your merry band had insisted and Cal had to agree through gritted teeth. Even if every part of his soul screamed to go back and look for you. If there was even a sliver of a chance of you being alive, he wanted to take it.

But the rest of the crew had given him the grief reminder that the Imperials weren’t known to show mercy. Especially not to rebel scum. All he could do now was come to terms with his loss and seek revenge.

For months, Cal fell into a hole, trying to fill the inner emptiness with work. His missions got more and more reckless, the fight more aggressive. He was beginning to walk dangerously close to the Dark Side, and he didn’t give a shit.

Attachments were forbidden for Jedi and now he partly understood why. Because losing the person in his heart broke him in ways he never could have imagined. If the loss of the Order and his Master had been bad, this was nothing short of a never-ending nightmare.

He would wake up in the middle of the night, trying to reach for your body next to his, just to find the space empty. Your clothes were still in the little cabin you shared on the Mantis, as Cal didn’t have the heart to remove them. Everything was as if you could return any moment and although the crew tried to convince the Jedi to let go, he refused. Something deep inside rejected the concept that you were truly gone.

Perhaps it was the Force whispering to him, because he was right. You were alive. Barely at first, but you were breathing. They had not shot you on the spot, which was a miracle in itself. What awaited you instead had been torture. Days and days of it in the hopes to extract some information about the rebellion. You didn’t say a word and tried to meditate instead, as Cal had taught you how to do.

Weeks passed between pain, unconsciousness, and despair until they finally grew bored. Instead of granting you a merciful death, they sent you to the Imperial prison on Wobani for hard labor. A mistake on their part, really. Didn’t they know who you were?

Getting out of the shithole was difficult, but not impossible. You just needed to bide your time to learn about the place, the people who worked there, the schedules of the transportation going in and out. After that, it was just a matter of moving quickly.

With the ship you stole, you made your way to the last rebel base you had called headquarters, switching ships in-between to cover your traces. All you wanted was to sleep for a few days. And maybe get a good meal.

But what awaited you at the landing platform was worth more than any comfortable bed or delicious food. The Mantis was there! You hadn’t expected it! Even though Cal had been on your mind constantly, the one thing that kept you going, you hadn’t thought to find him here.

“Cal…”, your voice didn’t carry, too parched from a lack of water.

Leaving your ship, you forced your body to walk across the platform and toward the familiar ship. As if on cue, the Jedi you were hoping to see emerged, looking left then right, his eyes stopping on you.

Impossible! He had thought he had felt you, but to see you there… Alive.

His pulse sped up a hundredfold, as he rushed toward you, wrapping you in his arms and holding you close for what felt like eternity. You could feel his body shake lightly, his tears wetting your hair. You had never seen him like this. Then again, you were crying yourself, so you weren’t judging.

“How?”, he whispered, not managing to say much else.

“Long story…” You weren’t exactly capable of much more.

Finally releasing you, Cal took a good look at you, noticing the changes. You had lost weight, your hair a mess of knots and tangles and scars across your arms and even across your cheek and eyebrow. He could only imagine that there were more hiding beneath your clothes. Yet despite it all, he was just glad to see you alive.

“Are you in pain?”, he asked.

“I forgot what it’s like not to be in pain.”, you couldn’t hold back the bitter reply. “But I am even more tired and hungry. Imperial prisons aren’t exactly known for their excellent cuisine.” The humor was lost on Cal, as worry still reflected in his eyes.

“Let’s get you checked up. And then you can sleep and eat as much as you want.” And with that, he picked you up with ease, heading back toward the small base the rebels had built for themselves on this desolate moon.

“I never expected to see you again… But I thought of you every day.”, you whispered on the way.

“I thought of you too… I couldn’t accept that you were gone.”, he admitted, eyes on the road.

“Did you do stupid things while I was gone?”, you asked, noticing the change in him as well. Harder, more serious, broken in a new way.

“When am I not doing stupid things without your supervision?” Ah, he could still smile. The Cal you loved with all your heart was also still there. Relieved, you cuddled into him and fell asleep long before you even reached the medical unit. You were back. You were together again. And you would never be separated again, you both silently vowed.

[reveseke]

Why is there no Morgan x Hotch x Reader poly ships at all in general ??? This shit has consumed my mind for the past few months as an after thought and now I'm going to do it myself :( .

Soooo rogue and spontaneous headcanons time !! bc i can't keep track of new things and work on old things.

Feature ... Aaron "Hotch" Hotchner | Derek Morgan | nonbinary reader ( they them )

CW nothing much actually – absolutely nothing, I'm swearing here and there but nothing extreme. Bolded words highlight the headcanon's main topic and will continue to be of same topic untill it meets the new bolded words headcanon lol.

Disc ... Reader is nonbinary coded even if it's not outrightly said and all of my stories are towards masc intended readers.

DNI - Fudanashis/fujodashis, women & fem-aligned, profic/proship, anti - LGBTQ+ folk & exclusionists, anti-antis, Necro- Zoo- Pedophiles + (NO)Maps(and other terms), basic DNI criteria, kink/nude/nsfw/sh/vent/pro-ana/ed/18+ blogs

General headcanons – Grumpy meets the guard dog and sunshine.

Interpret it as you want, but we all know reader's the sunshine here when it comes to that sentence.

But i kinda see something akin to that that the grumpy is just Aaron and Derek is the guard dog who is as much talk as he can be bite.

Also imo Morgan and Hotch can mask and generally hide their relationship in BAU so fucking well behind general banter and professionalism nobody would suggest their together. It's surprisingly easy looking back at how the whole team in their hands is full of profilers and still they manage to share some touches and glances here and there away from the unsuspecting team. (Bc if I've understood correctly you can't date someone in your team and cannot be family to them bc emotional ties and rash/impulsive thinking when one is in trouble.)

Which leads to kind of fun situations with Hotch being asked if he found someone to be in his life after Hayley and he answers yes but never actually slips names out so everyone else but Morgan is kinda on the edge with the fact that they know he's dating, but don't know who. Bc i really think he would other wise be encouraged to meet more people if he didn't tell he was already in a relationship and it could became a nag.

But when it comes to off-duty work their guards just drop around each other knowing they don't have to hide it anymore. They'll just kinda be in comfort silence both knowing their safe and don't need much more on the topic. Bc i don't see either of them being really uh lovey-dovey if they are not in the mood and home.

Wkvdvdj thinking thinking ... if R was not part of the BAU but instead worked somewhere else and just spontaneously met the two or was part of a case by accident like as someone who may have seen something, as a suspect etc etc or just plainly seeing him work when they were on a date and both regonice the interest they share for the Reader.

Cuddle piles. Really it's going to be Morgan, then R and then Hotch depending on if your actually smaller than them. If your bigger then by all means it's going to be R, Morgan & Hotch. ( I'm thinking this perspective from laying in a literal pile on the sofa and trying their hardest to have the heaviest/biggest on bottom and lightest/smallest on top so nobody feels like they're going to die lmao) but otherwise it's alternating on who feels like being a side piece and who an in-between piece of the cuddle sandwich in bed.

Ooh also thinking of Jack, just when R comes and if he isn't part of the BAU he's got time to spent helping Hotch's SIL and lending a hand on taking care of Jack. Making sure he knows he's cared for and can trust them even if building that trust may take awhile.

Silently making fast friends with Aaron's SIL and Derek's family.

Also the reader in this is normal, there's no aus on it yet . But mark my fucking words I'm going to make a hybrid, spider maybe even BAU team aus off of this fucking ship at some point in time lmao.

[thaddeusthawne]

Thank You

Snowells Week 2023: Day 7: Year 7 (Snowells Appreciation Day)

So this is going to be a little different from the other days I will post for this week. I still have more to post but I’ve been a bit delayed due to personal reasons but they will be put out soon! That being said, I wanted to say thank you to everyone in this fandom.

In different ways you guys have inspired me to start creating things that most fandoms haven’t. Maybe it’s because most fandoms are so big and intimidating to join but for me, the snowells fandom has always been this safe place to interact with. Whether it’s everyone’s collective excitement over snowells related scenes or funny joke posts this fandom felt easy to enjoy and participate in.

Funny enough I didn’t start shipping snowells until I ran into my first fanfic for this ship. I knew about it because I had followed some snowells peeps on my old blog (deleted it and recreated a new main & this side blog) but I never really understood the fascination for it. However one night I remember just scrolling on tumblr and accidentally clicking on the wrong ao3 link. For the life of me I can’t remember what fic it was but that’s only because I ended up reading pretty much everything that I could find. This was around the time that the beginning of season 2 was airing if that helps give an idea of what I walking into in terms of the fandom content. I stayed up that night just reading, clicking on fics randomly. I finally understood. And then a short time later Harry saved Caitlin from Grodd and then in the next episode she saved him from a bullet.

I was hooked and excited at the possibility on them getting together and started to silently enjoy them. I looked forward to every possible scene and over the years I kept thinking “Maybe it might finally happen!”. It never did of course but it did give me a lot of ideas.

Then in 2019 I finally found the courage to make my own stuff. It was nerve-racking but I had seen other people’s works and ideas met with so much positivity that I felt brave enough to try. Then I started to post some things and I was like “They’re reblogging it? And liking it? And leaving comments in the tags? 😳🥹🥰”. It meant a lot to me back then and it still means so much to me now. While I still have moments of self doubt, I look back on where I started and how far I’ve come. I honestly don’t think I would have been able to do that in any other fandom.

This community allowed me a space to grow as a writer/creator. I still have room to grow, but being able to participate and get even a few comments really helped build up my confidence and motivated me to learn to improve my skills. I went from writing maybe a few paragraphs to starting to flesh things out way more and planning out more extensive stories. Even though the show is over, I still plan to keep writing for this ship. I’m going to miss this show and these characters but I am hopeful that this fandom will still stay a source of comfort for me and anyone else who might feel the same way.

And while this ship may not have sailed, it was still fun to party on the boat.

[gaymasonjar]

Will You Meet Me In The Middle? Part 11

Preview of Chapter 11: Through Your Eyes

“So, he’s not sleeping and yet you’re letting him go to work”, Isobel repeated back to her brother. The blond was perched on top of one of the many boxes in the living room. All of the furniture they ordered was still packed away in the boxes. Isobel was wearing one of Kyle’s university tshirts over a bright pink sports bra and black leggings that were dusty from work.

Michael let out a sigh and set his hands on his hips, “Look- he’s sleeping a bit better since going back. But yea, sleep isn’t easy lately. It’s not his fault.”

“PTSD is no joke”, Kyle agreed as he wiped drywall dust off the wall he finished screwing into place, dust covering the front of his old band tshirt and old jeans. “He came home originally with a pretty strict medication regime. I think he was also supposed to be going to meetings but I don’t know if he ever did. And while he was dealing with the radiation and acute poisoning after- he didn’t have any of his medications for a long time. Not until you both came back from your honeymoon anyway.”

“He never really talked about it when he first came back from the states”, Michael shrugged subtly while wiping his sweaty hands against the back of his jeans. “But we weren’t on the best terms. I know he’s back on some stuff, but I couldn’t tell you if he’s missing anything.”

Isobel raised an eyebrow as she crossed her legs from her perch. “You haven’t asked him?” 

“I don’t like to pressure him to talk. Trauma sucks. And I can feel how it is…He’s scared of it. That kind of fear is paralyzing. He’ll talk about it when he’s ready to.”

“And between you and him? You guys have enough trauma for multiple lifetimes.”

“Thanks.” He rolled his eyes pointedly and Isobel merely shrugged.

Michael helped Kyle lift up the next piece of drywall, leaning against it to keep it in place. Kyle expertly started to screw it into place. With the extra help, they were putting up the final pieces of drywall. The place was about ready for paint and flooring. Isobel had way too many large boxes shipped to the house with everything they were going to need for the last touches of the renovation. 

“And what about you”, Kyle glanced at Michael as he picked up another screw from his belt pouch. “Are you having nightmares?”

“No”, he replied too quickly before pursing his lips. “Well, maybe like once or twice this month. But it’s not that bad. It’s just kinda weird to adjust to the peace.”

“I know what you mean”, the blond muttered as she picked at her thumbnail.

“Maybe something is triggering Alex”, Kyle continued on with his thought. “You would know the best out of all of us.”

“Lately, it’s been sounds. Like he’s associating it with a previous event.”

“That’s pretty common.”

“Any tips on how to help him?”

“I’m not a therapist”, Kyle wiped away more dust with his hand and moved on to the next spot. “But I have taken basic psychology. The supportive stuff you do for him now? That is the best you can do.”

“I don’t feel like that is enough.”

“And that’s ok. You’re his husband, not his therapist. Really the only recommendation I could give is going back to therapy or finding a support group. There are plenty out there for veterans. I know a few guys that I could recommend.”

Michael raised his brows at the thought. It wasn’t a bad idea. Personally, Michael wasn’t a huge fan of going to therapy himself. No one ever really understood what he went through between being a foster kid and an alien that covered up a murder. But when he talked with Dallas, the man of the cloth had understood. He had gone through the foster system himself. It was honestly nice to be around him. Michael missed him.

If Alex could connect with other veterans, it was likely that he could find some comfort as well. Serving in the military was traumatizing enough. Alex only did it because of his abusive father and it cost him a leg. 

“I’ll talk to him about it.”

“Good. You both look like zombies with the lack of sleep you’re getting”, Isobel commented as she pushed herself off the counter. “I’m going to start priming the walls while you two install the windows.”

Isobel pressed a brief kiss to Kyle’s cheek before heading out of the kitchen. Michael gave the man a simple look. Kyle cleared his throat as he fought the blush trying to appear on his cheeks. It made Michael smirk. He patted Valenti on the back before they headed out to unpack some of the windows.

“So, you and my sister. How has that been?”

“Well, it’s nice. She’s nice. I feel relaxed and cared for when I’m around her.”

Michael nodded slowly, “I wasn’t going to judge you if you said she was a handful because I know she can be.”

Kyle smirked and breathed out a laugh, “Yea, well, we all have our quirks. I’m dating a badass alien warrior. Everything else is a plus.”

“Man, you are whipped.”

“Says the guy who pinned over the same emo kid for over ten years.”

Michael pointed at him, “I never said I wasn’t.”

They both laughed. Each picked up the ends of a large window and headed through the front door to install it in the living room. The living room and upstairs common room both had ceiling-to-floor windows. Despite the giant sizing, they were fairly simple to install. They slid right into place in the frame and just needed to be secured. 

Read More on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45325099/chapters/115952008

[pedrosbish]

the king

summary: the new ruler of Mand’alor, Din Djarin, needs to marry in order to be fully accepted as the king and you happen to catch his eye (*fem!reader)

warnings: a guard is kinda mean, din is slightly possessive 

word count: 1.3k

taglist: @over300books​, @mouthymandalorian​, @ordinarymom1​, @zapsalis-d​, @goldielocks2004, @whore-for-anime​, @ilikethoseodds​, @withasideofmeg​, @theamuz​

CHAPTER TWO

The scent of flowers lingered in your hair even hours after you had removed them, setting them down on your dresser as a reminder of your first day with the foundlings of the Mandalorians, a people far more secretive than you originally thought when trying to escape the clutches of the Empire that was starting to crumble under the weight of the Resistance’s victory. 

Hearing the tales of the Mandalorian people while growing up had ultimately swayed your decision to pack up everything you owned and find them, hitching rides on any merchant ships that were happy to help if it meant receiving a small amount of payment of the credits you carried.

It hadn’t been difficult to find them, the shining helmets and armours they donned letting you know that you had finally reached the correct planet after months of searching. 

The fields behind their huts stood vacant, only being used during the warmer months for crops, and that was where you decided to build your own home, promising the farmer that owned them that you would pay him back with the baked goods you would make when the plants had grown.

They had welcomed you with open arms once your story had been shared, each of them understanding the cruel nature of the Empire and how they once ruled the galaxy. It had started as a small group, only a couple of Mandalorians and foundlings but once news started travelling across the galaxy that a new ruler of Mand’alor had been found, many had flocked onto the planet, setting up their own homes and building a palace for their new king. 

Helping with the market occasionally had led you to overhear some information about the new king, Din Djarin. Once a foundling and now one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy. Kind as he took care of a child that he was ultimately forced to say goodbye to. A dar’manda for he had taken off his helmet in front of others. Bo-Katan is the rightful owner of the Mand’alor throne. It was unfair that they were judging a man they didn't know yet, and one who was about to rule over them to the best of his abilities. 

When he had arrived, crowds gathered around Boba Fett’s ship as it landed and the ramp lowered, allowing the Mandalorians to have their first peek at their king. You had been at the back, looking over the many helmets to try and see the man that everyone had been talking about for weeks on end. 

He had been nervous, hands clutched into fists at his sides as he nodded stiffly at the applauding crowd. He stuck out like a sore thumb, the shining beskar suit starkly different to the furs and horns they donned, most of the men wearing nothing to cover their chests and the tattoos donning their skins symbolising various myths. 

It had taken awhile for Din Djarin to come out from his palace on the hill, obviously still uncomfortable with the new role thrust upon his shoulders unexpectedly. He would always come down to the market to watch his citizens mulling about their everyday lives and occasionally attending hunts that took place at the beginning of the week. 

So, when he had come to the market yesterday and noticed you for the first time, it had taken you aback. Sure, you stood out because of your lack of helmet and armour but you never would have expected the king to actually notice, to see you. 

And it had been an even bigger surprise when you awoke the next morning to knocking on your door, opening it to two soldiers standing in the early morning, visors scanning the surrounding area. One of them, the smaller of the two, had grabbed your arm tightly, almost enough to hurt, and dragged you to the palace while the other trailed behind, chuckling at how scared you looked. 

“Di'kut.”

The king sits on his throne, the morning sun pouring in from the high windows and painting the room in a soft light. He sits up a bit straighter as the guard throws you to the floor in front of him, his fist curling tighter around the beskar spear he keeps at his side before knocking the floor, a sharp ring echoing around the room. 

“Leave us.” 

You bow your head, still seated on the floor as the guards leave, the door shutting softly behind them. It’s silent in the throne room until footsteps draw nearer towards your place on the ground, slowly, timidly until you can see him as he crouches before you. 

Gloved fingers tuck themselves under your chin and oh so gently lift until your eyes meet the visor of his helmet. “Are you hurt, cyar’ika?” His voice is clipped, not directed at you, but you still flinch and his grip on your chin loosens slightly when he notices. “They were never meant to hurt you and I apologise.”

“It’s okay,” you whisper, eyes wide when his thumb rubs back and forth soothingly across your chin. You cough and he drops his hand from your face, moving to stand up and stretch out his hand for you to take. “Why-why am I here?”

“I...saw you at the market yesterday.” His helmet tilts away from you and the hand around his spear tightens. “I would like to court you.” 

“Me?” Your heart beats rapidly and he chuckles at the surprised look on your face, eyes wide and mouth agape. “Court? You see me as a potential riduur? But I’m not a Mandalorian.” 

“It would be in secret until we are more comfortable with each other or if you choose not to be my riduur. No one would know that we have been courting.” He moves to the side of the room where a table has been set up and removes a flower from the vase. He returns to you and holds it out to you. “Consider it. You are under no obligation to respond now or ever if you would like. I would not be upset.”

Hesitantly, you reach out to take it and hold it loosely at your side as you leave the throne room and the king behind. It takes a while to reach home, your mind whirring with numerous thoughts at his proposal. Queen of the Mandalorians? It was a title that didn't belong to you, instead it belonged to the other girls awaiting for the king’s answer. 

But you couldn't deny that it did intrigue you. 

~~~

“Enter.”

It was late in the night, the moon high in the sky and painting the throne room in a pale light. Din sits at the edge of his seat as the guards from earlier, the ones who had treated you, his cyar’ika, in an unacceptable way, walked in, terrified at the anger in his voice. 

He gets up from his throne and slowly approaches them, spear in hand. “Do you know why you are here?”

“No-no, my king.” 

“You hurt my future riduur, your future queen.” 

The guard doesn't even have enough time to exclaim in surprise as Din swipes his feet from underneath him, forcing him to the ground with the beskar spear under his chin, poking at the skin there. His chest swells with pride at the terrified look on both of the guards faces as he grits his teeth at them under his helmet. 

“You treat her like that again and I will not be as kind.” He pushes the spear further into the guard’s neck causing a sharp cry of pain to escape his lips. “Understood?”

 “We are sorry, my king.” The other speaks up, voice wobbling at the sight of his friend on the floor. “It will not happen again, my king.” 

Satisfied, Din removes the spear from the guard’s neck and steps away, watching with a satisfied grin as they run from the room. He returns to his throne, legs spread wide as he surveys the empty room before him, turning his head to look at the empty throne beside him. 

You would be his queen. 

~~~

Mando’a terms: dar’manda (a state of being "not Mandalorian"; not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and soul), al’verde (commander), cyar’ika (darling, beloved, sweetheart), di'kut (fool, idiot, useless individual)

[strawberrylemonz]

Campfire Tales

Part 3 of my series!  Thank you for 100+ followers!!!

As usual, do ask me any questions you may have regarding this series! 

This is dedicated to both @petrichormeraki and @applepie1000

Enjoy!

Part 2

Part 3 [CURRENT]

Part 4

————————

“You’re gonna burn the ‘mallows”

“Am not”

“Are too”

“Am not”

“Are too”

“Calm down, you two”

Everyone was sitting around the campfire as Tommy brought out the sticks and marshmallows. He had already taken out the rest of the supplies to make snacks and drinks using the fire, doing his best to make sure that everyone was comfortable before he explained his time before joining the hermits.

“You doing alright?”

Tommy stiffened at the sound of being addressed so suddenly. Turning to his side, he saw his older brother smiling up at him. Tommy had been feeling very anxious since the group began their hike up to the campfire, so the sight was comforting for him. He returned the smile to his brother, who extended a hand out to him.

“Let me help you with those, Toms. Just sit down and relax for a bit. You’re probably very nervous.”

Now, Tommy would usually bite back with an overconfident comment, but Tommy didn’t feel like his usual self. Instead, he shrugged his shoulders and handed Grian the remaining supplies. Grian, in turn, grabbed the supplies before sitting his little brother down on a seat. Ruffling his hair with affection, Grian handed Tommy some marshmallows before setting off to finish handing everything out. 

“You get near that majestic cat, Iskall, and I will stab you”

“Okay, okay, I’m backing off.”

Peering up, Tommy saw Cleo scoop up a cat, before walking off to sit on a different log seat. Iskall, in turn, nervously laughed as if he just escaped death. ‘Wouldn’t be an understatement.’ Tommy thought with slight amusement. Iskall then turned to Tommy, smiling at the younger boy. Tommy, returned the smile, waving at the man. Iskall saw that as an invitation and proceeded to sit down next to Tommy on the log.

“Nervous?”

“Is it really that obvious?”

“Well, yeah. You started to tone down on the cussing when we arrived at Pirate’s Pier. You stopped cussing in general when we took Captain Puffy’s ship to the campsite, and you haven’t cussed since. You’re also fidgeting around a lot.”

“Shit”

Iskall let out a laugh as Tommy shoved his face into his hands. Patting the young adult’s back with care, he did his best to comfort Tommy.

“Hey, it’s alright. We’ll understand if you decide to stop telling us. But don’t push yourself to either share past your comfort or to coop up all your feelings. It’s not healthy for you, and we’ll all attack you with care and affection until you feel better.”

Tommy barked out a laugh as he playfully pushed away Iskall’s face.

“That’s all you lot have been doing since I arrived. Been acting like I’m your baby brother, or some shit.”

“Well, that’s the case. At least, for one of us.”

At that, the two peered over to Grian, who was putting up the left over supplies with haste, obviously eager to begin unraveling his brother’s pain.

“He seems more hyper than usual”

“I’m pretty sure it’s on the account that he found out that his favorite raccoon is, in fact, his younger brother.”

“I hope he isn’t disappointed-”

Tommy was interrupted when a hand covered his mouth. Feigning irritation, Tommy peered over at the owner of the hand, Iskall. Quirking an eyebrow at him, Tommy gave a pointed look. Iskall huffed before removing his hand from Tommy’s mouth.

“What the hell was that for, Isk-”

“Don’t say that.”

“Don’t say what? Your name?”

“No, Tommy, not that. Don’t say anything about Grian being disappointed in you being his brother. The two of you have been acting like brothers since the day you two met. You guys are two peas in a pod, burrowing in bases together and pranking any fool who let their guard down. He is more than happy to have you as his brother.”

“How can you be so sure when you say that?”

“Because, Tommy, I saw how he reacted. The two of you obviously couldn’t see that well, with the two of you weeping up an ocean-”

“-Did not-”

“-Did too. Anyways, I saw his reaction to putting the pieces together. It was a whole new Grian, one we never got to see before. His facade fell the moment he saw who you were. Something changed in his eyes, and he held you with more pride and love than he ever did before. He’s more than happy to have you as family.”

Tommy furrowed his eyebrows before looking Iskall in the face. He wanted to doubt his words, he really did. He wanted to believe that he didn’t deserve so much of Grian’s love, that he didn’t deserve a special place in his heart. One look at Iskall’s face, however, was more than enough confirmation that he wasn’t being lied to. As much as Tommy wanted to avoid his brother’s love, he knew he couldn’t. All Tommy could do was to just pray to Clara that this brotherly bond would not be torn apart and bombed, just like his last two. He just wanted a family member he could rely on, not one that would break him with betrayal and miscommunication.

“What are you two talking about?”

Tommy peered up to see Grian standing there, munching on a melted marshmallow. Rolling his eyes, Tommy snorted at him as Iskall laughed.

“Talking about how much of a big man Toms is.”

“Hey! Watch the sarcasm! I am a big man!”

Grian snorted before sitting down on the other of Tommy, getting comfortable on the log. The two brothers shared a smile before Tommy faced the rest of the group.

“Everyone ready?”

A chorus of confirmation was given, a single nod to return them. Sighing, Tommy situated himself and cleared his throat.

“I’m severely grateful for all of you, truly. You’ve all looked past the fact that I was a bastard and decided to keep me around. You guys helped me come to terms with things that I once thought was impossible to come to terms with. You’ve all even helped me heal from those stupid, shitty triggers. I really don’t know where I’d be if I hadn’t ended up here, especially looking back to where I was at my previous server.”

He saw everyone’s face gain some form of affection at his words. The pat on his back and the hand on his was all he needed to know that he woild go through with this. They’ve housed him and healed him for over 2 years, they deserved to know what they saved him from.

“Alright, it all started when I got an invite to Dream’s server, the Dream SMP.”

————

Grian didn’t know how to react, how to feel. How could he? It’s not everyday that you find out that the amazing big brothers you idolized weren’t so amazing after all. How could the people that vowed to look after their baby brothers turn around and break the youngest one? Tommy claimed that everything was a misunderstanding, and that he deserved his punishments, but no one deserved punishments that severe.

“-I tried telling them how that made me feel, but Technoblade and Wilbur said that it had to stay in the pit. Tubbo tried to tell me that it wasn’t a big deal, but he was terrified of fireworks for so long after that. Not just fireworks, loud noises in general.”

Grian could tell how uneasy everyone was feeling, but they all understood not to prevent the boy from sharing. He had a lot of built up trauma that he tried forcing away, and that wasn’t healthy for him. He had to get everything off his chest, for the betterment of his mentality and health in general. Grian tried not to grimace as Tommy moved onto the death of the president, how he died of a heart attack. Doing his best to make sure his brother was comfortable, he periodically offered the younger boy drink and snack breaks in order to collect his thoughts. Tommy was grateful for these. 

“-He was so mad that we reinstalled a person to be our leader, saying that we betrayed him, but that’s not the case! I promise you it wasn’t! I wouldn’t have intentionally betrayed someone that I saw as my brother, my idol, my...my friend.”

Grian put an arm around the slouching boy and after making a mental note to help him fix his posture offered him a hand. Tommy happily accepted the comfort, trying his best to compose himself.

“And then he...he...”

“What is it, Tommy? What did Techno do?”

“He asked me if I wanted to be a hero. I didn’t even get to properly answer him. I still remember his words, they are forever engraved in my brain. ‘You wanna be a hero, Tommy? Then die like one!’ Then he set fucking withers on my nation, my home. Pathetic, isn’t it? Haha, and that’s not the worst part! That wasn’t even the worst disaster to have happened on that stupid, cursed day. My nation was blown up, and when I had turned to see what happened, I saw Wilbur, standing there, laughing at the chaos. Next thing I knew, dad- er, Phil, he...he killed him. I lost Wilby. I couldn’t save him from his madness.”

His voice had gotten much quieter as he spoke about that painful day. If everyone wasn’t so quiet they would have missed it, the way Tommy’s voice broke and quivered. Trying not to break, he leaned into his older brother, not paying any attention to the height difference. Grian, in turn, was holding his little brother as if the world would crumble if he let go. His brother was dead, the other blinded by his personal morals. And his father, his hero, murdered his son in front of the others. Grian did his best to listen to what Tommy was saying, not wanting him to feel unsupported. He just sat there and listened.

“-He didn’t even say goodbye to me. He just stood there as Dream took me away. Ghostbur went along with me, which I was grateful for, but the company of a ghost can only go so far, especially when it’s of your late brother.”

No one could believe the burdens put upon the shoulders of these two boys. They shouldn’t have had to deal with any of this, yet they were forced to do so. They couldn’t get mad at Tubbo, he didn’t deserve to be despised after having to deal with such a stressful decision at such a young age. Iskall took over trying to comfort Tommy while Grian tried to drink as much water as he could, as if it would drown all the emotions he was feeling. He felt absolutely sick hearing what Dream put his baby brother through. He suddenly felt amazing at being a Dream slayer. He was sure Tommy would find comfort in that. Tommy eventually got to the end of his stay with Techno. 

“I was hoping that he would understand why I didn’t stay, why I had to leave. As much as I care for him, he was feeding in to my negative thoughts, and I had to prevent myself from becoming everything I didn’t want to be. He didn’t get it, though. I still saw him as a friend, a brother, but he only saw me as a selfish traitor. He only saw me as someone who wanted to use him as a weapon. Phil called me a traitor, too, and they took down my tower. It’s okay, everyone sees them as ugly pieces of shit. Tubbo and I began to slowly heal our friendship as we prepared for Doomsday, but that’s when things got weird. As Tubbo and I went on a walk to discuss our plan, some weird portal opened up in the ground. I felt weightless as I fell in, and then I ended up here. I’ve been here with you guys ever since.”

Before he could say anything else, Tommy was engulfed into an embrace. Grian buried his brother’s face into his chest, kissing his brother’s hair as he rocked him back and forth. Iskall joined in and rubbed the boy’s back, Mumbo approaching and supporting Grian and Tommy’s weight so they wouldn’t fall. Xisuma stood behind the two, hand on Tommy’s shoulder. One by one, Stress, Scar, Joe, Tango, False, everyone began to join in on the comfort circle to give support to the brothers.

--------

Grian and Tommy had not detached from each other since the campfire. No one pointed that out, not this time. They just gave the birdie personal space with his raccoon of a brother. Everyone gave the two smiles, wishing them goodnight as they all left to stay in the lodging of their choosing in the adventure park. Tommy and Grian waved at them before turning to leave to their choice in lodging. After a while, they arrived to their destination, the Antarctic Empire. After standing in the hall and debating which room to stay in, they eventually decided to stay the night in Grian’s room. Once the were changed for bed, the two just sat on the bed, unsure whether or not they should talk about something or force themselves to sleep. Finally, sucking in a breath of confidence, Tommy spoke up.

“So, since festival week is in a few months, wanna help me plan our outfits and hand out fliers?”

[remmysbounty]

reunited//din djarin x f!reader

first off, thank you to my Siri ( @booksmusicteaandanimals​ ) for giving me this fic idea earlier today, especially bc after she gave me this idea i ended up getting two other ideas bc of it. 

I hope you all enjoy it :) 

I’m gonna tag some of you that I think will be interested, if you don’t want to be tagged in the future that’s totally fine, just let me know. 

please comment and/or reblog what you think, feedback is very much appreciated

You’d felt him before you saw him. It had been years since you’d felt another Force user in your presence, and even though he was clearly bothered by something, the waves of despair that you felt did not surprise you in any way. Feeling him as you walked down the path, you found yourself standing in front of a creature you had only heard about in legends and bedtime stories.

“Hello little one,” you brought your hand out to touch his three fingers, allowing him to infiltrate your mind, talk to you, “Would you like for me to help you find this man, the Mandalorian?”

You felt a resounding yes come through the force and after securing the little one in your arms, you continued down the path you were on. Clearly whoever you were looking for was someone who would stand out, whether intentional or not, and you had heard rumors about a bounty hunter being in the area that morning, so you figured the best place to head towards would be the cantina. As you walked you got to know more about the child in your arms and he shared with you memories of his journey with this Mandalorian. A Mandalorian who reminded you very much of one that you’d met when you were just on the cusp of adulthood. 

You waved at the little Mandalorians who ran through the marketplace, still having the freedom to do so before the Empire had forced them into hiding, and continued down to your stall, hoping that today would be a good day. The different teas that you’d prepared the night before rested in their containers, waiting for hungry eyes and watering mouths to request them and you sat there, eager to speak with anyone that viewed your stall as appealing, especially a certain Mandalorian who made his appearance every sun-down. 

He had his own blend, one that you’d created by accident, but that he’d enjoyed so much, you couldn’t help but make sure you always had some on hand. The sun had already started to set, the pink and orange hues covering everything around you, as you started to pack your stall- it had been another slow day.

“I hope I’m not too late,” your Mandalorian’s sudden appearance had caught you by surprise, something that happened often.

You smiled softly at the beskar covered man in front of you, “No, you are right on time actually.”

After giving him his tea bag, you finished packing up everything you’d need and started your trek home, accompanied by Mando, “Was your day good?”

A slight tilt of his head and a deep sigh escaping his lips told you that it was anything but, and you couldn’t help but agree, “Me too.”

As the two of you arrived at your door, you watched to see if Mando would follow you inside. Recently, you had gotten the feeling that things were changing between the two of you, and you wanted to tell him how you felt but there was another thing on your mind that you knew needed to be said first.

“Mando,” you whispered, waiting for the iconic tilt that told you he was listening, “I’m leaving Navarro.”

The second those three words left your lips, Din’s hold on the box in his hands released and he almost dropped it before catching it- and himself, “What?”

One word. That was all you got out of him, but what else could you expect.

You looked down at your twitching hands, wondering how you could explain everything to him. How much you loved him, cared for him, and also put him in danger. You knew he had a dangerous profession, but one thing was being a bounty hunter, and another thing was being on the run from the Empire.

“Something’s come up,” those three words told him everything he needed to know. You were hiding something from him and he didn’t like it, but watching your trembling figure next to him, made him wonder why you were lying. You’d always been so talkative, so open, so kind, so- he’d even considered giving you his name tonight, but now he wasn’t so sure.

Your eyes looked at everything but him, “I have to leave. I was won-” you looked down at your feet and took a deep breath in, “Can you stay here tonight, please?”

A deep sigh came from his helmet, “No, I’m sorry.”

You shook your head as a watery chuckle escaped your lips, “It’s okay, don’t apologize Mando-” “Din. Call me Din, please.”

“It’s okay… Din.”

 You hadn’t realized that you were projecting this last memory of your Mandalorian until you felt the child shift in your hands. Looking down you realized he wanted to share something with you. Suddenly, you were bombarded with different images of his Mandalorian as if he were trying to send you a message, “Do you think he’s my Mandalorian?”

As you asked that very question out loud, Din had caught sight of you and the child in your arms. He almost hadn’t recognized you, and if it weren’t for the fact that you held his son in your arms he would have easily skipped over you in his search for Grogu. What a coincidence that the one time he loses Grogu during a fight with some other bounty hunters, it is in the very town you are in.

Din had been so consumed by your appearance, he hadn’t realized the way Grogu had pointed you towards him until you were standing there as clear as day.

“Y/N?” He hadn’t realized he had even whispered your name, still in awe of seeing you after years of separation. It was sweet on his lips, like honey, and he wanted nothing more to drop on his knees and bask in your presence. 

Of course, you hadn’t been sure that the child in your arms was correct until you heard your name escape the helmet in front of you. Your eyes watered as you finally accepted that the child was very much right, “Din?”

Tears ran down your cheeks as you took Din in, “It really is you.”

You felt the child move around in your arms and you suddenly remembered what it is that led you to him, “I take it he is yours.”

Din nodded his head quickly in agreement as he grabbed Grogu from your arms, “Could-” there was a pause, “Would you like to come with me to my ship? We can talk more there.”

You gleefully nodded, even though the tears continued to fall, as you motioned for Din to lead the way.

Soon you found yourself in the comfort of the Razor Crest, and even though you had only been on it once before, it felt more like home then the planet you were currently residing in.

After settling down in the cockpit you found yourself telling Din everything, not only why you left but how you ended up in Navarro in the first place to how you ended up standing before him with Grogu in your arms. While he has hurt that you had never told him any of this before, he understood, in a way you’d wanted to make sure he’d stay safe and that could only be for certain if he didn’t know.

“Oh, cyar’ika,” Din’s hand hovered over your cheek waiting for you to give him permission to touch you in a way he had never done before, “I missed you.”

The tears returned as did the memories of your time right after leaving him, “I missed you too, Din.”

Somehow Din allowed you to come closer and you soon curled up into his chest, your head finding comfort in the sliver of skin open to the air around you, “I don’t want to leave you Din, ever again.”

Din seemed to grunt something at your words and whispered, “Then don’t.”

You brought yourself even closer to Din, which you didn’t believe was quite possible, and whispered a simple ok as you finally let your mind come to terms with the fact that you had been reunited with your Mandalorian, your Din.

--

tags: @booksmusicteaandanimals​ @lathyrusodorxtus​ @thewayofthemandalorian​ @maybege​ @pikemoreno​ @dindjarindiaries​ @dindjarinscape​ @littlemisspascal​ @bitchin-beskar​ @captn-andor

[boltwrites]

Misfits - Chapter 3

Fandom: Star Wars - Clone Wars / The Bad Batch Pairing: The Bad Batch / Reader (Polyamorous) Rating: M (Rating May Change) Tags: Polyamorous Relationship, Force-Sensitive Reader, Slow Burn

Work Summary: After a year working with the 501st, you've been assigned a new post - Clone Force 99, aka the Bad Batch. You're concerned about the transition - you found it hard enough to fit in with the 501st, and now you had to acclimate to an entirely new squad. As it turns out, the Bad Batch is very accommodating.

Chapter Summary: Hunter insists that you nap on the way to Kamino.

read it on ao3 | start from ch 1 | or read more below

“Get some sleep. It’ll be a while until we reach Kamino.”

Hunter gestured towards a bunk that you could tell was well used. You worried the inside of your lip, considering the offer.

This ship was a far cry from the accommodations you were used to. It reminded you more of quarters you once shared with a pirate crew – cramped, but cozy.

You didn’t mind it, per say… but it wasn’t what you were used to. On the Resolute, you had your own quarters, completely separate from the rest of the clones. It had been both a blessing and a curse – it afforded you some privacy, being the only female Captain, and working with a majority of clones who had never experienced such direct contact with a woman. It was honestly tiring dealing with their staring – which wasn’t even a majority sexual, honestly. They were just curious about you, and while you didn’t blame them, that didn’t mean you wanted eyes on you while you were just trying to get some rest.

The Bad Batch didn’t seem to be quite as bad as the 501st, and you suspected that perhaps because they were a smaller, elite squad, they had encountered women in different environments than just a club full of clone chasers like 79’s. You could feel Wrecker’s eyes on you half the time, and his curiosity reminded you the most of the 501st’s own sneaking glancing. You also caught Tech looking a few times as you set your meagre belongings in the cargo area – he had seemed flustered and turned away, datapad in hand. You had no idea what his fascination with you was, but you assumed you would find out soon enough. It was almost cute seeing how you flustered him, if only because your own men – or, former men – had grown so used to your presence that they had gotten harder to fluster.

But then, there was Hunter and Echo, who both reminded you of Rex. Rex hadn’t been bothered with your gender if only because he had worked so much with Ahsoka the years prior. You didn’t know who Hunter had worked with that made him so comfortable with you, nor Echo, but you were glad that at least your gender wasn’t causing any more awkward tension than it should. You felt strange enough barging into Hunter’s team, where you technically outranked him as a Captain, but knew about as much as a shiny when it came to this squad.

At least everyone was better than Crosshair, who avoided you like a bad smell. He obviously had some kind of a stick up his ass.

But that was besides the point – the real question was: did you trust these men enough to sleep out in the open like this? You didn’t think they would hurt you, or anything quite so dangerous, but you did value your privacy. And it seemed strange to sleep in their communal space while you still felt like an outsider. That was far too… intimate for your liking.

“I’m fine,” you tried to respond to Hunter’s offer with a polite smile and a nod. You didn’t want your refusal to read as rude – you just didn’t want to open yourself up to something so intimate as sleeping in another clone’s bed, even if it was simply a matter of convenience. You didn’t doubt that the clones crashed in whichever bunk was available – the blankets on the bottom two looked more worn than the top, which alluded to the fact that they shared these.

You denied the offer, even though you were tired. You hadn’t slept since the Resolute had returned to Coruscant, and the fatigue was wearing on you. But you were a force sensitive. You could draw energy that way, you hoped. And maybe with an extra cup of caf from the small galley on the ship.

Hunter frowned at you. It wasn’t that he was outright offended by your refusal – he looked exasperated instead.

“I know you’re tired. Rest. We don’t have private rooms like on the star cruisers you’re used to, but it’s safe.”

Your eyes widened, and you shook your head. “No, I- I didn’t mean-“

“I know. I know we don’t have much,” Hunter shrugged, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms. “But it’s what we’ve got. Took Echo some time to get used to. I don’t blame you.”

You sighed, remembering Echo. Hunter’s looking at you and seeing Echo – another 501st member adjusting to a new place. And, he’s right, to an extent. Maybe you’re overthinking things. The Bad Batch has been nothing but kind to you so far.

“I’m sorry,” you shook your head. “You’re right. It’s different from the 501st. Over there, I had a private Captain’s room. And here-“

“You’re right in it,” Hunter finished. You nodded, sighing. Hunter nodded at you, understanding, before he continued.

“Ain’t no use in separation here. Each member here was selected for a purpose, and each is an expert in that field. I’m a superior in name only – I’m more like a coordinator, if I’m completely honest,” Hunter admitted, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

“So, you guys operate more like pirates or something than an actual military unit?” you asked, with a raised eyebrow and a little quirk of a smile. Hunter shrugged, making a little noncommittal noise.

“I’ve never worked with pirates, but maybe.”

You laughed, relaxing. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, taking a nap in the open. After all, you were going to be working with these men for the foreseeable future. You had to learn to trust them, and if there were any issues with boundaries, you would work it out. It would be fine, especially if the crew operated the way Hunter said they did – you understood that structure far more than you did military hierarchies of command.

“Thank you, Hunter,” you patted his shoulder gently, well aware of the armor that covered it. “If you don’t mind, I think I will take that nap. Maybe up there, though.”

You gestured to one of the top bunks, and Hunter even cracked a smile himself.

“High ground. Good choice.”

You shared a smile, shaking your head at him as he clapped you on the back and made his exit towards the cockpit.

His touch left you warm, even thought it was friendly, the sort of thing the clones took part in all the time. You kind of hated the way your cheeks flushed as you hopped on the bunk, untying your boots and kicking them to the floor, discarding your jacket and what little armor you had (shoulder plates and forearm guards, really) at the end of the bunk.

Not only was the Bad Batch different from the other clones in terms of their operation style – casual, bound by trust rather than duty – they were also different from other clones in certain physical aspects. Hunter’s hair, in particular, caught your eye far more often than it should in a professional sense, even as you tried to ignore it. And that little smile he just gave you –

No. No, you couldn’t do this. You had to work with Hunter, and if something happened between the two of you, you couldn’t count on the fact that you both would be able to remain professional.

You wrapped the blankets around you in a little cocoon as you tried to talk yourself down from all of this. It had been easier with the 501st. Those degrees of separation prevented you from forming those attachments. But here – this wasn’t a military structure. This was a team, a crew. You couldn’t get away from these men – for kark’s sake, they all shared these bunks.

The bunks, including the one you were occupying. They were homey – the blankets wrapped around you were plentiful. A couple were standard issue – you recognized the distinctive Republic insignia emblazoned on them. But some were clearly handmade. There were scraps of fabric entwined, one around another, weaving together to make a sturdy blanket. Another looked to be a quilt, hardy and thick, made to withstand the chill of space travel.

You were enveloped in them, completely cocooned, and you were already starting to warm up again despite the absence of your jacket. You tried to turn your brain off, for just a moment, and relax into the softness of the blankets, into the homey little bunk. The Bad Batch had obviously taken care to make their beds cozy and warm, and you appreciated it – it spoke to how they valued their space, their comfort. It was nice.

You started to drift off, and you couldn’t help but notice that even the blankets smelled nice. Not from a fresh wash, necessarily – no, it smelled more like it was pleasantly lived in. But didn’t it seem like the bottom bunks were the most used by the Batch?

Maybe this was Hunter’s bunk, you considered with a little smile, curling in on yourself. Hadn’t he mentioned the high ground? You imagined that a veteran officer like Hunter might care about things like that – about being able to get a jump on anyone trying to disturb his sleep. He would feel safer up here, like you did. The way this bunk was angled, there was a good view of the outside hatch, so Hunter would be able to see anyone trying to enter the ship.

Maybe it smelled like him, then. You could imagine him wrapped in these blankets too, maybe ones that thankful civilians gave him for his help.

You had told yourself you didn’t want to get attached, but as you drifted off into a light slumber, you couldn’t stop the visions that danced behind your eyes – Hunter in the bunk with you, his broad chest pressed to your back, his arms wrapped around your waist. If he snuggled too close to your shoulder, his hair would tickle your jaw. Maybe he would tell you the stories of the blankets wrapped around the both of you – his fingers tracing over yours as you thumbed over the handmade details, as his low voice hummed in your ear.

You drifted to sleep thinking of him, the thrum of his voice, rough hands against yours. And if those thoughts spilled over into your dreams – that was only for you to know.

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

taglist (get added!)

@killtherandomness @pastelpanda19  @nothingadventured-nothinggained @lafy-taffy  @badbatch-simp24 @zazzysseoul @obiwansblog @tired-ninfa

[beskarberry]

Krayt’s Teeth

Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 3 (The Mandalorian x f!reader)

The sound of crashing and shouting was hot on your tail, the other hunters had followed you and were gaining fast. You saw a light rapidly approaching ahead of you, and the two of you burst out into the brilliant daylight to the worst possible place: a dead fucking end.

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 6.7k

Content warnings: Canon typical violence, killing in self defense, headcanon angst, FLUFF, sensory deprivation, body worship, oral sex (f receiving).

A/N: These are my headcanons regarding Mandalorian culture in terms of sex, I didn’t find much lore on it so whether it’s accurate or not idk but I like them and that’s all that matters! Enjoy~

<-Previous Next->

You could have slept forever, even on that horrible little cot you were so comfortable that you could have been out for days, but the only one on it was you. You did’t know when Mando got up from the tiny space you both shared through the night, or how he managed to get out from your tangled bodies without waking you up. You opened your eyes to tiny green baby hands tugging at your fingers. 

“Hey booger, is it time for breakfast? Where’s your papa?” You started to sit up, but the horrible sticky mess underneath you made you reluctant to move, a mix of passion and pain from the day before. “Yikes. I’m gonna run all his water out if I have to keep using the fresher. Come on, let’s get scrubbed up.” The baby gibbered excitedly at you, though you weren’t sure how much of what you said he actually understood. You scooped him into your arms without looking back at the sad little cot and all its stains. “You’re water proof, right?”

The ship’s engines were rumbling away, so you guessed tin man was up in the cockpit flying you towards your next bounty. Or Nevarro. You would have to find Mr. Mystery later, the grossness that was you had to be dealt with. Between you and the child your shower took forever, the two of you getting water and soap bubbles from top to bottom. You didn’t care. You had been on Tatooine for months without having a real shower, being consigned to the sonic freshers that vibrated the sand off of the moisture farmer’s bodies; and this was the second real shower you’d gotten to have in twice as many days. You spent a good deal of time trying to get your chatty friend to hold still long enough to be dried off, the little fart squealing with joy every time you went for him with the towel.

An ordeal later you were both fresh and presentable, but your host was still nowhere to be seen, though the ugly sheets had thankfully disappeared from view. The ship was quiet now, without the engine running you knew you had to be back on the ground, and you could hear a distinct hum of activity coming through the walls. Space port? He flew us into town? The thought was replaced immediately with a rich, savory smell coming through the air vents: FOOD! Your gut grumbled loud enough to resonate through the cabin and earn you a confused look from the baby. When was the last time you really ate? You’d been living on ration packs for the last couple of days. That was going to change right now.

“Ya hungry buddy? Me too! Maybe that’s where your dad is, hmm?” Grabbing your old backpack and hooking the baby under your arm you started punching buttons on the wall to get the door open, sending walls sliding and cabinets opening before you got one of the access ramps open. Bright double sunlight nearly blinded you, and on reflex you covered the baby’s giant googly eyes. It took a moment for your own to adjust to the radiant light of the Tatooine morning, and the smell of cooking food hit you like a ton of bricks, making your mouth water. As your eyes adjusted you were able to take in your surroundings: though it was bright outside you were parked low inside a maintenance bay, the walls of which soared high above you; littered with engine parts and humming with droid activity. Sound was the last input your hungry brain could process, but when it did you didn’t like what you heard. The sounds of an argument echoed around the hangar, high and shrill.

“I already told you, you can’t park here! You’re bad for business!”

“I just need to park here long enough to get supplies.”

“Well you’re gonna have to pay up, Mando! I’m not running a charity here! You got credits for supplies you got credits for parking! Up front this time!”

Oh no.

Of all the mechanics and docking hangars in Mos Eisley he had to pick this one. The fireball of a woman barely came up to your partner’s chest, but she made up for it with unbridled fury; and the giant cooked animal leg she was swinging around like a club between bites made her look even more formidable. She noticed you coming down the ramp and stopped grilling your comrade long enough to glare daggers through your skull.

“Oh NO! No nope nuh uh! You can turn right back around and get back on that ship, missy! I knew it! I knew you were bad for business, Mando! What’re you doing running around with her? I hope she’s your bounty because she’s your problem!”

“Peli.” Your words were cold as ice, but the squirming baby in your arms took all the malice out of your stance. He wiggled until you set him down, and he ran towards the mechanic with open arms.

“Baby! You can stay but your dad’s gotta take the mean lady somewhere else! She cheats at sabacc!”

“You lost fair and square, Peli! Try playing a better hand next time!”

“Ladies please!”  Mando cut through your bickering, holding his arms up between the two of you like he was trying to corner a pair of wild blurgs. “If I let the child stay with you for the day, will you let me park the Razor Crest here? Just for a couple hours?”

Peli bounced the child on her hip, offering him a bite of her breakfast. The baby squealed happily while he sank his little teeth into the mighty snack, though the size of it comically dwarfed his itty bitty hands. “I’ll tell you what, you let me keep him and then maybe I’ll let you park here in a week.” Mando cocked his helmet at her with disdain and she huffed loudly, “Well if you put it that way, I guess you can park here, but you gotta put five hundred credits down, and not a cent less!”

Mando reeled, stabbing his hands to his hips with indignation. “Five hund- absolutely not! What am I going to buy our-” You interrupted his tirade with a hand on his shoulder, waving a slew of credits in front of his eyes. Peli snatched them out of your hand, fanning them out like cards to count them.

“Who’d you cheat these outta?”

“Don’t worry about it.” You leaned casually against your metal man, eyeing Peli with a smug look on your face. “Let’s go, Mando. Bye baby green bean, have fun with Auntie Cheats-at-Sabacc!” You spun him around by the hand and dragged him towards the exit, ignoring the insults being slung at your back. “We are getting breakfast and that’s final!”

The Mandalorian allowed you to pull him along a few feet before grinding his heels into the sand, shaking his head. “You have to stay here.”

Now it was your turn for sassy head tilts. “I just paid for your parking, buckethead, that makes me in charge and I’m hungry! I’ll buy you breakfast too if you want.” He didn’t budge, fixing you with that intense stare of his and grabbing you by the shoulders.

“You are still being hunted. Mos Eisley isn’t safe for you.”

Ah.

You knew you could look after yourself, and he himself had compared you to a ferocious rancor just yesterday. You groaned loudly, “Shit balls of hell. But dad, I’m huuunngry!” The man bristled at your paternal harassment, sighing heavily and letting his helmeted head fall to the side like the world was ending. He glanced around the hangar exit, his shiny beskar snapping to each object of interest until he located a protocol droid corpse that was missing everything from the waist down. He strode over to it and held it down with one boot, yanking it by the head until it popped off. He began prying the droid’s vocorder apart at the mouth, pulling it wide until the droids face plate broke off with a snap! Tossing the rest of the logic processing unit to the ground, he held the face plate up to the light, inspecting the clarity of its photo receptor casings. He bent back down to the junk pile and fished out a stray wire to thread through the ruined audio processors, then tossed the finished creation to you.

“Put that on.”

You turned the makeshift mask over in your hands to check for sharp edges before you pressed it to your face. The bug eyes on the front were dirty, but you could see well enough. Before you could clean them more thoroughly you felt the weight of fabric on your head, his cloak now worn as your own. The thought of how you must look made you giggle. “You make me take my clothes off, now you want me to put clothes on. It never ends with you, Mando. Next you’ll be forging me beskar. Now can we eat something, please?” Without a word the armored man turned on his heel and walked out the hangar exit. I’ll take that as a yes.

Mos Eisley buzzed with life, people and animals and things you couldn’t explain made their way up and down the bustling streets. The smell of food led you to a vendor selling something that could have been a root vegetable, covered in herbs and spices and grilled to perfection. You couldn't wait, all thoughts of self-preservation went out the window as you hauled ass to the stand, waving two fingers in the air. When you had both of your prizes in hand you stuffed the savory veggie under your mask, sighing contentedly at the taste of real honest-to-Maker food. “Hey tin man, I hope you like... whatever this-” You turned to offer your partner something to eat, but he had disappeared from the crowd. “Alright... more for me.”

Taking a newspaper from the vendor you wrapped the extra snack up tight and threw it in your pack for later, continuing to chow down on your own. You would find Mando eventually, and you had credits to spend. You had held onto your hush-money for months to avoid suspicion, but now it was burning a hole in your pocket. Wandering the streets of Mos Eisley from merchant to merchant you began accumulating a small hoard of supplies, ranging from bacta to hand tools, and food. Whatever you could get your hands on that would survive hyperspace when you inevitably left this fucking dirtball for good; though you still weren’t convinced that you wouldn’t be making that flight in carbonite. You picked out new clothes and underwear, a much-needed bedroll, and some soft bantha-wool blankets. Something further down the marketplace caught your eye, and you made your way to the fancier items that glittered in the double daylight. You didn’t wear jewelry yourself, a poor choice of attire for a hunter, but the way the trinkets caught the light still made you wistful. Your hidden eyes danced over the glittering treasures; jewels and geodes that had been found deep in the sands and polished to a radiant shine.

You spotted something opalescent at the end of one table and found a pair of krayt teeth, each about the size of your palm. They had been sanded to a smooth, flat finish and carved with intricate desert patterns. The backs of them had tiny fittings that could be sewn on as buttons, or pulled off to reveal magnets. Something about their shape seemed familiar, though you couldn’t imagine why in that moment. You purchased the unique pieces anyway, something to remind you that even the harshest of places could hold hidden beauty. After a while you had so much junk piled in your arms that you could barely see over it, and tin man was nowhere to be found. You spotted a courier droid and paid for it to deliver your treasures back to Hanger 3-5, though you kept the pricey teeth in your pockets. With your arms free you started looking for your missing comrade.

The streets were busy with people, you would have to get somewhere out of the way in order to scan the crowds. Your eyes went from shimmer to shimmer, looking for his reflective chrome dome. “Big jerk,” you mused to yourself “‘Mos Eisley’s not saaafe...’ If he’s so worried then where the hell is he? Bah!” The scratched-up photoreceptor casings of your mask made it a challenge to see through the crowd, and you took a moment to adjust the iris apertures so you wouldn’t have to keep squinting into the double sunshine when you felt a hand on your back. Finally. “Mando, where have you-”

“Mando? Whos’sis man-do? Nah sssweetheart, I think you got me confused wi’ sssomeone elssse.” The slithering voice in your ear made your blood run cold. Not Mando! You rocketed your elbow backwards, connecting with the gut of the stranger on your back with an -oof! The hand let go long enough for you to make a run for it, and you tore off down the streets of the busy spaceport, smashing into bystanders in your wake. You cast a quick look behind you to see a large reptilian body flying after you, brownish scales catching the reflection of the noonday suns. Though you had your blaster, the risk of hitting a civilian was too great, so running would have to do. You were thankful for the courier droid that had freed your hands just minutes before as you barreled down the busy streets.

Market stalls flew past you, your boots kicking up sand and dust. The mask on your face, as dirty as it was, kept the debris from your eyes as you raced through the sunburnt city. You had to lose this fucker and fast. You turned down an alley, left, right, another right, leaping over supply crates and low fences like a lothcat. You turned to see if you had lost your chaser, breath heaving and heart pounding. Behind you was clear, but you took your eyes off your path for just a second too long, and were taken by surprise when a heavy weight fell on you from above.

The Trandoshan had gone over the low sandstone roofs, chasing you easily through the alleyways of Mos Eisley while you were none the wiser. He pinned you under him quickly, ripping your blaster off your hip and pointing your own barrel in your face. “Tha’ss enough, princesss! Nice n’ quietlike now. You gonna make me a pretty penny you are.” The lizard’s words dripped with metaphorical venom, though you were sure by the look of those fangs that real venom was probably right behind. “Ahm gonna cart yer arse right back to th’ Guild’n I’ll become th’ most famous hunter in th’ galax -urk!”  With a sickening gag the hunter above you grew a shiny new fang in the back of his throat before falling down dead on top of you, a vibroblade protruding from back of his skull.

“Took you long enough!” You hollered at your chrome companion, who was stepping forward to kick the carcass off of you. “Where the fuck have you been? Getting your rifle polished?” He pulled you to your feet, handing you your blaster while readjusting the mask on your face. You swatted at his fussing hands, but when you looked at him you were shocked to see not one but three blinking bounty fobs dangling from his belt. On the ground by the dead lizard was a fourth, flashing rapidly in the sand.

“I told you you weren’t safe! We need to leave right now.”  You were barely able to grab the remaining bounty fob while you were being tugged away by your allied hunter. He had a death grip on your hand, pulling you along behind him towards what you hoped was the docking hangar. You would have to cross the main street to get there, and as the pair of you plowed across the dusty, busy road there came shouts from either side. More hunters, fucking Guild! You didn’t have a single second to assess them before you were lead through an alley on the other side of the street. These were darker than the ones you had run through on the west side of town, and shady bodies moved quickly out of the way of your living locomotive.

At the end of a narrow alley you both burst through a door leading into an abandoned building. The darkness was almost worse than the blinding sunlight, you would need time for your eyes to adjust but the Mandalorian had enough sensory detection equipment that he ghosted through the ruinous building with ease; never once letting go of your hand as you tripped and stumbled through the dark. The sound of crashing and shouting was hot on your tail, the other hunters had followed you and were gaining fast. You saw a light rapidly approaching ahead, and the two of you burst out into the brilliant daylight to the worst possible place: a dead fucking end.

“There! Get down!” Mando pointed at a pile of rubble, probably big enough to hide behind, but that’s not how you handled business.

“Fuck you! I’m not going down without a fight!” You pulled your blaster out and aimed at the incoming assailants. He growled at you and stepped closer, putting his body in between you and the door. The reptilian hunters burst from the darkness of the warehouse, firing rapid shots of blaster charges that bounced off of Mando’s beskar. You fired over his protective arm, taking out the first one and tripping up the second, who fell over his cohorts limp body. Mando took shot after shot to the chest, reeling with each impact. His other arm cocked back and shot out, sending a wall of fire into the last of the Guild’s hired guns.

Both of you were panting, shaking and sweating from flying through Mos Eisley, but the sound of blaster fire would draw attention and you knew there was no time to waste. You stepped over the incinerated corpse, making sure the fob it carried was melted, the second body still squirmed in the dirt, and you weren’t going to let it get a second chance, firing your blaster through it’s scaly skull. You picked the remaining two fobs and stuffed them in your pockets, making a run for it back through the building with Mando right behind, the blaze of his flamethrower lighting your way.

You took a different door out of the building and were relieved to see the words ‘HANGAR 3-5′ painted in bright blue Basic straight ahead. You skittered through the entrance, rounding the corner and dropping down behind the edges of the hangar doorway. Mando did the same on the other side, both of you pointing your blasters back towards Mos Eisley’s dark heart. Bootsteps behind you made you snap around, and you nearly shot your mechanically inclined host.

“You kids have fun out there?” Peli stood over where you were hunched, and you lowered your blaster to the ground. At her feet your little buddy was holding onto her pant leg, making big puppy dog eyes at you. You looked over to Mando to make sure there weren’t any more coming, but he still held his blaster out ahead. After a few tense seconds he lowered it down until it was back in its’ holster, then pulled himself to his feet.

“We can’t stay any longer, we’re putting you in danger. Time to go, kiddo.” His charred beskar still shimmered when he bent down to pick up his adopted son, who chirped with delight. “Thank you for watching him.”

“He can stay any time! Oh and thanks for all the snacks you made that droid bring me!” Peli called after the three of you as your party quickly boarded the Razor, making you turn around and stick your tongue out at her. She happily flipped you off and started closing the ground entrance to the bay, letting you board the ship uninterrupted. Fortunately, the courier droid’s delivery had made it to the ship, though you couldn't help but notice a few of your most carefully picked snacks had been taken as collateral. Fucking Peli. As much as she infuriated you, there wasn’t another person on all of Tatooine that you would rather play sabacc with.

The old rust bucket rumbled to life, taking off into the midafternoon sky and pointed towards the stars. Finally! Bye motherfucker. The hazy atmosphere of the outer rim planet fell away below you until the light of the bright yellow world illuminated the Crest’s stern. The pre-Imperial scrapheap started howling with noise, and you were almost thrown to the deck when it blasted into the safety of hyper space.

Your heart was still racing and you struggled to catch your breath. Once you had yourself in order you started busying yourself with putting the supplies away, filling the food larder to capacity. The child was contentedly telling you about his day with his auntie in his cute baby gibberish, and you picked him up off the ground to give him a much needed hug, pushing your stolen identity onto the top of your head to give him kisses. You almost wanted to ignore the sound of heavy armored boots hitting the floor panel under the ladder, their wearer opting to jump down from the cockpit rather than climb. You could feel the fury coming off of him as he stalked over to where you were sorting your treasures.

“You could have been hurt! I knew it was a bad idea to let you go wandering around, even with your face covered. What if they’d caught you? I picked three of them off before you even saw one!”

“I had it under control, Mando! I’m not some princess that needs you coming to her rescue at every sign of a struggle. And you don’t get to let me do anything, you don’t own me!” The man under your scrutiny paced the cabin on stiff legs with his hands on his hips, helmet snapping with rage.

“I know you can handle yourself, but I need to protect you.” He said with a huff, “And that lizard was... he had you pinned down, had his filthy, scaly claws on you... Nobody should touch you like that! What if.. what if he... I- I- didn’t like that he was...” Listening to the sound of the gears jamming in his head made you realize the ridiculous thing he was trying to say.

“Are you.. Mando are you jealous?”

“No! I- I’m.. Cyar’ika I... ”

Oh no, you don’t get to be cute right now. “I don’t know what that means, Mando! What is that, some kind of sexy little pet name you use on all the girls you take underneath of you?”

“NO! I didn’t- I would nev- I’ve never had... There’s never been- no!” Oh how you wished you could see his face, watching him flail trying to defend himself from your accusation, he was probably white as a sheet under all that armor.

“Never what, Mandalorian?”

“I’ve never had anyone in this ship before!” The Mandalorian’s confession lost steam halfway through as embarrassment and fear crept into his throat, threatening to choke him with his own secrets.

“Wait.. wait wait. Never? You’ve never had anyone in this ship or...” You started approaching him, analyzing his visor for hints of meaning. “Or you’ve never had anyone at all?” The Mandalorian stopped his pacing, but his shoulders looked like they were carrying the weight of the galaxy. His silence told you everything, and the last piece of his puzzle fell into place. “Mando...was I your first?”

“Y-yes.” His visor tilted up to you, hands fidgeting at his sides. His voice was faint and sheepish, a stark contrast to the thunderstorm you were arguing with a moment ago.  Your eyes were full of questions, all racing through your mind so quickly none of them made it to your mouth. The metal man answered them all for you in one singular motion, raising his fist to knock a couple times against his beskar helmet. His creed.

“So, what, you guys aren’t allowed to have sex?”

He sighed his heavy, trademarked sigh and plopped down on the nearest supply crate with a defeated thud, cradling his head in his hands. “No it’s not that. Not... not exactly. In Mando’a the word we use is me'dinuir. It means ‘to give’, specifically to give yourself to another. And... when you give yourself away to someone-“ He turned the black gloss of his single eye up to you, “-you belong to them. That is The Way.”

The weight of his words made your blood cold. He was jealous, but not just because that other hunter had put his scaly hands on you. Everything about his attitude around you suddenly made sense, the way he had looked at you when you were presenting yourself to him that first day, why he never threw you in carbonite when he probably should have, and how he had stayed with you through the night after you nearly died hunting his bounty. His mysterious way of life decreed that giving his body to you meant that he had also given you his soul, and that made you just as important to protect as his foundling.

Mando reached out to pat the fuzzy green head of the baby you were still holding, who gibbered sleepily up at his armor plated papa. “I’m sorry to put that on you, and I’m sorry for how I acted. You’re not my bounty anymore, and I shouldn’t try to control you. I understand if you don’t want to continue with me to the next bounty. You can take whatever you want from the armory when we land next. I’m.. I’m so sorry.” The monolithic man looked so tiny now, sitting on the edge of the crate with his shoulders hunched. He reached his arms out to take his infant son from you, hugging him to his blast-burnt chest and smoothing his massive ears. "I didn’t get to thank you for washing him earlier, he smells really good.”

You desperately needed to know more, though the sight of him fawning over his sleepy son made your heart swell. “I kinda got the feeling that you were rusty when we met, but that was actually your first time? And what does that mean ‘you belong to them’? How can you belong to me? I don’t even know your name.”

"It means that I’m now sworn to protect the one that carries my soul. I’m not asking you to do the same, you’re not Mandalorian.”

His words made you feel sick, ashamed that you had taken something so sacred from him without a second thought, but how could you have known? He could have stopped at any time, you were the one in cuffs that day, not him. No, out of trillions and trillions of sentient beings in the galaxy he chose to give himself to you, knowing full well what his heritage decreed. Why you? Arms crossed, you dug deeper. “You’ve never seen another naked body than your own?”

He shook his head. “Just... holo-vids...”

You were going to have to ask him about those later. “Nothing? You’ve at least kissed someone before though, right?”

“Kissed?”

Maker fucking help you. “Yeah you know, kissing? The thing you do with your... oh, right." You reached up and tapped him twice on the beskar. “You need your face to do it.”

He cocked his helmet at you. “Can you show me?”

The innocence of his question made you melt. Fuck you, tin can, you’re not supposed to be cute when you’re in trouble. You reached your hand out, demanding he give you his, and shyly he obeyed. You pulled his hand to your lips, unsure of how much he could actually feel through his thick leather gloves. You pressed his hand to your lips and watched his whole body snap straight. “Kiss, like that.”

He was staring at his hand like he’d never seen it before, and after a moment he pulled your locked fingers to his head, tapping his forehead with the back of your hand. “Kov’nynir, But we do it with our helmets.”  At this rate you’ll be speaking Mando’a in no time. He still held your hand gently, running his thumb over your fingers. “I think I like your way better. Could... Could you do that again?”

So polite, maybe having him stuck with you wouldn’t be so bad. You pulled his hand back to you, giving him another soft kiss on the side of his thumb, and you heard the sound of his breath catching in his modulator. Your lips pressed to each of his knuckles, and then you turned his wrist to kiss his palm. “How’s that?”

“That’s amazing.”

“You like that? Watch this.” Addressing the bantha in the room would have to wait. You tugged his glove off, revealing the warm bronze skin underneath and kissed him again. The hitched breaths coming out of his modulator were honey to your ears, and you turned his wrist over to kiss his bare palm again, hunting for more sweet sounds. His body was so stiff, so tightly wound you thought he might snap. “Are you ok? Do I need to stop?”

“I- I- want to... Can... Can I try?” You nodded, your heart jumping to your throat at the thought of him removing his helmet in front of you, but instead he gently reached up to the busted droid face you still wore on your head. With a twist of a knob the armatures inside of the eye casings coiled shut, and when he slid the mask down into place you were thrown into total darkness. “Can you see?” You shook your head. “Promise?”

You sighed, long and frustrated. “I promise, dark as a sarlacc’s backside.” You were met with only silence. Then, after what felt like an eternity you heard the sliding sound of metal as the child’s pram shield slid closed, then the shuffle of armor being removed, and lastly the dull thunk of something heavy being set down on the crates. His hand found yours again, and he pressed his lips against your skin. They were hotter than you were expecting, and soft, almost plush. You understood right away why he was so rigid when you were doing the same, it was amazing. Gentle kisses made their way over the back of your hand and made heat flood through your veins. He moved slowly over each joint, following the same pattern you had shown him, then turned your hand over and kissed at your fingertips. Something fuzzy brushed along with his lips, and you imagined that he might have a mustache. The shivers that crept their way up from your captured hand knocked all the strangeness of your conversation out of your mind, but when he reached your wrist he stopped.

“Where else do you kiss at?” You nearly fainted at the sound of his unfiltered voice, a rich baritone that dripped with dark intentions and stole all the words from your mouth. You could only point with your other hand at the forearm attached to the hand he held. Again you felt his lips on your wrist, then slowly, inch by agonizing inch he made his way up your arm, each kiss slower than the last until your toes were curling in their boots. When he reached the edge of the tunic’s sleeve that hung at your elbow he paused again. “Where else?”

“Everywhere.”  Your tormentor hummed at your consenting words and let go of your hand to run his palms down your clothed thighs. When he reached your knees he pulled on their joints, bidding you to bring your legs up over his lap. When you were seated on him he resumed his trek up your arm, kissing at the crease of your elbow and then upwards over your tunic until he reached your shoulder. When he got to your neck you almost buckled over, but his hands were at your back in an instant, wrapping heavily around your waist. Your own hands made their way to the nape of his neck, and your fingers found the edge of his hairline that you had felt before. To your delight you felt that the tousled curls went all the way up, and you tangled your fingers in them, exploring their softness while he explored you.

His journey led him up your neck to the base of your jaw where he nipped gently at the sensitive skin like you had done to him last night, sending a fresh wave of goosebumps from your head to your toes. When his nose bumped the edge of your mask you were suddenly aware of how silly you might look with your big bug eyes. “Can I take this thing off?” you asked in a whisper. “I won’t look.”

“I have a better Idea. Hold on tight.” You dug your hands into his shoulders and felt his arms wrap under your legs as he stood up, lifting you with such ease that you wondered if he felt your weight at all. His boots echoed through the cabin until he stopped at the other end. You hung on for dear life while he climbed the ladder with you still wrapped around his front. When you both reached the top you let yourself unwind from him and scooted on your butt over the floor, listening to the sound of him pulling himself all the way up. You remained seated as your host fussed around the flight deck, the noise of buttons pressing and switches being thrown the only input to your deprived senses.

You were only unattended for a moment, then his hands found your waist, fishing for the edge of your shirt. The tunic was pulled up and over your head, taking your mask with it, and you squeezed your eyes shut to protect his modesty; unsure of what his unconventional oath to you included in the fine print. Your diligence was rewarded with a kiss on your forehead, then down to kiss both of your closed eyes, and then lastly to your lips. The searing heat of his mouth on yours threatened to throw your eyes open, but when they fluttered all you saw was darkness. The transperisteel’s blast shielding had been closed, and the only light in the cockpit came from a handful of illuminated buttons on the dash.

He was lying over top of you on the metal floor, one arm wrapped under your neck for support. The cold decking under you was uncomfortable, but you couldn’t be bothered to care, letting yourself be consumed by his kisses and becoming drunk on the scent of leather and adrenaline. The soft fuzz of his facial hair tickled slightly as he pressed into your lips, and you couldn’t help but smile. Your hands went to his face, running your thumbs over his cheeks and feeling what you weren’t allowed to see. His face was scruffy but not unkempt, and the bristles went all the way from his jaw up to the bottom of the defined nose that bumped against your own. You felt the creases on the corners of his eyes, wishing you could see his smile lines and all the stories they would tell.

You kissed him back, letting your tongue glide over his plush lips and making him inhale sharply. You licked into him again, and this time you were met with his tongue as well, just the faintest touch of its tip. He hummed in your mouth, and the sound of him so close made your belly pool with heat and your kisses bolder, sending your tongue deeper into his mouth until he was almost vibrating with the sensation of you exploring something as forbidden as his human body. He mirrored you as best he could, rolling the smooth muscle over your lips and the edges of your teeth until you were both lost in each other’s taste. He pushed his forehead against yours, pulling his mouth away with frantic breaths that spread fire over your skin. “Everywhere?”

You pushed your lips against his again, giving him an ambitions ‘Mmhmm’ as an answer. His growl made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you realized where his goal was. He kissed and nipped his way down your throat, letting his tongue glide over your skin. He made his way to your breast, taking its’ tender tip between his teeth and making you gasp. He sucked at it gently, rolling his tongue around it while it grew harder for his efforts. The hand not under you groped at your free breast so it wouldn’t be ignored.

"Beep!”

An urgent chime echoed in the tiny space, the hyperdrive indicator was flashing its countdown warning: 10 minutes remain.

The Mandalorian’s growl on your breast made your blood turn to ice and your core flush with heat at the same time. He wanted to devour you, taste every single inch of your exposed skin, but time was not on your side; and he became a man on a mission to prove himself worthy of you. Bristles dragged over your skin as he slid down your belly until he hit the edge of your pants. They were yanked off so fast you briefly worried about the krayt teeth that were still in their pockets, but you didn’t have long to think before Mando was poised over the apex of your thighs, kissing at each leg to make his intentions known. Those must be some good holo-vids you’re watching, tinman. You let him push your legs apart with his chin, receiving a soft kiss on each one once they were far enough apart for him to stuff his face in between.

Your back arched, hard, followed by the most ragged moan you‘d ever heard escape your throat. The grip on your thighs kept you in place as he lapped at your clit, sucking and teasing in an experimental way. His inexperience didn’t seem to matter, his hunger for you fueling his efforts and making you squirm in delight. Your hands sought desperately for something to grab onto to keep yourself grounded, finding his lovely curls to bury your fingers in deep. It was all you could do to hold on for dear life, tangling in his hair and struggling to breathe as he worked you into a frenzy.

The noises coming from below your waist were heavenly, wet and greedy in between his hums of contentment. It took you a while to realize they weren’t hums at all, but alien words of worship being prayed at your sinful altar; but the blood pounding in your ears and the gasps from your throat were too loud for you to hear his devotion.

“Beep beep!”  Five minutes remain. Fuck.

The Mandalorian’s efforts doubled, running his tongue almost too quickly in his attempt to eat you alive. You let your hips grind into his mouth, begging him to bring you your release, and it wasn’t long before he succeeded. Stars flashed behind your eyes as you came into his hot open mouth, but he refused to leave until he had drank his fill of you. Eventually he pulled his face away from your spent heat with agonizing slowness, as if he would rather drown than address the impending drop from hyperspace. He kissed at your shaky thighs, your soft belly, and each breast before pressing his lips into your panting mouth, pushing the taste of you onto your own tongue. His breath was ragged, and you could feel the sweat of his brow where it was pushed against your face. 

He lifted away from you, and the weight of the handmade mask was draped over your face, making you groan with the displeasure of your passion being cut short. However, once it was in place, it was almost immediately pushed under by strong fingers to lift its edge, and you were given one last kiss to swear his promise of return to you.

“Din. My name is Din.”

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[gendercensus]

On plural inclusivity and "plural they"

In the Gender Census feedback box and elsewhere I have frequently been asked:

to make the annual Gender Census survey more inclusive of plural participants, and

to add "plural they" to the checkbox pronouns list alongside "singular they" in order to be inclusive of plural participants.

It's a rambling topic, so I'll address them in sections in that order.

~

INCLUSIVITY RE: PLURAL PARTICIPANTS

I've been inviting plural people to take part in a short survey about the Gender Census, asking questions that help me get a feel for the issues involved and asking about whether people feel included in the survey (and why or why not). At the time of writing there have been 139 responses, I will leave it open for ongoing feedback, and I'm unlikely to be publishing the spreadsheet of results in full because the responses are off-topic and very personal. However, I will refer to some individual responses as well as my personal experience discussing inclusion with plural systems.

Here's a graph based on the responses so far:

I'm asking for direct feedback about this issue because over the past few years plural folks have been one of the more consistently vocal groups in the feedback box of the survey and elsewhere, which would usually be fine, but I've been finding it very overwhelming and confusing. I think that's because the advice/demands/questions have been unusually inconsistent, often to the point of being in direct opposition to each other, and the result is that I have no idea what to do.

Before now, most plural people have understood that it's quite a nuanced issue. When asked I would explain that if they felt that filling it in once for the whole system made more sense they should do that, and if individual system members felt strongly that they should participate alone then they could do so.

This year it got to the point where I had to make a decision and write unambiguous, easy-to-follow guidance about how plural people should fill in the survey, because I had one system submitting dozens of responses and giving the exact same three points of feedback, paraphrased, over and over - making it look like many unconnected people felt strongly about these particular issues, when in reality it was all this one system. I decided that, to be as fair as possible, plural people should fill in the survey once per body.

When I posted about the "once per body" policy on social media I received very little direct feedback, which leaves me in the position of not knowing whether that's because I did it right and you have no complaints or because you've all jumped ship! The statistics and comments from the plural feedback survey are very helpful in this regard:

It seems that plural participants, on the whole, are fairly understanding about it all, often supportive, and are still able to participate. ("Unknown" and "no strong feelings" together are a much higher proportion than I expected.) Some positive feedback included appreciation for the ability to select as many gender identities and pronouns as one wants. Common arguments against the policy include feeling that system members are not treated as people in their own right, which is understandable; the Gender Census is designed to present practicable data about nonbinary people for use within a system that assigns one identity per body, socially and bureaucratically. A "once per body" policy makes sense when prioritising nonbinary people, but adds to the list of crap that only plural people have to struggle through when they're not the main focus of the research.

I was surprised that only a couple of people pointed out that some systems have amnesia between members, and so some systems may participate more than once per body unintentionally. (I understand that this is unavoidable, and I certainly wouldn't be upset about it. Sometimes non-plural people participate more than once by accident, too! On the scale we're talking about, I'm unlikely to even notice it happening.)

Back when I first started to get requests to make the Gender Census more plural-inclusive, my first move was to ask people what exactly they felt excluded by. Responses to this have been continuously nebulous, to the extent that I don't think I have ever made any design changes to the annual survey at all as a result. I also asked what they would do to improve the survey and help them to feel included, but this has yielded very few viable ideas for how to move forward, just because so many of the ideas that people suggest are mutually exclusive.

As an example, I spoke to one member of a system who expressed, understandably, that their experience of themselves as plural inextricably affected their experience of their gender(s), and after some discussion they concluded that the two were so intertwined that it made the most sense for it to be included in the identity question, e.g. a checkbox called "plural" alongside nonbinary, genderqueer, trans, etc. I explained that I don't arbitrarily add things to the checkbox list, but it would be counted if it was typed into a textbox underneath, and if it went over 1% I would consider adding it to the checkbox list. They became increasingly angry. The only way this situation would make sense for them moving forward was if I added "plural" as an identity checkbox option immediately. Conversely, just a couple of weeks previously I had spoken with a member of a system who was very vocally distressed at the idea of plurality being conflated with gender, and wanted to make sure that I never added "plural" as an identity checkbox option.

As another example, in the plural feedback survey when I asked people how they felt about the "once per body" policy, a member of one system was against it and said "it feels like this policy doesn’t recognize us as separate people", but a member of another system was in favour and said "we're encouraged by our therapist to think of ourselves as dissociated parts of a whole. So we're all one person, just not directly connected like a singlet [non-plural person] would be. From that perspective, it makes sense to keep us as one person in the gender census, no matter how many genders we have." It's not possible to reconcile these two perspectives.

From the very beginning up until now, the unifying theme for feedback from plural people and their allies is "please be more inclusive of plural people." That's a really good start! After that it becomes a plate of tangled spaghetti.

Here are some themes I've managed to tease out, and my thoughts.

"Each system's alter should be able to participate in the survey individually if they want to." Some systems have literally hundreds of alters, and several systems have acknowledged in the feedback survey that this is probably both impractical for many plural people and unfair on singlets.

"We're okay with taking part once for all of us in the system, but we're just checking all the boxes that apply to at least one of us, and some of those are explicitly disliked by at least one of us. This is uncomfortable." I think that's... probably okay, actually. Other subcategories of participants whose identities fluctuate that strongly (e.g. a genderfluid person who is sometimes very male and sometimes extremely not male) or whose pronouns are context-dependent are also in this predicament. Participants often express a desire to rank their identity terms by importance, accuracy, fluctuation or frequency. The survey aims to collect broad and fuzzy data about a very large group of people, to monitor trends and let people know what language we're comfortable with on the whole. This survey just isn't looking for that kind of nuance.

"We're okay with taking part in the survey once for everyone in the system, but there should be a way to separate out responses about different alters within that one response." It's literally impossible to program the survey to have infinite subsections for each alter, but if it were possible, what would I do with the data? I think the most likely approach would be combining into a list of identities etc. "per body". The participant would feel better for being able to enter different words for different alters, but it would be more work for them, and it would be more work for me to process responses from plural people just to have them be counted like those from non-plural people.

"There should be a 'plural' checkbox in the identity list so that we can express that our gender is influenced by our plurality." I consider adding terms to the identity checkbox list when they're typed into the textboxes by over 1% of participants. There are some situations where I'll make an exception to that rule, but it's unusual and this isn't one of them. Whether you enter a term using a checkbox or a textbox makes no difference to how well-represented you are in the results.

Maybe just a question that asks if you're plural, with a checkbox? What would this checkbox do? Plurality is beyond the scope of the survey, along with things like height and eye colour. It would allow curious people to analyse the responses using plurality as a variable, but I wouldn't include it in any analysis in an annual Gender Census report.

That last one is particularly interesting, because it's what I actually did in the supplementary survey. I wasn't 100% sure in advance whether or not I would need that information for the singular vs. plural they issue, so I included an "I am/we are plural" checkbox just to be on the safe side. As far as I could tell, the survey was no more or less materially inclusive than the annual Gender Census survey. There were a couple of interesting patterns to report in the statistics, but the main things I noticed were:

Feedback saying that the survey wasn't inclusive of plural people was non-existent.

Several people thanked me in the feedback box for making the survey plural-inclusive.

Several people promoted the survey on social media by using its plural-inclusivity as a selling point.

Again, the supplementary survey didn't take a different approach. There was no particular difference in language, there was no indication that whether or not you're plural would be integral to the reporting of the results or even used at all, the only difference was the existence of a checkbox that let participants declare their plurality.

That's all it took to cause a complete U-turn in feedback. A checkbox that doesn't relate to gender or connect to any of the other questions in any way, and isn't particularly statistically useful based on the supplementary survey. It doesn't make the survey more inclusive, it just acknowledges that some participants are plural, and gives them a way to declare it.

Whether or not participants are plural is beyond the scope of the Gender Census, which aims to collect broad data about how we as nonbinary and otherwise genderly-interesting people want the world to see and describe us. It just doesn't make sense to include questions about plurality in future surveys. But I'm honestly amazed and a little confused, because until the "once per body" policy was added it seems that there wasn't actually anything about the Gender Census that prevented plural people from participating, at least not more than anyone else whose genders change significantly over time.

~

SHOULD "PLURAL THEY" BE ADDED TO THE CHECKBOX PRONOUN LIST?

This is something that participants often ask me to do in order to make the survey more plural-inclusive, so I decided to seriously consider it.

The first draft of the supplementary survey asked over 1,000 participants about this issue, but I had to scrap those responses and then redesign and restart it because, even though dictionaries are fairly clear on what exactly "singular they" is, a lot of survey participants who are not dictionaries seemed to be in disagreement (or confusion) about what singular they and plural they actually are. I have been unable to find any academic or reference articles online using the phrase "plural they" at all.

Here are some of the things people have told me recently:

"Singular they" is when you use "they" with singular verbs, e.g. they is a teacher.

I can't say that I use "singular they" pronouns because I always say "they are". "They is" just sounds wrong to me.

"Plural they" is when you use "singular they" pronouns to refer to a system/someone who is plural.

"Singular they" and "plural they" are grammatically identical except for the name.

"Singular they" and "plural they" are functionally the same and should be combined into one option called "they" in the annual survey.

Let's start by stating what we do know for sure.

~

THEY VS. SINGULAR THEY

For the record, "singular they" is defined by its purpose and context, not the specific words used.

Wiktionary says:

they (third-person, nominative case, usually plural, sometimes singular, objective case them, possessive their, possessive noun theirs, reflexive themselves, or, singular, themself)

It then goes on to specify three use-cases:

third-person plural, referring to two or more people

third-person singular, referring to one person

"indefinite pronoun" - people; some people; people in general; someone, excluding the speaker. E.g. "they didn’t have computers in the old days."

So we've got "they" (groups), "singular they" (individuals), and "indefinite they" (an "other" that is ambiguous in number).

Again, I have never found anything academic or, er, dictionarical (lexicographical?) that calls any of the forms "plural they", so my first job is to find out whether what Gender Census participants are calling "plural they" is the same as what the dictionary just calls "they", which is defined as the set used to refer to two or more people. For the purposes of this article I will call it regular "they".

~

WHICH WORDS MAKE UP SINGULAR THEY?

Even though most dictionaries will state which words make up singular they, and it's usually they/them/their/theirs/themself, if you change individual words within the set or even around the set it is still called "singular they" if it is used to refer to only one person. This might happen due to regional or cultural variations. So whether you say "they is a writer" or "they are a writer", whether you say "themself" or "themselves", if you're talking about only one person, it's still singular they.

In the annual survey, singular they is consistently chosen in the checkbox pronoun options by the most participants, usually more than twice as popular as the next most popular option. (I use the dictionary-provided set, and I've checked it's still the most commonly used in several polls and surveys along the way.) In the annual survey, singular they is presented as:

singular they - they/them/their/theirs/themself (e.g. "they are a writer")

~

WHICH WORDS MAKE UP PLURAL THEY?

I had never heard of "plural they" before people started asking me to add it to the checkbox list in the feedback box of the annual Gender Census survey, but it seemed clear from the name that it is meant to be contrasted with singular they, and I wondered if perhaps everyone else had been calling regular "they" (for referring to two or more people) "plural they" this entire time and I just hadn't noticed.

It was specifically presented to me by participants as a pronoun that a plural system could claim, and that a plural system might prefer over singular they. This tallied with my initial assumption that "plural they" may just be regular "they" referring to groups, since a system is a body containing two or more distinct individuals, so if they wanted to be referred to as a group then singular they would be inappropriate and regular "they" would fit.

I went to the pronouns spreadsheet of the 2021 Gender Census, and took every pronoun set that was named and copied it into a new spreadsheet. I ran a query to list all sets that contained both the words "plural" and "they" in the name field. There were 71 results, out of ~44,500 total responses. I ran another query to find out what these people were entering in the reflexive field, and here's what I got:

themselves - 61 (85.9%)

theirselves - 3

them - 2

themself - 2

themself (plural) - 2

theirself - 1

So I think it's safe to say that the set that people are calling "plural they" uses "themselves" as the reflexive, which is consistent with dictionaries' reporting of regular "they".

I conclude that most people do mean regular "they" when they refer to "plural they". "Plural they" seems to be they/them when used to refer to two or more people, including the plural reflexive "themselves".

As in "singular they", if you change individual words within the set or even around the set it is still called regular "they" if it is used to refer to two or more people. This might happen due to regional or cultural variations. So whether you say "they is writers" or "they are writers", whether you say "themself" or "themselves", if you're talking about two or more people, it's still regular "they" (or plural they).

~

IS PLURAL THEY GETTING SMUSHED INTO ANOTHER PRONOUN/GROUP?

I recently explored the (apparently unintentional) overlap of Spivak (e/em) and Elverson (ey/em). In case you've not read it, here's a brief overview: I found that it might be that Elverson (not on the checkbox list) is many times more popular than Spivak (on the checkbox list), even though it isn't being written into the pronouns textboxes often enough for it to reach the 1% threshold. Since the two sets are identical except for that one letter in the subject form, it is very likely that many of the people who use Elverson (ey/em) pronouns are choosing the Spivak checkbox option in the annual survey because they don't realise the spelling is different, or they think that they are minor spelling variants of the same set. I concluded that in order to get a fair count of both sets I will need to list both in the checkbox options next year, even though Elverson hasn't been typed in by over 1% of participants yet.

It's possible that the same thing is happening with singular and plural they. I ran a couple of Twitter polls, asking people whose pronouns are they/them which set they prefer, and presented answers like this:

a) Singular they, referring to only 1 person: they are themSELF

b) Singular they, referring to only 1 person: they are themSELVES

c) Plural they, referring to 2+ people: they are themSELVES

Here's the results, with 927 usable responses:

The results of this poll are really useful, because it allowed people to choose between singular and plural they AND themself and themselves, in combination. We can see that of the people who call their pronouns "singular they" (referring to only one person), the majority prefer "themself" as the reflexive, but a respectable proportion prefer singular they with "themselves", even when presented with the option of "plural they" (referring to two or more people).

(I have a policy of providing the most popular word choices in checkboxes, so I will continue to provide a they/them checkbox option that says "singular they - they/them/their/theirs/themself", but since singular they is consistently the most popular pronoun this is something I like to keep checking in on.)

If we apply these proportions to the 2021 Gender Census responses and imagine that everyone whose pronouns are they/them chose "singular they - they/them/their/theirs/themself" regardless of how accurate that is, this would mean that 3.7% of all respondents would check a "plural they" box, which is well above the 1% threshold for adding something to the checkbox list. Why not add it to the list, the way I'll also be adding Elverson to the list? This graph may help:

I generally consider it unwise to make big decisions based on Twitter polls, because the sample is much smaller and more biased than a standalone survey. Twitter requires membership, Twitter membership is skewed younger, and younger members are more likely to use Twitter often and see polls when they appear.

However, even I can't deny that there is a very clear mandate here for Elverson to be added to the checkbox list. When given a straight choice between the Spivak, Elverson, both, and neither/something else, participants were over six times more likely to choose Elverson over Spivak. (For context, Spivak got 4.3% in the 2021 Gender Census as a checkbox option.) Even if this poll were somehow put to the entire Gender Census participant group, it's hard to imagine a scenario where the results shift enough that Elverson gets a lower percentage than Spivak.

4.7% of a smaller sample of younger Twitter members just isn't enough to push me to add something to the checkbox options. I really hope that everyone whose pronouns are "plural they" takes the time to type it into next year's survey as a pronoun distinct from "singular they", so that if they do end up being over 1% of participants I can add "plural they" to the checkbox options.

~

IN CONCLUSION

As far as I can tell, the Gender Census doesn't particularly exclude plural participants. Systems are still able to take part, so it is at least as inclusive as any other survey of a similar nature, maybe even more so thanks to the ability to choose multiple gender identities and pronouns "per body".

There isn't sufficient evidence to support adding "plural they" to the list of checkbox pronouns at this time, and systems can be represented in results by typing any plural-inclusive terms and pronouns that are not on checkbox lists into some of the many textboxes provided, as any other participant would be expected to do.

The "once per body" participation policy is uncomfortable for a significant number of plural people. However, due to the intensely varied experiences of plural people, any policy on that issue that I impose would make some plural people uncomfortable - and it turns out that I chose the "side" that plural people are more likely to agree with. The survey isn't intending to collect or convey the more nuanced information that plural people (and others) have said that they would like to provide.

A separate question that specifically asks participants whether they're plural makes systems feel seen and acknowledged, but is beyond the scope of the project and doesn't add value to the data or analysis.

So, I will not be making any changes to the Gender Census at this time, based on the information I've gathered so far. However, I welcome further feedback in the plural participants' feedback form, which will remain open, anonymous and private.

~

Edit: Follow-up.

[inkformyblood]

towards an unseen day

Day 03 of @bobadinweek prompt: Caretaking

Warnings: None

Laughter echoed down the small side tunnel, deep and rumbling through the earth like an aftershock, and Din paused, letting the sound wash over him.

His hand — still pressed to the wall — brushed over the symbol carved there, the chill of the stone settling into his bones as his bare skin traced the lines he couldn’t read but understood all the same.

There had been a strange look in Boba’s eyes when he took Din’s hand — pausing first, his gaze flickering upwards in a silent question — to place it against the symbol when he first carved it into the rock wall. He had mentioned the Kaminoans, and their fluorescent ink that the clones had quickly learned to hack into their HUD display, with a note of mournful laughter in his voice, but hadn’t said what the symbols meant. His free hand had curled through battle-signs as he spoke, so Din could guess well enough: home, safety, return.

An ache had settled into Din’s bones, and every step closer to home lightened his burden, but still he waited, his head tipped to one side as he listened. There was a second current of laughter, tumbling after the first like a shadow, high and uncoordinated. His steps were faster now, warmth flooding through his chest and he input the code as quickly as his trembling fingers would let him.

Light filled the small room, heralded in a thousand shimmering fragments from the mirrors suspended above, reflecting the scrap of sunlight that fell through the barred window. Lining one indented wall was an array of packaged ingredients but the order was disrupted by clear gaps like missing teeth in the neat rows. Across the opposite wall hung a tapestry, currents of scarlet and bronze dancing through a background of dark blue, the careful images of the constellations above Tatooine picked out amongst a stylised set of Mandalorian armour, but the figures in front captured Din’s attention utterly as he pulled his helmet off, clipping it onto his belt.

Boba was without his armour, dressed in instead in a loose linen shirt that clung to the broad curve of his shoulders and fell past his hips to his thighs, and dark trousers. The birikad across his chest had been modified with the dark green fabric tied around the ring on Boba’s shoulder to allow Grogu to watch the world around him.

The child’s hands were stretched towards the fruit laid out on the counter in front of him, already stained with the dark berry juice, and, as Din watched, a sliver rose into the air. It hung for a moment, commanded by a power Din could barely wonder at, before Boba plucked the fruit, his hands stained with purple smudges and threw it into his mouth.

“Patoo!” Grogu demanded, his ears twitching, but his darkening mood passed in an instant as Boba ducked his head to smooth a kiss over his forehead, tapping the curve of one ear carefully.

“Later, kid. Save some for your buir.”

Boba tipped his head, his grin broadening as he caught Din’s gaze, and picked the knife back up. Grogu babbled, waving a hand towards one of the bowls before twisting to peer up at Boba.

“Yeah, that’s the next one. Good job.”

Din’s chest felt too full, too warm, barely able to breathe for fear of disrupting the scene in front of him. He had never imagined that he would have a life close to this. The closest he got to imagining his future was a shapeless plan to provide as best as he could for the foundlings and his covert. His usual grace had abandoned him as he stumbled forward, resting his hand on the table as the expected aches and pains made themselves known, radiating down his spine and legs.

Grogu turned with a shriek of delight, his eyes bright and reached from the pouch, almost over balancing to try and reach Din sooner. He caught the child, scooping him up to press their foreheads together. The scent of tart berries clung to him, mixing with the comforting warmth of blue milk and the herbs that were mixed into the laundry to keep them fresh.

“Missed you, womp rat.”

This close to Boba, he could sense rather than see the grin that spilled across his face, but Din moved up to kiss him before it could reach fruition. The scars on Boba’s lips, ridged against Din’s oversensitive skin made a shiver roll down his spine, the action mirrored as his beard scratched against Boba’s cheeks. Din broke away, shifting to press his forehead to Boba’s, Grogu cooing in the crook of his arm in satisfaction. The slight pressure of the Force against the back of his head made Din pause, but Boba was already moving to blindly tap his finger against Grogu’s cheek in gentle admonishment.

“We’ve got the memo, kid. Don’t need any outside help here.”

Din chuckled, reflexively trying to stifle the noise at Grogu’s disgruntled whine, and gently rocked all three of them, his free hand slipping to rest on Boba’s waist. The shape of a modified blaster, carefully hidden beneath the loose fabric made him pause, his laughter breaking free once again.

“Could hear you coming down the tunnels. But can’t get complacent.” Boba’s words were grave and tinged with bitterness, and Din nodded, careful to not break their connection.

This small room attached to both of their chambers and Grogu’s room had become a sanctuary of sorts. The shelves held ingredients suitable for long term storage in case they needed to shelter, and next to the door lay the familiar shapes of their grab bags. Grogu’s had been a new addition — a small brown knapsack, contrived to have as many pockets as possible — and Din knew some of them were already filled with the snacks he enjoyed, and that the kitchen staff kept slipping to him when Din and Boba pretended not to notice.

“How was the job?” Boba stepped away with one final gentle kiss, squeezing Din’s hand around his waist before he picked up the knife again. He picked up the bowl Grogu had indicated earlier and removed one of the yellow fruit from within. It’s skin was tough and ridged, and Boba anchored it on the board before working on piercing the knife through it.

“Well as could be expected at first. The traps and countermeasures he had set up against the Imperials were well-made, and just as effective against me.”

Din felt Boba’s worry rumble through him as if he was back on the ship, the rthymic sticky sound of the knife blade pausing as he looked him over. Grogu babbled, patting his chest plate, his brow furrowed in concentration. “I managed. That’s why you pay me well.”

Boba scoffed, and Din knew that his plans for the evening had just changed. The palace boasted an impressive set of heated baths in its depths, and Din had been looking forward to sinking into them. Boba wouldn’t rest until he catalogued every new wound and every purpling bruise.

Din let his thoughts wander for a moment, lingering on the warm steam that seemed to stick to the skin and the press of Boba’s hands — the callouses so like his own, rough but a sign of skill and training that made his head swim — against the ache that had settled in the curve of his shoulders and the fresh wound wrapped around his thigh. His gaze drifted to Boba’s, taking in the knowing grin on his face.

“Later,” he promised, an eyebrow raised as he inclined his chin towards Grogu curled into Din’s arms.

Din’s answering blush was immediate, feeling as if he had scorched his skin with his flamethrower, the heat spreading down his neck and across his chest. “He took some convincing but the information you gave me is still good.”

⁂

The blaster shot cracked against the wall just above Din’s head, the heat leaving a burning line across the edge of his beskar. He bit back a curse even as a grin, wide and unrestrained, slipped across his face.

His approach to the small encampment had been slow, a careful waltz around the concealed jagged traps that lined the walls of the ravine — all carefully at head-height for the average human and designed to be deadly. Their make was familiar, the twisted knots at the top arranged in a pattern that almost looked like a hand gesture. Boba tied knots for his snares the exact same way.

The intelligence he had managed to gather independently of Boba’s thriving informant network hadn’t proven to be of much use. A sea of closed mouths and gazes that turned away the moment they could, as impenetrable as any wall, greeted him at the small bar next to the single spaceport. The man had clearly managed to win their loyalty, something that seemed to be a reoccurring thread with these missions.

He was skilled with a blaster, proving it with another shot, curved through a modified barrel to try and draw Din out of hiding. Din went with the motion, catching the shot on his vambrace and directing it harmlessly into the dirt, and he ran towards the next outcrop, hearing the clicks and whirs of the blaster reloading echoe clearly.

“Kark off, Imp!” The man’s shout was clear, rage clear through every word, and Din watched the flicker of the shadow move, elongated through the setting sun. “I’m not joining your karking plot so you can shove it up your arse!”

“Boba Fett sent me!” Din called. A bubble of laughter settled in his chest, a grin pulling at the corners of his mouth, but he pushed it down. There would be time later.

Siblings, wherever they were found, held a note of similarity between them, and Boba and his many brothers were no different to Din and his covert.

The face that appeared in the small gap of the overhanging rock, barely visible theough Din’s visor, was similar enough to Boba that he could chart the similarities: the same unhinged grin, the same dark eyes and the same way of assessing the situation, his gaze focused like a sniper’s guide. But the clone had a shock of dark curls shot through with grey, grown wild after being cut back for so long and hanging at uneven lengths, and faint tattoos around his eyes, pale lines tracing around two large ovals like a Togruta’s markings.

“Boba? My ori’vod’ika sent you?” His voice in sharp contrast to the ringing shout before was quiet and pensive before his jaw closed with a snap and the rifle was drawn to his shoulder once more. “Talk faster.”

“Remember Docking Bay Seven!” Silence greeted Din’s call, as it had everytime before. Boba had shared many parts of his childhood on Kamino with Din from the small quarters he shared with his father to some of the training missions he undertook with the other clones but there was a wealth of adventures and occurrences that he couldn’t speak of.

Din understood. He couldn’t put into words the time he spent with Paz, the hours of meaningless conversations or the spark that had bloomed between them on their first meeting, tipping his face back to stare into the half-finished tattoos that ran over the other boys face like lightning strikes. But that phrase… it meant something precious to the clones Din had managed to retrieve from their bolt holes.

The clone above him laughed, wild and unrestrained. “Bob’ika has done well for himself then! Word of advice, your armour reflects sunlight like a signal flare. I saw you coming yesterday.”

“But you didn’t run.”

The man swung himself down, the muscles in his arms flexing in a deliberate display of power and control. When he stepped closer, it was a swagger, confident and sure of himself. “I am still a soldier, not matter what happened. I don’t run from a fight.”

“None of the information mentioned a name or a signifier,” Din began, and the man’s eyes widened for a moment, old surprise still fresh and burning. “What would you like to be called?”

“You retrieve many clones for our Boba?” The man’s gaze slipped over him, lingering on the mud horn on his pauldron and taking in the careful free space waiting for Boba’s mark. His grin was worn with melancholy, and his hand moved to touch the fanged necklace corded around his throat before brushing against the dotted lines tattooed across his cheek as it circled his eyes.

“Enough. There’s a compound on Tatooine many of them stay at. Some travel.”

“Tatooine?” Laughter rumbled through him, a burst of humour several of the other clones had displayed and Din couldn’t begin to wonder at. “Of course it is.

“Call me Alpha-17. That’s the name I chose for myself before all this.”

⁂

Boba hummed as Din finished recounting his mission, pausing to tap the blade along the board, now slick with a pale green juice.

“Alpha-17 helped train the younger clones after the trainers focused their attentions more on the speciality tracks. The Alpha class was one of the few that my buir hand-trained.”

Boba reached over, a piece of dripping fruit cradled in his palm, and Grogu plucked it carefully, his claws piercing slightly into the exposed flesh. The juice ran over his arms, glistening trails darkening the fabric of his robe, but Din’s attention was captured by Boba. He had raised his palm to his mouth, pale liquid spilling down his chin, and heat bloomed in Din’s belly, immediate and severe.

What he had left out of his recounting was the question he placed to Alpha-17 as they travelled. Food had been important to the covert, and learning a new recipe and perfecting it was considered the first true step towards a formal proposal.

The man had laughed, immediately plucking Din’s intentions from his careful questions, and answered as honestly as he could remember. Jango’s food was sacred to Boba, each remembered meal a sacrifice and a prayer, the kitchen made holy by his devoted attention, so Din worked at reconstruction, following the thread as devoutly as he would a bounty.

Boba paused, stretching out to draw Din down to kiss him once more, his mouth sweet and sticky, and Din marvelled at the life they had made and the possibility of what came next, each carving out a place for the other to shelter.

[reinerispretty]

What if Zuko's s/o is Katara's twin sister who is also a water bender but when he brings Katara to the guy who killed her mom, his s/o comes with them, after Katara has her moment and calms down his s/o starts blood bending the guy who killed their mother, understanding kataras view but feels like she cant allow him to live, how would Zuko calm her and bring her back? Also comfort her when she realizes that she was blood bending?

AAAh this is such a good idea!! thank you so much for requesting!! 

for some stupid reason tumblr acts SO weird when i do cuts on asks but here you go!! :)

---

Katara and her sister may have been born twins, but they were vastly different. Their father used to say that it was because Katara was born while the moon was high, making her fierce like the ocean waves the moon controlled. (Y/N) was born a few hours after Katara, just as the sun was starting to rise, so the ocean waves were calm and steady, much like her demeanor. Katara was outspoken and opinionated: she liked to take control of a situation before it got out of hand. Her twin sister, however, preferred to sit on the sidelines until she was needed. She was quiet and rarely spoke a word to anyone except her sister and brother. 

Which is why it came as such a surprise to the rest of the group when (Y/N) and Zuko began spending more time with each other. They pulled each other out of their shells. Zuko felt the guilt of his past lift off of his shoulders whenever he was with her. And (Y/N) felt that she could speak freely whenever he was near. She started talking more and making jokes (usually at her brother’s expense) and while it was a change, it wasn’t an unwelcome one. 

Except for Katara. She despised Zuko, and (Y/N) understood why. He had betrayed her trust in Ba Sing Se, but that was another difference between the two sisters. Katara kept her emotions inside and was most definitely one to hold grudges. (Y/N) realized at a young age that everything that happened in life happened for a reason, so she didn’t hold on to anger. She didn’t like the feeling weighing her down. 

But when Zuko had offered to take Katara to find the man that killed their mother, (Y/N) was furious with him. It was the first time anyone had seen her speak with such ferocity. “I can hear the resemblance between them,” Toph whispered to Momo quietly as Katara, (Y/N), Aang, and Zuko all argued over the mission. 

“Katara,” Aang said, “I understand that you’re still upset, but violence is never the answer. It will only lead to more guilt.” 

“You don’t get it,” Katara scoffed as she packed her bag. “Neither of you do.” 

“I don’t get it?” (Y/N) demanded. “She was my mother too, Katara.” 

“Then maybe you didn’t care about her like I did!” Her sister snapped. (Y/N) set her jaw, trying to brush off the hurt that the words had caused. 

“If this is what she needs to do, then let her do it.” Zuko said simply. (Y/N) turned on him, her eyes almost ablaze. He gulped. 

“I don’t feel the need to hunt the man that murdered our mother. She wouldn’t want us to do this.” She sighed, closing her eyes. “But if you guys are going, I’m going too.” 

“Absolutely not,” Zuko said. “It could be dangerous. We have no clue what this guy is like now.” 

“I don’t trust either of you to not do harm, so I’m going.” She turned on her heel and began packing her clothes for the trip. 

It was a long and awkward flight on Appa. (Y/N) refused to speak to Katara or Zuko, leaving the two to talk amongst themselves. It was hard for Katara, she knew, to have to have a conversation with the boy that had raided her village and made her life miserable for the past year, but (Y/N) didn’t care. If they were going to be on this stupid mission together, then the least they could do was make up. 

Their first attempt at finding the man who killed their mother proved to be unsuccessful. They had boarded the ship only to find that the real man, Yon Rha, had retired to a small village within the Fire Nation long ago. 

“I feel like this is a sign,” (Y/N) said as they climbed aboard Appa, but Katara ignored her. She looked at Zuko, who gave her a sad smile and a shrug. She scoffed and rolled her eyes before sitting as far away from him as she could. 

It didn’t take them long to find Yon Rha once they arrived at the village. He had been walking home with a basket of groceries, and the three teenagers had frightened him so much that he spilled the contents all over the ground. He thought that they were thieves trying to rob him. He realized the truth rather quickly once Katara had begun speaking to him.

She made him remember what he had done to their mother and (Y/N) watched as her sister made the man fear for his life. They stood there for a long time as Katara revealed herself as one of the last Waterbenders of the Southern Water Tribe. The rain that had started falling around them came to a halt, but when the moment came for Katara to enact her revenge, she couldn’t. 

“I can’t do it,” she said, letting the rain continue falling around them. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she walked away from the man and to her twin sister. “You were right.” She wrapped (Y/N) in an embrace and cried into her shoulder. 

(Y/N) stood still, her eyes trained on the man who was gathering his food from the ground. The full moon was high and she could feel its power coursing through her veins. As she stared at Yon Rha, she finally came to terms with the fact that she was standing just a few feet away from the man that took her mother away from her. She remembered that day vividly, and occasionally had nightmares because of it. Sokka hadn’t been there and Katara had left to alert their father, but (Y/N) had walked into the tent after the Fire Nation soldier left. She had seen her mother’s lifeless body lying on the ground, her palm outstretched to (Y/N) as if she was asking her to hold it. She had cried and cried and only stopped crying when she had fallen asleep in Gran Gran’s arms. 

With a flick of her wrist, Yon Rha stopped moving. His body froze as he was picking up the last of his groceries and his eyes looked around in fear. (Y/N) moved Katara to the side, walking closer to him. With another move of her hands, he lay face-down in the mud. 

“(Y/N) Zuko asked, his voice laced with concern. “What’s happening.” 

“She’s bloodbending,” Katara said sadly, her voice hollow. 

“What?” But Zuko’s question was answered as he watched his girlfriend contort the man’s body with her hands. “(Y/N)!” he shouted, running over to her. 

“Zuko, be careful!” Katara called out. 

Zuko grabbed her arm and leaned in close to speak into her ear. “I know you think you have to do this, but you don’t. Let him go, (Y/N), please. Remembering what he’s done should be punishment enough.” 

She shook her head, but her control over Yon Rha was loosening. “He didn’t show her any mercy.” 

“That doesn’t mean you have to be like him. Be better than him, (Y/N).” With a grunt, she released Yon Rha, who scrambled to his feet as fast as he could and took off in the other direction. She stumbled back into Zuko and Katara was at her side immediately. She felt her eyes well with tears and her throat choke on a sob. 

“I-I don’t know what came over me. I’m so sorry, I would’ve never--” Zuko shushed her, pulling her into his chest and stroking her hair. 

“It’s okay, my love. We all lose control sometimes. He did something horrible to you and your family. No one blames you.” 

Her sobs faded into small hiccups, but the tears still streamed down her face. Zuko pulled back and wiped them off of her cheeks. “You did the right thing. You always do.” 

She gave him a watery smile before being pulled into a hug by her twin sister. Katara looked over (Y/N)’s shoulder at Zuko, and while the girls both cried, Katara mouthed “Thank you,” to him. 

---

permatag list!

@aroyaldarknessblr

[neoptolemid]

Neoptolemus super doc ? ??

ARE WE ABSOLUTELY SURE,, , ,, ,

uh okay, I pull together my super document of Pyrrhus, have pardon cause it's a bit old and i'm gonna spread it through like 3 or 4 posts probably , , so uh enjoy and I'm sorry for all grammatical errors

Skyros

Pyrrhus was born by the name Pyrrhus and this was based either on his red hair or due to Achilles name of Skyros being Pyrrha.

When it comes to appearances I generally describe him as a good mix of both Deidamia and Achilles’ traits, having inherited Deidamia’s red hair and Achilles Blue/teal eyes. He is around the middle of both of his parent’s height as I make Achilles 6’0 and Deidamia 5’3 when full grown, Pyrhhus rounds out to be 5’6. He also has a number of beauty marks which are similar to Achilles’.

It is unknown how long Achilles stayed on Skyros or when Pyrrhus was born. Either way Achilles did know about his son, we know this from the fact Achilles makes references to his son within the Iliad and Odyssey.

I like to believe that part of Pyrrhus growing up with his mother and aunts is that he has a lot of appreciation for women’s crafts and what they do. That he as a younger child would simply sit and be by his mother and/or aunts as they worked enjoying their company.

He would try his best growing up to join into their songs and dances, and at least once dressed himself in girls clothes to show his mother and aunts which got a good laugh out of them.

From Quintus ‘Fall of Troy’ we are informed that learning to fight and it was Odysseus and Diomedes who came with their black sails to ask him to join the war cause. He was promised to marry Menelaus’s daughter Hermione, he was also promised to have Achilles’ armor and gold, riches, and glory for coming with them.

While work will generally age him to being a young man or simply portray him to be very well spoken, if you follow along with the time line it is very possible that Pyrrhus is only 11 or 12 when he leaves Skyros, I tend to write him as being 13 for my own comfort.

Another thing to note form Quintus’s piece on Pyrrhus is they depict this being especially sad for Deidamia, she is written as having weeped and weeped. She doesn’t want him to leave because she doesn’t want him going to war and leaving her. She doesn’t want him hurt and she doesn’t want another person she loves leaving her again.

Deidamia Pyrrhus’s mother is written as loving him and I interpret bits of this story as Pyrrhus is the only tie to Achilles she has. Generally I prefer the idea that Deidamia did care for Achilles and so it did break her heart that he left and she had hoped that he would return eventually to her and their son.

Over the years she understood more and more that he would not return, so all she had was her son, and then eventually they come and take him from her as well.

Mattering on the version of the story, it is fully possible that Deidamia may have never seen her son again once he left the island.

Dawn climbed the wide-arched heaven, straightway they rose from their beds. Then Deidameia knew; and on her son's broad breast she cast herself, and bitterly wailed: her cry thrilled through the air, as when a cow loud-lowing mid the hills seeks through the glens her calf, and all around Echo long ridges of the mountain-steep; so on all sides from dim recesses rang the hall; and in her misery she cried: "Child, wherefore is thy soul now on the wing to follow strangers unto Ilium the fount of tears, where perish many in fight, yea, cunning men in war and battle grim? And thou art but a youth, and hast not learnt the ways of war, which save men in the day of peril. Hearken thou to me, abide here in thine home, lest evil tidings come from Troy unto my ears, that thou in fight hast perished; for mine heart saith, never thou hitherward shalt from battle-toil return. Not even thy sire escaped the doom of death -- he, mightier than thou, mightier than all heroes on earth, yea, and a Goddess' son -- but was in battle slain, all through the wiles and crafty counsels of these very men who now to woeful war be kindling thee. Therefore mine heart is full of shuddering fear lest, son, my lot should be to live bereaved of thee, and to endure dishonour and pain, for never heavier blow on woman falls than when her lord hath perished, and her sons die also, and her house is left to her desolate. Straightway evil men remove her landmarks, yea, and rob her of her all, setting the right at naught. There is no lot more woeful and more helpless than is hers who is left a widow in a desolate home."

Lemnos

Pyrrhus agrees to go with them and on the way they stop by the island of Lemnos to get Philoctetes. Odysseus makes Neoptolemus lie to Philoctetes because he knows that he hates Odysseus because he is the man who abandoned him on Lemnos and he knows that Philoctetes doesn’t want to go to Troy but back to Greece and to his home.

This causes a Pyrrhus strife because he has been taught to be noble up until now, in the play Philoctetes by Sophocles we are shown multiple times how this causes him strife because he is having to lie. Philoctetes also considers Pyrrhus to be a friend because Pyrrhus lies and says that he wants to go back home to Skyros because of the way he is treated by the other Greeks even though he hasn’t met any of them yet to our knowledge.

Good lines from this play that I personally characterize him are

‘It would have been better if i had never left scyros. Everything around me oppresses me ..’

‘He’ll (odysseus) claim i’m too soft-hearted’

‘I can’t. It is right and in our interest to listen to those in authority’

Some of the best development to see from this is how he was raised to be noble and how he doesn’t want to trick people or lie, he wants to be honest.

Another thing I find interesting to read from specifically this play is how Pyrrhus is very rarely called by his own name, he is almost always referred to ‘son of achilles’ and also in this play he is often referred to as ‘child’ or ‘boy’.

While none of these things are brought up as an issue in the play I do think it is a detail you can play with, like how it might weigh on an individual to be always referred to by your famous father or how people don’t recognize you by your name but by your father’s.

I think these are things that would weigh on Pyrrhus he wants to live up to his father but it also oppresses him to be referred in such a way. He wants to be like his father but he is still his own individual which he doesn’t feel recognized by as people continually anything but his own name.

To the idea of playing into the fact he is also often called ‘boy’ or ‘child’ These could be names that eventually upset and anger him. He is being dragged into this war like he is old enough to fight, which he is not and yet he is not recognized as such by those around him.

It is a case of a child feeling indignatinge by being called terms which denote being naive, though I like to think there is some justification for his anger because this isn’t just a small thing but he is being taken into a man's world.

In Philoctetes he is referred to by the name Neoptolemus, he was given this name by Phoenix, a man also considered to be a father by Achilles. Phoenix is one of the oldest men in the Trojan war and he is either involved with Pyrrhus coming from the island to Skyros to the war or some time later down the road. He gave him this name because it means ‘new war/warrior’ it is meant to reflect how Achilles himself was a young man when he entered the war.

It is honestly more common to see Pyrrhus referred to as Neoptolemus by the Greeks and Pyrrhus by Roman sources to my knowledge. (i’ll be using Pyrrhus just for simplicity)

Troy

There are a lot of various stories that have to do with the fall of Troy, we have records again from Quintus “Fall of Troy” and the “Aeneid” by Vergil. There are also a number of plays by the three tragedians of Ancient Greece(Sophocles, Euripides, Aeschylus) that have to do with the end of the war and various stories of the aftermath.

While Pyrrhus doesn’t appear in these very often they still help to give more insight to his possible character.

Pyrrhus makes a minor appearance within the play of ‘hecuba’ and is in the background of ‘andromache’, he makes no appearance within this story but he is directly related to things happening in the play.

Back onto the subject of the fall of Troy, he is regarded as the killer of both Astyanax and Priam. These are generally agreed upon details and sometimes Odysseus fills the role of Pyrrhus when the story decides they don’t want to introduce more characters.

He is generally described as being ‘battle-eager’ ‘Fierce-hearted’ and a few other epithets relating to fighting. In general he is not described as being worse than anyone else. The fall of Troy is a greek work and all the Greeks within this work are killing and fighting people. He is by all means a competent fighter within the text.

In the Odyssey when Odysseus goes into the underworld and speaks with the dead, and when Achilles comes to speak he asks about his son.

Odysseus describes him as

‘but I can tell you all about your son Neoptolemus, for I took him in my own ship from Scyros with the Achaeans. In our councils of war before Troy he was always first to speak, and his judgement was unerring. Nestor and I were the only two who could surpass him; and when it came to fighting on the plain of Troy, he would never remain with the body of his men, but would dash on far in front, foremost of them all in valour. Many a man did he kill in battle- I cannot name every single one of those whom he slew while fighting on the side of the Argives, but will only say how he killed that valiant hero Eurypylus son of Telephus, who was the handsomest man I ever saw except Memnon; many others also of the Ceteians fell around him by reason of a woman's bribes. Moreover, when all the bravest of the Argives went inside the horse that Epeus had made, and it was left to me to settle when we should either open the door of our ambuscade, or close it, though all the other leaders and chief men among the Danaans were drying their eyes and quaking in every limb, I never once saw him turn pale nor wipe a tear from his cheek; he was all the time urging me to break out from the horse- grasping the handle of his sword and his bronze-shod spear, and breathing fury against the foe. Yet when we had sacked the city of Priam he got his handsome share of the prize money and went on board (such is the fortune of war) without a wound upon him, neither from a thrown spear nor in close combat, for the rage of Mars is a matter of great chance.'

In general from the greek sources he is described as nobly.

He is noted for killing quite a few people during the fall of Troy but his most notable kills are Priam, who he kills within the throne room (to my knowledge) and Astyanax who is killed after Troy has fallen.

In the Aeneid by Vergil he is described in ways that frame him a more villainous or evil way

‘The fatal work inhuman Pyrrhus plies,’

During when Pyrrhus is about to kill Priam there is a line that I believe characterizes him as more of a tragic character than anything else. Before killing Priam, Priam berates him about how Pyrrhus is about to treat Priam because of how Achilles showed him humanity and how Achilles gives Priam his son’s body back. This is partly brung up because Pyrrhus getting into the throne room kills one of Priam’s sons in front of his face.

The line basically translates out to be Pyrrhus telling Priam that when he dies and sees his father to tell him of the terrible deed of his son, of how terrible his son is.

In the translation that I read they use the line ‘Tell him of degenerate Neoptolemus’

When in the context of the Philoctetes I think this paints Pyrrhus as being a rather tragic and sad character, because prior to going to the island of Lemnos Pyrrhus tried to act most noble, he wants to be noble like his father. When on Lemnos he has his morals questioned and is forced to go against his morales at the hand of Odysseus.

I interpret this as him vocalizing how he might be upset with himself as he is forced to look at the reality of war which isn’t noble or glorious at all. He wants to live up to the noble idea of his father and everything he is forced to do makes him feel terrible.

I personally think that Pyrrhus probably doesn’t know a lot about the terrible things that Achilles has done or he tries to ignore them. When fighting in the war he might realize his idea of his father might not truly be acturte, he was raised on stories from his mother telling him of his outstanding father.

In terms of justifying his actions during the war because going off my own headcanon he probably wouldn’t be so interested in killing so many people, I imagine he kinda just turns off his head and acts purely on his emotions and just acts like that of a soldier. (Is this PTSD?)

He follows the orders given to him and acts without questioning and lets all his emotions out. I personally don’t assign Pyrrhus that much pride but I like to think he inherited some of his fathers famous anger. All of his anger at what he is being forced to do comes out when he is forced to fight.

That is where the brutality of his portrayal within the Aeneid comes from.

[theflashdriver]

Too Late

A mysterious visitor draws Blaze to the docks, having made his presence known through Marine and requested conversation with her. His reasons for this, who he is and why he's even here are all unknowns. Despite this rudeness, the ruler of the Sol dimension can't help but feel a bizarre tension in the air. Written for sonamysilvazeweek 2021, using the bonus prompt of hurt/comfort!

This one is more intended to be pure angst than romance but it is very soft, I hope folks enjoy!

---

These past two days had brought a bizarre tension that Blaze knew the origin of but not how to confront. Yesterday morning, a little before noon, Marine had burst into a royal meeting with all the disruptive force that she could muster. The now adult raccoon, stood in front of ministers and community stakeholders, had freely and willingly babbled about a weird old wizard who had offered to help with her ships if he could meet with the princess. Naturally, due to a combination of the shipwright’s tone and chosen way of relaying this information, Blaze had rather exploded at her, insisting that she leave and that this so-called wizard should make an appointment. When the girl had tried to stand her ground, she’d been asked if this person was a threat. With a grumble of no, knowing she was beat, the raccoon had made her way through the halls but out the castle entirely.

That was, until eight o’clock this morning. The young raccoon had barraged her way into the royal bedchambers, claiming that the same old wizard had successfully pulled eight of her crashed ships from the ocean and aided in their repair by merely waving his hand. She said that he was some kind of psychic sent from the other dimension and that, despite how weird and old he was, he apparently knew Cream, Sonic, Tails and the others. All those things had piqued Blaze’s interest, of course they had, but none of them propagated her curiosity quite like Marine claiming he’d sat on the dock ever since he’d arrived. He hadn’t eaten or even slept; he’d simply sat waiting for the princess.

Unfortunately, just like the day before, today had been filled to burst with work. Gardon had passed away three months ago and, although the monarch was now mature, the burden of that loss was still weighing heavily on her. No longer having that confidante, that source of sage advice, was finally beginning to wear her down. Hours were spent dealing with fussy landowners and handling minor issues, with both sets of Eggman long gone too, the guardian part of her role had been regulated to a mere title. It’d taken until now, approaching night on this summer day, for her to find the time and leave the castle.

The evening was humid, even by the docks, but that wasn’t too abnormal for this time of year. A dark sky hung overhead; grey clouds formed a barrier that barely allowed the pink of the sunset to pierce through. She was dressed in her usual working garb, her purple coat and white tights, but she wasn’t entirely sure if this was work. Marine’s descriptions of this man had been sparse to say the least- apparently, he was old, would glow with a strange cyan light and looked rather homeless. Blaze wasn’t even certain that her aid was needed in the Chaos dimension and so she hadn’t brought the Sol emeralds; according to Marine, he was just here to meet with the princess.

Blaze quickly found herself at the stout dock that Marine tended to work off of. Sure enough, no fewer than eight vessels that she could scarcely recognise were happily floating along either side of the wooden boardwalk. None of them held her attention for long though, despite how ludicrous and intricate their designs were. No, Blaze’s eyes quickly fell upon a cloaked figure sitting at the very end of the dock.

Her attention was immediately captured by a set of seven quills, the formation of which she’d never seen on a hedgehog before. They were long overgrown and, though she could tell five ascended from his forehead while two stretched from the back of his head, they’d all began to matt into one continuous mass of grey fur. The cloak Marine had described was actually a garb formed from brown burlap, heavily stitched in places and acting as some strange poncho with long and billowing sleeves. Strangely, his right sleeve hung loosely at his side while his left reached up to cradle his head.

“Hello there? Are you the one who’s been waiting for me?” She called out, trying to get his attention.

“Oh, hello,” A croaking voice half-hummed from the form, he didn’t so much as turn back, “It’s a shame you didn’t come yesterday, the sunset was wonderful.”

Feeling a little slighted by the hedgehog’s cheekiness, Blaze responded in kind, “Well, I’m sorry but my role finds me rather busy.”

“Oh, no, there’s nothing to be sorry about. I think I can make this work,” Once those words sounded, the hedgehog’s back straightened and his hand left his chin.

She watched from behind as he pointed to the sky and, though she wasn’t sure what to expect, she couldn’t have anticipated what would happen next. The once grey shroud that had blocked the sun was suddenly tinted cotton-candy blue. She watched as his fingers curled into a fist and the cloud mass seemed to convulse, almost gathering at a single point, before he flicked his wrist and spread his fingers. The clouds parted into a wide circle that breached the horizon and, as it did, his hand was made fully visible. A cyan circle shone on the back of his palm; by the tears on his worn glove, she could tell that it was part of his hand.

“Oh, today’s even prettier, is that normal for this world?” It was only then that the form turned for face her, not rising and bowing like most of her subjects would but simply glancing over his shoulder with a soft smile on his face.

Behind him, the sun couldn’t be more than an inch away from the ocean’s surface and the sky was the most glorious shade of pastel pink… but that couldn’t hold the feline’s attention. Her eyes locked on the hedgehog’s face, the face of an old and tired man. Sunburn marred his muzzle, giving him a rough appearance despite his smile. Plumes of white fur breached his garb’s neck-hole, wrinkles covered his face and there was an age in his eyes that spoke volumes to the feline. Marine hadn’t been inaccurate to call him a wizard, what he’d just done was ludicrous and he surely looked the part, but something in those bright yellow eyes called to Blaze in a bizarre way.

Stumped, finding herself unable to answer, Blaze managed another step forward before catching herself, “What on earth did you just do?”

“Oh, I just pushed the clouds away,” He said, so very nonchalantly, as he turned back to the sky, “Don’t you think it’s pretty?

“It’s certainly prettier than it was,” She conceded through clenched teeth, daring to take another step closer. Though he didn’t seem threatening, this bizarre figure had just split the sky with no more than a wave of his hand, “Marine was insistent that I come down here as soon as possible, was there a reason for that?”

“What? Oh, I’m sorry, no. I would have happily waited for a few weeks at least,.I heard that you’re very busy,” He patted the spot on the docks next to him, smiling back at her again, “I just wanted to talk with you a little, after that I’ll be on my way.”

Under normal circumstances, Blaze would have turned tail there and then. If he was just here to talk and willing to wait then he could book an appointment like all the rest; but these weren’t normal circumstances. He’d parted the sky, brought ships back from the depths and... well, something bizarre was buzzing in Blaze’s head. As she looked upon his form, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of déjà vu; she’d never seen this old man in her life and yet he looked so familiar. The term anemoia came to mind but she was struggling to recall its meaning. Without even really thinking, she found herself stepping closer still to the grey figure- soon she was standing by his side.

It was as he turned back to the sunset, releasing a sigh of contentment, that Blaze truly understood what she was looking at. When Marine said he’d raised and repaired her ships with one hand, Blaze hadn’t thought that he lacked the other. His right arm had been reduced to a stump, bound at its end, but that wasn’t where the damage ended. Only his right leg poked free from his garb to hang over the edge, this figure had seen far more than his share of adversity. Even the smiling form of his muzzle seemed slightly battered and, even over the scent of sea air, the stench he carried was that of brimstone and sweat decades aged.

“And what is it that you want to talk about?” Blaze, rather bluntly, managed to ask.

“Well, um,” He tugged at his chest fur, “I have a couple of questions to ask, but I’m sure you’ll have some for me too. How about we take turns asking things? I asked one then you get to.”

Today just kept growing more bizarre, he hadn’t come to ask her anything, he’d come to play a game of twenty questions. Even with Marine, even with Sonic or Amy or any of the others, if they tried to confront her like this then she’d ask them to simply cut to the chase. But as she stood above him, a question did find purchase in her mind. He apparently knew the others, that meant he was probably from their dimension, so why hadn’t they bumped into each other? He was an older hedgehog, was he related to Sonic? She didn’t think so, but it was so bizarre- it was like she knew where he came from, it was almost on the tip of her tongue. Even his name, it was as though she was so sure of it but couldn’t verbalise it no matter how she tried.

With a heavy sigh, not masked in the way she’d try to hide such normalities during her royal meetings, Blaze dropped down to sit beside the grey figure, “Fine, ask away.”

“What, really? O-Okay,” He seemed just as surprised as she was about her willingness to go along with this, “I’m, well, I think I’m eighty-two now. How old are you?”

Blaze blinked; this absolute stranger had just asked the princess her age in such a blunt manner. His lack of tact was frankly astounding but Blaze wasn’t off put. If anything, there was something strangely homely in how casually he’d asked, “I’m twenty-eight now, going on twenty-nine.”

“Oh wow, it’s like we’re opposites,” He immediately seemed to notice, smiling even more warmly than he had before, “Your turn then.”

A couple of ideas floated in her head, questions that felt strangely pointless to ask despite her not knowing the answers. Eventually, she managed to settle on one.

“Marine said you knew those in the other dimension,” She posited, “Do you come from there? I’ve been over a few times now and I don’t think I’ve ever…” For whatever reason, another surge of déjà vu forced her to hesitate, “Seen you.”

“Oh, yes, right. I don’t think you would have, no,” He seemed to stumble over a collection of thoughts, “I’m from there but not from then, you see. I’m from their dimension but a very different time. Two-hundred years in their future, I was born. The time I came from though, that’s long gone, overwritten by my travels,” The old man said, as if it was the most normal thing in the world, “It was a bad place to live to be honest, overrun by monsters long before I was born. It took a lot but, after almost a hundred years of work, it’s finally all sorted out. I kept going back to the past and preventing disasters, now there’s nothing left to prevent,” And she found herself listening, as if it was the most regular of answers, “I guess I kind of come from nowhere now though, it’s nice there but it’s not exactly home. I’m just drifting now really…”

“Right…” The princess mumbled, trying to take that all in and finding it surprisingly easy.

Up until now things had been weird but now things were surpassing the point of strangeness. Looking past the other oddities this figure presented, for her to hear what she had just heard and feel as though that was both truthful and normal was the most bizarre sensation Blaze had ever experienced. Perhaps it was because she was used to introducing herself as a princess of another dimension but the fact she was so unphased by his words was thoroughly phasing her.

Before she could dwell on it too much, he was smiling at her again, “I’m wondering, the others mentioned that you were a pyrokinetic, would you mind showing me…?”

Again, without much thought, Blaze found this usually questionable proposal agreeable. She raised her right hand between them and, with no more than the click of her fingers, the top of her forefinger was set alight. Almost immediately he moved in closer, his bright yellow eyes marvelled at the exposed flame.

“Though it took me a while to properly control it, I’ve had this power for all my life,” She explained, snuffing the light against her palm, “What about you? What’s that symbol on your hand and what did you do with the clouds?”

As if to match her, the hedgehog raised his hand. Light seemed to pulse and ebb from the shining mark at his hand’s centre, tinting the environment around it. Once that had been shown, in such a casual way, the hedgehog turned and gestured to the sea before pointing his forefinger up. A light seemed to well in the dark depths of the water and, almost instantly, the waves ceased their lapping. Slowly coiling its way up, like some great serpent emerging from a lake, a long tendril of water, bathed in that same cyan glow, began to extend from the sea. It cut the sky, stretching a good ten metres up. Then, with a further wave of his hand, it fell away from them as though it was a tree that’d been chopped at the base. With a colossal splash, the waves restarted with a brief degree of additional aggression before, eventually, settling back into their regular pattern.

In any other situation, coming from any other person, Blaze would have taken this as some vague show of force. She knew that he could manipulate more than water, she’d seen him shift the cloud many miles in the sky, but he’d chosen to control the element that directly countered her own. Again though, for some unthinkable reason, Blaze couldn’t find the emotion to be shocked or perturbed.

“I’m psychic, I’ve had this power for as long as I remember but, to be quite honest, I’ve got no idea how it actually works or where it comes from,” His smile grew a little warmer, “I never really thought it all that important, all that matters is how these powers are used.”

“I’ve tried to embody similar thoughts myself,” She quickly responded, attempting not to dwell on that or the thoughts that came with it, “It’s your turn.”

“This is my big question, but I know this might be a little strange to ask. You don’t have to answer it if you’re not comfortable,” He said, as if everything up to this point had been normal, “Do you like living here? Do you like being the princess?”  

This wasn’t a question Blaze was new to, it wasn’t uncommon for children to ask what it was like being a princess, but Blaze thought his version carried a little more weight. He wasn’t asking about the simple things, like sleeping in a big bed or heading public events. For whatever reason, the princess knew he was asking if she actually enjoyed the role she’d been born into and, again for some unknown reason, she felt prompted to answer truthfully. This stranger was compelling her to unearth truths in a way that she hadn’t dared before.

“It’s… difficult,” She muttered, “Even though I hold a privileged position, even though I know I’m luckier than most, I don’t know that I’ve ever been comfortable,” Her head found her hand, her gaze drifted to the sea, “I can’t see my friends often, I can’t choose where I go and when, I can’t even stroll to the docks on a whim,” For some reason, although that was true, saying it aloud felt incredibly selfish, “But, it would be a lie to say I’m totally uncomfortable here. Marine keeps things interesting. Though I’ve seen adversity I’ve either been able to handle it or found the strength to call upon friends to aid me. Even if it’s not perfect, I’m happy I can live here and bring justice for those around me. I don’t know that I could ever see myself giving it up or…”

Blaze caught herself, grinding their conversation to a halt, “This is hardly professional of me; I really don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I shouldn’t be talking to anyone like this.”

“Well, I’d be lying if I told you I minded all that or that I wasn’t enjoying our conversation,” His eyes seemed to flicker away from hers and, though he spoke positively, his grin drooped ever so slightly, “I simply have a face that a people find familiar, I think it’s got something to do with my travels through time. People tend to speak with me in ways that they wouldn’t others.”

Somehow, despite the softness of his expressions and the newness behind their interactions, the princess could see that he wasn’t telling the total truth. There was something in the bending of his brow, the way the words hung on his lips. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t to do with him at all. Maybe it was the way his words resonated with her eardrums.

Equally though, she’d be lying if she said that she didn’t see what he’d said, “You do have a rather…” She rummaged for the right words, good and polished words, but what she drew was far too flimsy, “Kind face,” Though her stomach churned at her inaccurate choice of words, she pressed on, “Though that concerns me, it does really feel as though I’ve met you before. Were you a friend of Gardon’s?”

“Gardon?” The word rolled off his tongue, she couldn’t recall hearing that name in his voice at all. She knew the answer before he seemed to, “No, I don’t think so. Who’s Gardon?”

“He was,” Her tongue hitched on words like a hoe dragging through rocks, “Like a father to me,” That seemed right to tell him, even if it wasn’t proper to admit, “I didn’t especially realise that when he was with us but, despite that, I think he knew. He’d looked after me since I was a little girl, I can’t imagine he didn’t occasionally consider himself in that role,” She found herself stumbling, emotions were bubbling to the surface but, for some reason, despite her oversharing, she didn’t care, “I probably should have said I shared his view or made my attachment clearer but, given my position, it wouldn’t have been right.”

“Well,” Hesitantly, shakily, that glowing hand of his came to reside upon her shoulder. Any normal stranger would have promptly been brushed off, told to keep their hands away, but something about that weight upon her shoulder ebbed with a further familiarity that she could not place, “It sounds as if I’d love to have been a friend of Gardon’s, I’m so sorry, Blaze.”

It was only now, having sat with him for a while, that Blaze was beginning to pick up on subtle aspects of his mannerisms. Every word seemed as though it was intently thought out, as if he was running through a thousand memories every time she finished a sentence- so often punctuated with a hum or the word well. It was as if he was doing what she had done for so many years; carefully choosing his words, trying to match her royal status. The only difference was that while she searched for professional words, he seemed to do much the opposite. Not once had he remembered to call her your majesty or your highness, regardless of how much thinking he did.

“Though it’s not the same, I’ve lost someone close to me too,” For the first time since they’d started their conversation, his gaze had flickered away from her and back towards the sea, “Then again, I-I suppose that’s to be expected when you reach my age,” He took another moment, his remaining hand slipped from her shoulder to his knee as he seemed to catch himself, “No one so recently of course, but it’s hard to forget,” She watched his brow furrow further, his fingers seemed to push deeper into his cloak as his words slowly spilled, “You never actually want to forget. If you do, you’ll regret forgetting, more than anything else in the world.”

Once again, the two found themselves sitting in silence. Blaze the cat, the cold and hardened queen of the Sol dimension, felt a few bizarre words weighing so heavily on her tongue. In a matter of moments, with only a handful of words, the tension between them had remounted and tripled. Despite that, she was about to make things even more awkward.

“D-Did you love them?” She stumbled to ask, rather immediately regretting it but finding it impossible not to say something in continuation, “The person that you lost, I mean.”

“Oh, I loved her more than anything,” His answer was so immediate, “So much in fact that I can’t help but think I very much took her for granted. She never took to the word love well, it always seemed to embarrass her, but I feel as though I should have said it a million times more,” Unlike the name of Gardon or so many other things Blaze had heard today, the word love in his tone sounded so unforgivably familiar. It made her feel as though she was some kind of demon for not knowing where she’d heard it, “She was smart, brave, strong… and so much kinder than she probably liked to think, let alone that she could stand to admit,” The way he spoke seemed to carry a nostalgic joy and love that Blaze couldn’t recall seeing in any person, across their entire life “She’d scold me so often, I don’t think she realised that was how she showed her love. I don’t think I knew it either, but I would still go too far and get myself hurt just trying to impress her. It was all with the intent to do good of course, never pointless, but...”

A spark had grown in his eye, another glow that she recognised, but so very quickly he seemed to snuff it. Worry lines appeared on the hedgehog’s brow as he turned back to the sunset.

His smile frayed away at the seams as he mumbled, that love wasn’t gone but now it was being tiptoed around, “Well, she went too far herself a handful of times…”

This old man, this man almost three times her age, had already established a connection with her that few people, inside or out of her kingdom, had managed. Somehow, in a matter of minutes and without seeming to try, he’d managed to bring her fully out of her shell and allowed her access to his. No, it was more than that, it was as if she wanted access to the walls around this history he’d lived.  

“I’m…” Something about this felt weird to say, even though she knew it was right, “Sorry for your loss too.”

“I’m sure she loves watching the sunset,” He half hummed before catching himself and beginning to stammer, “W-Would have loved to, rather. This world is so very pretty, though I haven’t stayed for long, I’ve found myself rather smitten with it,” With his hand, he gestured out to the horizon and she followed his pointing, “Islands littered with limitless wonders, a glorious sunset every evening, softly rolling tides and wonderful people,” He spoke such simple words but they were so plainly from the heart, “Yes, this must be the most beautiful place I’ve ever visited. Even better than the world I made.”

Having not watched many sunsets, Blaze didn’t think she was in a good position to judge but there was no denying the prettiness of this sky. The soft pink of the ether, fading orange away from the sun and red towards, it was truly breath-taking to behold. The way the silver clouds hung, parted by his will, as if it were a picture frame surrounding the view made it all the more special. It was as if he’d revealed something she’d never have noticed, like he’d excavated some fossil or deciphered some ancient code.

“I’ve…” She caught herself before she could say something naïve again, “I must profess, I never really watched it until today. It just seemed so regular, as if it wasn’t worth noticing,” That turned his head but she kept her focus on the view in front of them, “But you’re right, it is beautiful,” In this moment, having discussed so much, Blaze felt bold enough to finally pry and ask the question she weirdly felt she already knew the answer to, “What did you say your name was?”

“Oh, I don’t think you asked so I didn’t give my name,” He’d tried to make it sound as though he’d just realised but Blaze could tell that was intentional, “I’m, um…” It took him much too long to provide an answer, “I’m Venice, yes, sorry. Its been a while since I’ve heard my name, let alone used it.”

“Venice?” That name didn’t sit fondly on her tongue, it didn’t seem to suit him at all. No, without even watching him speak it, Blaze knew that he was lying, “You mean, like the city in the other dimension? The one with the canals.”

“Y-Yeah,” He muttered in an attempt to reaffirm, “I think I was born there. I must admit, its been too long for me to really remember now. It’s really beautiful, but it can’t compare to this…”

“I see,” She didn’t feel as though she could really fight him on this, not directly at least.

In the silence that followed, Blaze couldn’t help but tear her gaze from the skyline and attempt to look upon him again. His heart seemed to always be on his sleeve; he was perpetually trying not to lie but plainly obfuscating the truth. Now closer, she could make out little details that were lost on her before. While his missing arm and leg were the most obvious marks on his body, it was clear that the tattered shroud he wore was intended to cover more. On his muzzle, just beneath his left eye, was a thin but clear gash that stretched almost the entire length of his cheek. The hedgehog’s nose looked as though it had been broken at least once, the way his left shoulder seemed to slump suggested that arm hadn’t escaped unharmed too and he was missing no fewer than three teeth.

These injuries would make any normal person feel bad for the hedgehog, but something about them was impacting Blaze a magnitude more than she’d expected. She’d been to hospitals in the wake of disaster, she’d seen people with injuries like his and even far worse following great storms and fires and floods, and she had felt for them… but it had never seemed quite so personal. Perhaps it was because he was older and she had just lost Gardon, perhaps it was because he’d shown her kindness, but Blaze doubted that. It was probably because of the bizarre connection she had felt this entire time. Who was this old man, who had he loved and what was he doing here?

Despite that question hanging in her mind, a very different one fell from Blaze’s mouth, “Do you want to talk about your partner some more?”

Equal parts of his face read that he did and didn’t want to but, ultimately, he resumed his talk, “I remember every detail, every little thing about her, as if we were together only yesterday. The way she’d flinch and brace at every bump in the night, the way she’d try to hide her laugh whenever I was especially stupid, the purrs she’d babble whenever things were truly peaceful, how she’d fuss over me while bandaging my injuries only to fuss more when I offered to help with hers,” Emotion now seemed to be overwhelming him, he went from staring straight at the sunset to turning such that she couldn’t see more than the edge of his muzzle, “There was this word she’d use, scolding me but not scolding me every time she spoke it. I didn’t even know what it meant for ages; it took me until very recently to know just what she meant by it though…”

Before she could even puppet her tongue, a question forcibly spilled fourth, “What was that word?”

“Oh, I don’t think I can stand to say it,” Somehow, by only seeing the edge of his ears furrowing and the slightest shake of his body, the princess could tell that the old hedgehog was at least hurting if not actually crying, “I’m sorry.”

Carefully, slowly, Blaze reached out a hand to touch his shoulder. That contact seemed to freeze him entirely or, perhaps, it would be better said that her touch had petrified him, “There’s nothing to be sorry for, I’m sorry you lost someone you clearly cared so much for,” For whatever reason, even though it was what so many had said to her after Gardon’s death, that didn’t seem like enough, “But, judging by what you said when I first arrived, I’m sure she’d be very proud of you. It sounds like you’ve lived a difficult life and done more for your world than people will ever know.”

“She probably would be,” He turned back, eyes red and plainly tired. He rubbed at his eyes with his stub, “I suppose, I lived up to our agreement.”

“You had an agreement?” She automatically pried before instantly regretting her forwardness.

“We promised to save our world, regardless of the cost,” Those words carried a weight that, try as she might, Blaze couldn’t shake. He concluded with five simple words that carried a tremendous weight, “That cost was rather high.”

Again, words seemed to leave her before she could question whether it was right or wrong to ask, “Do you think it was worth it?”

“I like to think this was,” Pulling his hand from his face, he rubbed where his right hand should have been, “Other things though… no, not so much, but there’s no going back now. It’s too late now, there’s no way of making up for what we exchanged.”

Blaze didn’t even need to ask the next question on her mind- the gap was filled without her permission. He lost his partner, whoever this woman was, to their task, at what stage and age she had no idea, but Blaze could feel her heart bleeding for him. He was old and so there was no real way to know when he’d lost her, he talked as if it was recent but to her it felt as though she’d vanished from his life long ago. This was just so strange, Blaze felt so many things that she couldn’t express and couldn’t recall feeling before. Why was he talking with her about all this?

Floundering, struggling for something to raise his spirits, Blaze blurted, “W-What about the others? I assume you’ve spent time with Cream, Sonic, Amy, all of them? Bonding with them helped me, did it do the same for you?”

“To an extent, I can’t deny that, but I haven’t seen any of them for decades. I’ve been dealing with their children and their children’s children and so on…” Recalling that seemed to return some of the joy to his muzzle, “Their faces began to blur towards the end, I’m sure I called one of their furthest descendants Amy more often than by her own name,” He almost chuckled, “It feels like yours is the most unique face I’ve seen in years, Blaze.”

Not once had he referred to her as princess or by the likes of your majesty, he’d asked about it as her job but it clearly wasn’t who he considered her. The name Blaze seemed to fall from his mouth and slip into her ears so easily, as if it almost belonged in the space between the two of them. Venice didn’t seem as though it’d capture nearly the same space.

“But no, there was no replacing her; not even partially,” He managed to continue, bright eyes gleamed with light even as the sun was rapidly setting, “Knowing them helped certainly but it's only now, as I reach this twilight age, I’ve realised quite how much I miss her.”

Part of Blaze wanted to believe that was the only reason he was here, that the old man was a wandering soul that’d long lost its leash, but there was something in itching at the back of her head that told her that wasn’t true. Furthermore, while it sounded like there was some truth to what he’d said, it didn’t seem like the whole truth; his talk of forgetting echoed in her mind. Regardless of that though, this sad hedgehog had rather endeared himself to her and if she could help shed some of that weight from his shoulders then she’d have done good today.

“What was she like?” She more gently questioned.

“My partner was, and always will be, the best person I ever knew,” His remaining shoulder started to relax, his whole form seemed to loosen as his stare returned to the sunset, “She knew me better than I knew myself, whenever I was pushing myself too far she wouldn’t hesitate to stop me. Without even blinking, she wouldn’t hesitate to knock me down or tell me I was being foolish. My emotions would get the better of me rather often while, even though she usually felt the same as me, she subdued most of hers. Whenever she couldn’t though, whenever things grew too aggravating or a defeat crushed her, I was there as best as I could be to help,” Even though he was looking off into the distance, she could tell he was more imagining than staring at the sunset, “She’d read poetry and prose while I liked to play games and investigate history, but we shared a number of things…”

For whatever reason, though she assumed it to be second-hand embarrassment on the part of Venice’s long-lost partner, the way he’d phrased those first compliments and briefly regaled her with their history was warming the princess’ heart further still. She found herself shifting just a little closer, entirely enamoured with the way he talked about this woman. Though Blaze couldn’t even begin to picture this other time traveler in her mind, she felt as though she was familiar too. Albeit, in a very different way.

“The world we were born into was practically devoid of nature, plants refused to grow and rain rarely fell. The world of the past that we knew came from books and, of the collections of books we found, none would interest us like those tomes containing nature photography. They let us see waterfalls, lush green grass and sights we couldn’t have even fathomed,” He reminisced, “As soon as I found out about them, I’d compare her to a star so very often. It always seemed to embarrass her just a little, how I always thought they were so very pretty. I never meant it like that at the time, but hindsight and a life of living paints a rather different story. I was so very… well, it’s not her word, but I was very oblivious to both of our feelings.”

A few clouds had begun to drift, dusting the sky and obscuring the end of the sunset, but with a wave he rearranged the sky again. As he did so, she watched as his attention was pulled from that imagined place and arrived back at reality. What was pink had gradually drifted to a deeper red and the colour had begun to overwhelm the dark clouds that lingered upon it. Even as it was nearing its end, even if the sun would dip beneath the horizon in a matter of minutes, it was all still so beautiful.

“The way the sun paints the sky in such a natural way never ceases to amaze me. I love a bright blue sky, free of clouds, but the way this one contrasts and blurs them is just so…” The joy in his voice reached a crescendo, “I’m just so glad that I finally got to see this with you.”

“See this with me?” Blaze blinked; she’d been overjoyed to hear him talk so freely but that stumble caught her full attention.

Her questioning seemed to stop him in his tracks, just as it did her. What could he have possibly meant by that? Panic and regret crumpled his face, “Um, yes… I’m glad we could have our meeting, as in…” The hedgehog’s head quickly whipped from her again, “But it’s been so long, the sun’s almost set. I’m sorry, Blaze, I’ve taken up far too much of your time,” A flash of cyan emanated from beneath his robes and, before Blaze could even understand what was happening, he’d materialised a leg from light and risen to stand tall. His remaining hand was extended down to her, “I’m sure you must be very busy…”

“N-No, I… Venice,” As she took his hand and said that name for the first time, it felt so wrong in her mouth. It absolutely wasn’t his name, “I don’t know what has happened, or even who you truly are, but meeting you…” She scrambled for the right words, “I don’t know what it is, but I feel as if there’s much more to you. I’ve never talked to someone like this, let alone a stranger. We’ve hardly been together half an hour but-

“Th-That’s why I need to go, even that’s too long,” He grumbled before a pulsing hum began to overwhelm his words. He raised his remaining hand and from the ring in his palm a disk of cyan light was projected. With another gesture, it was pushed outwards and Blaze could see a swirling blue vortex within that hole, “I’ve probably stayed with you longer than I should have, I’m sorry.”

“Why did you actually come here? What did you come here to do?” Why was her voice wavering? Why was she getting louder? What did it matter if this stranger left? “You can’t have crossed time and space just to see me, why would you do that?”

“Even if things aren’t perfect, I’m glad you’re safe and comfortable here,” He wasn’t listening to her or, at the very least, he wasn’t acknowledging her words, “Please try to enjoy yourself. If you get the opportunity, please be with your friends more and live the life you want to live. You were…” He managed to look at her again, smiling while his eyes were stained red with tears, “You are brilliant, Blaze. I’m so glad I made it here before the end,” Without turning from her, he stumbled forward and vanished into that void.

Her immediate reflex was to follow but the hole collapsed on itself and vanished in the air, spluttering out his final words, “Good luck,” as it vanished from reality.

Alone on the docks, left with only the sound of the waves and the whistling of wind, Blaze felt something inside her ache in a way she’d never ached before. Who was that figure, why did she care, what had he meant by his end and why had he come? She didn’t feel like she was watching one of her citizens die, she didn’t even feel as she had at Gardon’s funeral; this was alien to her and yet so familiar.

Having only risen to her feet a moment ago, she stumbled back and ended up sitting on the dock again. Ahead of her was the sky that he’d cleared, the sun had just dipped beneath the horizon. It was only a matter of time before his last impact on the world would be blown away, clouds were already encroaching on the space he’d made. He’d be wiped from this world, the ship’s he’d revived for Marine would surely sink again, but, for some reason, that old man had claimed an eternal place within the princess’ soul.

Why that was and who he was she’d surely never know, but she hoped her heart would stop aching soon.

[ultimatetrashyfanfic]

I’m just gonna say Non-despair AU cause I want everyone to be happy. I freaking LOVE Gundham so much, he’s wonderful and I’ve been wanting to write him for a while (but stalling cause of his DIALOGUE. It’s so hard). Buuuut I decided to finally give it a shot. And to kind of vent a little cause he used to stress me out in his dark coat and scarf in tropical heat. With Kazuichi because I want them to be friends, and because I seem physically incapable of not putting Kazuichi in every fic. COULD be seen as pre-soudam if you prefer, I didn’t write it like that but it could be if that floats your boat. I do like that ship, I just like other ones with Gundham and kazuichi more. Anyway, hope you enjoy - Circle

Also on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33543364

Warning: descriptions of overheating, sickfic. Nothing really bad here.

Kazuichi wasn’t shocked to wake up sprawled across a towel with sand in his hair and a dry mouth, completely alone on the beach. This wasn’t even the first time it had happened. When his insomnia was really bad he’d always doze throughout the next day - for some reason he couldn’t sleep in his warm, comfortable bed at night but could drop off in seconds with his head on the breakfast table or against Hajime’s shoulder. His classmates never bothered to wake Kazuichi if he was somewhere he wouldn’t be in the way, so the beach was a frequent napping spot. They always made sure to leave him in the shade with a water bottle for when he woke, so Kazuichi didn’t mind. It was normal.

What was very much not normal was waking up to Gundham grasping the front of his t-shirt, shaking him violently and yelling some weird gibberish that Kazuichi was still too woolly-headed to understand.

“Wha..?” he muttered, trying to wake up properly. For a second he wondered if he was having a weird lucid dream, because Gundham never usually touched people, especially him - though he was shaking him by the shirt instead of the shoulders.

“You’re gonna stretch out my clothes,” Kazuichi whined, sitting up and scrubbing his eyes.

“As if your tattered garments are a priority right now! Answer me with honesty, lest the demons tear your tongue from your very mouth. Have you encountered the wrath of my Crimson Steel Elephant?” Gundham cried, far too loudly.

“What?” Kazuichi mumbled. “Gundham, I can’t decipher your witchy language when I’ve just woken up.”

“Foolish mortal! This is a dire emergency!”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“I shall repeat myself just once more, so listen well. Have you encountered one of my Dark Devas of Destruction? Maga-Z appears to be missing,” Gundham said. Despite the grandeur and fancy words, Kazuichi could see he did look pretty distressed, holding the three remaining hamsters in his hand as if he was scared they’d dash away too.

“Oooh, okay. You’ve lost a hamster. That’s all you had to say, Gundham. One single sentence and I would’ve understood,” Kazuichi said.

“Do not talk so disparagingly! My Devas are far more powerful than mere hamsters. And Maga-Z has an independent spirit and often attempts to cause chaos alone. I have my concerns for the safety of everyone on this island if Maga-Z wields his destructive power without my guidance.”

Gundham was completely serious, but Kazuichi had to bite his cheeks to stop himself laughing, picturing a hamster storming across the island in a tank, decimating everything. But Gundham was clearly frantic, and Kazuichi was trying to be nicer to him recently, so he sighed.

“Okay, I’ll help you look for him. We should try to get the others to help too.”

“Indeed. You were the first mortal I came across,” Gundham admitted.

“Right, what does Maga-Z look like?” Kazuichi asked, taking a long drink of water. He felt like he’d be running around in the hot sun for a while now and wanted to drink while he had the chance.

“Your memory is abysmal.” Gundham seemed irritated that Kazuichi didn’t know the hamsters by sight.

“Look, I’m not exactly on nodding terms with your ham- Devas, am I? How am I supposed to know which is which? I only recognise the chubby one.” Kazuichi pointed to Cham-P.

Gundham reeled back like he’d been slapped, spluttering in outrage. “How dare you mock his corporeal form! If Cham-P was not so patient, he would obliterate you where you stand for such cheek.”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to body shame your hamster,” Kazuichi said irritably. “I wasn’t mocking. He’s just bigger than the other ones.”

“He is of the Golden variety, of course he is larger in stature. It has nothing to do with his nutritional intake.”

“Are we going to search or not?” Kazuichi snapped. God, talking to Gundham for more than five minutes was exhausting. “Do you know if Maga-Z has favourite places to go or something?”

Kazuichi let Gundham lead and did his very best not to talk to his strange companion as they searched through bushes and inside cupboards, asking any of his classmates they encountered to look too. Gundham muttered to the remaining hamsters, but didn’t try to talk to Kazuichi much either except to order him around - though his grandiose tone was quickly becoming softer and more anxious.

“Maga-Z has never disappeared from my influence for so long,” he mumbled, pulling his scarf to cover his mouth. “I cannot contain this feeling of dread.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Kazuichi said, surprising himself. “We’ll find him. He’ll be okay.”

Gundham blinked, then stood up straighter. “I assure you, I fear for the inhabitants of the island. Maga-Z will come to no harm.”

But he was worrying, and even Kazuichi could see it. His searching was becoming frantic, his usually careful hands clumsy, so he knocked things off their shelves and forgot to tidy up or close doors behind them. He started running between buildings and bushes, long coat billowing, calling out for his lost hamster.

“Gundham! Hang on a second,” Kazuichi gasped. “I can’t breathe!”

Surprisingly, Gundham did as he was told, leaning against a palm tree in the shade. He wrapped his arms around his chest, pale fists gripping his dark coat. His carefully styled hair was starting to droop in the heat, and his face was very pink. Kazuichi had never seen so much colour in his cheeks before. The three remaining hamsters cowered inside Gundham’s scarf, sensing his anxiety.

Kazuichi went to lean beside him, wiping the sweat off his own forehead. He didn’t know how Gundham managed in his black clothes every day.

“We’ll find him,” Kazuichi said again. “Ibuki and Twogami and Mahiru said they’d look. And Miss Sonia looked like she was going to cry when I told her Maga-Z was missing. She said she wouldn’t rest until he was found.”

“She has a good heart,” Gundham said softly.

“Yeah…” Kazuichi paused. “Hey, you didn’t say anything nice like that about me. I’m the one who’s been running around with you in the baking sun for hours.”

Gundham didn’t respond. He’d been talking a lot less in the past twenty minutes or so, though he’d originally been giving incomprehensible orders to Kazuichi every two minutes. Souda assumed he was just growing more concerned for Maga-Z the longer he was missing - so he was caught off guard when Gundham slumped over and fell limply against him, almost bringing them both to the floor.

“Dude!” Kazuichi managed to catch hold of Gundham. “What are you doing?”

Perhaps Gundham didn’t know what he was doing either, because he had a look of sheer bafflement on his face. He tried to pull himself upright, clinging to the rough bark of the palm tree, but each time he wobbled dangerously and Kazuichi had to grab onto him again.

“What is this..? I appear to be reacting negatively to your mortal world’s atmosphere.” His usually forceful speech came out laboured and slow, and Gundham placed a hand to his lips in surprise.

“What? You’ve been surviving in this atmosphere for ages already,” Kazuichi argued. “What’s up with you? You sound drunk. Can you tell me in plain English?”

“The temperature in this godforsaken land exceeds even the fiery bowels of hell,” Gundham hissed, having to cling to Kazuichi to stay upright.

Kazuichi took a second to disentangle Gundham’s web of fancy words. “Sooo… you’re too hot. I guess that makes sense. Who wears a black coat and a scarf in this heat? And I know you haven’t had any water since we started searching. I’d better take you back to your cabin,” he sighed.

“Unhand me this instant, you fiend!” Gundham growled, though he was the one using Kazuichi like a walking stick. “I could never rest while one of my Dark Devas of Destruction is unguided.”

“Well they’ll all be unguided if you get heatstroke and drop dead,” Kazuichi said. “Half the island is searching for Maga-Z - and I’ll go back out to keep looking as soon as I can, okay?” As much as Gundham might get on Kazuichi’s nerves sometimes, he didn’t want him to get really sick or hurt. He hoped Maga-Z had enough sense not to wander into the sea or something; Gundham would be crushed.

“Hmm.” Gundham didn’t look convinced.

“Your other three ham- I mean Devas probably need to cool down a bit too,” Kazuichi tried.

Another pause. “Very well,” Gundham sighed. “I shall retire to my artificially cooled domain until the effects of this oppressive atmosphere wear off. I trust you to ensure the search continues.” He turned on his heel and tried to walk on his own, staggering alarmingly.

“Hey, careful!” Kazuichi ran to steady him. “I told you I’d help you.”

Gundham slapped his hands away. “Fool! Have you forgotten I am cursed with poison?”

“Oh for God’s sake! Could you just give an inch for once! Why do you make everything so difficult?” Kazuichi cried exasperatedly.

Gundham stuck his chin in the air and started berating Souda again - but before he’d even finished the first sentence his words died away. He blinked several times, looking dazed, swaying where he stood.

“Gundham..?” Kazuichi said nervously.

Gundham didn’t respond. He took another few staggering steps towards his cabin, then crumpled as his knees gave way under him. Kazuichi cried out and hurried to catch him, their foreheads bashing together painfully. Gundham’s skin was clammy and damp, his face looking much more… alive than usual. Kazuichi realised it was because his pale makeup was running.

“Fucking hell, Gundham,” Kazuichi groaned, hauling one of Gundham’s arms around his shoulders. “Just hold onto me, okay? Try not to pass out.”

Surprisingly, Gundham nodded, staring down at his feet like it was taking a huge effort to make them move. It was clear he was trying to be helpful, but Kazuichi had to carry a lot of his weight and they were both breathless by the time they reached Gundham’s cabin. Kazuichi breathed a sigh of relief as the wall of cool air conditioning washed over them.

“Thank God for that,” he mumbled, dumping Gundham onto the bed. It was carefully made, which Kazuichi had never understood; why bother making your bed when you were just going to mess it up every night? The entire room was neat, though the giant cage meant it rather smelled like hamsters. “Right, get your coat and scarf off.”

Gundham glared at him viciously.

“Oh, that’s the thanks I get, is it? Well, no matter how annoying you might be, you’re overheated. No wonder, wearing that stupid dark coat. So get it off.” Kazuichi grabbed Gundham’s arms and yanked the coat sleeves off like he was undressing a sulky toddler. Gundham hissed a series of furious curses at him - one of which sounded like Latin, which was actually pretty impressive - and the three remaining hamsters hopped out onto the bed, startled.

“There. Was that so hard?” Kazuichi said silkily when Gundham was lying on the bed in his shirt and scarf, glaring. Kazuichi tried to take the scarf off too, but Gundham’s hissed threats became more vehement and he gave up. “Fine, keep it on then. Though I don’t think the gothic look is very sustainable in a tropical climate, man. Right, I’m going to get you something to drink.”

Gundham didn’t respond until Kazuichi had returned with a cup full of water from the bathroom. “I shall take advice from one with such abysmal fashion sense as yourself with a grain of salt, fiend,” he said, with as much dignity as he could muster while tomato-red and damp with sweat on his bed.

Kazuichi had to fight very hard not to pour the glass of water directly over Gundham’s head, but he just about managed to help him drink it instead. Then he grabbed the little fan from the bathroom and placed it by Gundham’s bed, dampened a cloth and slapped it rather unceremoniously on his forehead. Gundham yelped and glared again, water trickling down his temples. Good. Serves him right for that earlier comment. “There. Keep your head back or you’ll smudge your eyeliner. And don’t move. I’ll try to find Mikan while I’m looking for Maga-Z, okay?”

Gundham turned his face away, cupping one hand over the Devas protectively. He mumbled something into the material of his scarf.

“What?” Kazuichi asked.

“I said I am grateful for your assistance…”

“Oh.” Kazuichi was surprised. He’d never heard Gundham acknowledge he needed any help before - though maybe that was Kazuichi’s own fault. He’d been the one to start up the whole stupid rivalry thing (which wasn’t ever a rivalry in the first place since the girl wasn’t remotely interested). Maybe this was a step towards a reconciliation.

“I mean, I wasn’t gonna leave you to die,” Kazuichi added awkwardly.

“You are far more tolerable when you do not echo the Dark Queen like a parrot. I once believed you had no real mind of your own,” Gundham said bluntly.

Kazuichi flushed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You made yourself an extension of the Dark Queen. You never disputed her or challenged her. You agreed with her every word.”

“Well… I wanted her to like me,” Kazuichi mumbled. “Look, you don’t need to lecture me about all this. You know I’ve left Sonia alone.”

“Indeed. But you still wish to befriend her?” Gundham asked. Even weak and overheated as he was, his eyes were burning into Kazuichi’s with such a fierce intensity he had to look away.

“That’s her choice. Why are you asking all this?”

“If you still seek a friendly companionship with the Dark Queen, you should not forget she is a mere powerless mortal,” Gundham said. “She does not wish to be treated like she is extraordinary. She does not wish to be around those who only agree to please her.”

Kazuichi stared at him. Was Gundham really offering advice? Was this a weird way to repay him for helping out? It was pretty embarrassing to be given advice on how to make friends from Gundham, who openly distrusted everyone - but he was friends with Sonia. Maybe even something more, Kazuichi honestly didn’t know. He’d tried to stay away from Sonia as much as possibly, partly because he wanted her to be more comfortable and partly because he was pretty fucking embarrassed by his past behaviour. But he would like to be her friend. Nothing else - he knew that wouldn’t ever happen - but friends was good.

“Now make haste!” Gundham suddenly cried, making Kazuichi jump. “Continue the search! I shall rejoin you as soon as I am able.”

“No, rest. Don’t move and especially don’t put your coat on again. I’ll find Maga-Z,” Kazuichi said quickly. He dashed outside before Gundham could protest, groaning as the sticky heat wrapped around him once more.

He started searching again, after taking a quick detour to Mikan’s cabin to ask if she could go check on Gundham and make sure he hadn’t gone out into the sun again. Almost everyone on the island was searching now, splitting off into little groups to cover more ground. Nagito was one of the last to join in - and Hajime and Kazuichi watched in astonishment as he shifted the very first box he touched in the storage room of the old building and pointed. “There he is.”

“WHY didn’t I ask him first?!” Kazuichi practically screamed.

“Ultimate Luck seems a pretty useful talent,” Hajime murmured to him, not wanting Nagito to hear. It’d only start him off on a long self-deprecating rant. “Go on then, Kazuichi. Get him.”

Kazuichi peered behind the box on his hands and knees. Maga-Z was cowering in the corner, fur dishevelled and standing on end. He didn’t look too friendly. “Why do I have to grab the stupid hamster?” Kazuichi whined. “You grab him, Hajime. I don’t like them. They look like they know too much.”

“What are you on about?” Hajime sighed. “It’s just a hamster. You can’t be scared of a hamster, Kazuichi.”

“They’re Gundham’s hamsters. They probably like… worship the devil or something.”

“Hamsters don’t worship anything. They’re just hamsters.”

“Can I go now?” Nagito asked, looking like he was losing braincells just listening to this conversation.

“Yeah, thanks, Nagito. Unless you fancy grabbing this hamster,” Kazuichi said. He looked hopeful, but Nagito left without another word.

“I’ll do it,” Hajime said, exasperated. He reached behind the box to ease his hand underneath Maga-Z, but as soon as his fingers brushed fur, the hamster made a mad dash forward. Directly towards Souda. He squealed and hastily cupped both hands around Maga-Z, holding him at arm’s length. “Oh my God, oh my God, I got him… Oh God, he’s gonna bite me, I know he is,” Kazuichi whined.

“Hey, good job,” Hajime said, surprised. “I didn’t think you’d catch him.”

“I’m not a baby, Hajime,” Kazuichi huffed. Then he whimpered in a very childish way. “Ugh, he’s wriggling around. Can I… put him somewhere? A bag or something? I don’t trust him.”

“Just shove him in your pocket and let’s go. It’s boiling in here. And Gundham will be stressing about Maga-Z. Do you know where he is?”

“I had to put him to bed because he nearly fainted. He was running around in his black coat all day.”

Hajime rolled his eyes. “Nobody on this island has any self-preservation skills.”

“At least Maga-Z is okay.” Kazuichi studied the little ball of fluff cupped in his hands. Somehow his little ink drop eyes did look menacing. “Hey, he really does look like he wanted to go off and cause chaos on his own, doesn’t he?”

Hajime gave Kazuichi a look. “I think you’ve spent too much time with Gundham today.”

Thankfully, Gundham was still in his room and looking a lot better, though still very visibly agitated. His colour had returned to ghostly pale (he must’ve reapplied his makeup) and his eyes were far more focused - they snapped to the door right away when Hajime opened it. When he saw Kazuichi, his hands still full of wriggling hamster, his brow cleared.

“Take him, quick!” Kazuichi said, hurrying over to the bed. “I’m sure he wants to bite me.”

“You fiend,” Gundham murmured, taking the hamster. For a second Kazuichi was offended, thinking Gundham was calling him names when he and Hajime had been nice enough to bring the hamster back, but then he realised Gundham was talking to Maga-Z. He spoke to them in exactly the same way he spoke to his classmates, no silly mushy voices like most people did with cute animals.

“I can only pray you have not caused too much destruction while unsupervised,” he murmured, smoothing Maga-Z’s fur. The hamster sat up to greet him like a little puppy, and Kazuichi noticed for the first time that Maga-Z’s cheeks were bulging.

“Did he really run off just to steal food?” Kazuichi groaned. “We’ve been so stressed and he was just eating!”

“Ah yes, a feast befitting the magnificent Crimson Steel Elephant,” Gundham said, gently placing Maga-Z with the other hamsters. They circled him joyfully, happy to be reunited too.

Kazuichi threw his hands up exasperatedly. “I give up. You’re all nuts.”

Gundham turned to Kazuichi, his face solemn. “I am deeply indebted to you, as is everybody who resides on this island. I cannot speak of the terrors that may have occurred if Maga-Z was without guidance. I shall spread the story of your triumph to every other mortal here so they can show you due gratitude,” he said.

“Oh… Thanks, man.” Kazuichi could see he meant well, but the thought of Gundham telling everyone Kazuichi saved the island from a hamster’s destruction was pretty embarrassing. He could already see Hajime smirking out of the corner of his eye.

“You should stay inside a bit longer though,” Hajime said. “Just in case. You need to make sure you’re totally cooled down.”

“Indeed. I have had ample excitement for one day,” Gundham said.

“Me too,” Kazuichi mumbled.

“If you’re feeling better, you can tell everyone about Kazuichi saving the island over dinner,” Hajime said, grinning. Kazuichi glared at him.

“Asshole,” he muttered as soon as they were outside Gundham’s cabin.

Hajime burst out laughing. “Maybe he’ll make you sound really gallant and fearless when he tells it.”

“Then everyone will know it’s a lie right away. And anyway, Nagito saw what happened. Even if you don’t give away the real story, he’ll definitely tell.”

“Probably. But you did save his hamster, even if you weren’t that fearless about it. Is there a truce between you two now?”

“I suppose so. He’s not so bad. Crazy and dramatic and difficult… but okay,” Kazuichi admitted. He paused. “I don’t know what half of the words he uses mean though.”

“Yeah,” Hajime agreed. “I don’t either.”