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scope-dogg · 4 years ago

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Knight’s and Magic: Final Thoughts

Isekai anime have been very popular in recent years, and 2017′s Knight’s and Magic was one of many cashing in on that trend, with the added twist of being a mecha series. However, what many may not realise is that the Isekai genre of anime was originally born out of the mecha genre, with the first Isekai anime arguably being the 1983 classic Aura Battler Dunbine by Yoshiyuki Tomino. While Isekai has split off and diversified into its own extremely prolific and popular genre, mecha has kept a foothold within it, and subsequently some of the greatest mecha shows have been fantasy-themed, with great titles like Magic Knight Rayearth and The Vision of Escaflowne following in Dunbine’s footsteps over the years, so really Knight’s and Magic should be viewed rather as the continuation of a fairly long tradition of fantasy mecha rather than Isekai but with robots. Adapted from the early volumes of a currently ongoing manga by the same name, it’s a short series, but one with high production values, superb mechanical design and entertaining action. It’s also a series that I ultimately simply cannot stand.

The plot setup is that Tsubasa Kurata is an unassuming but highly talented programmer working in contemporary Japan - or at least he is until he’s killed in a road traffic accident. As he dies, he has but one regret - that he’ll no longer be able to live with his hobby of building plastic model kits of giant anime robots. As is often the case with such a setup, he finds himself reborn into a fantasy kingdom called Fremevilla as the son of nobles called Ernesti Echavalier. However, to his joy, he finds out that the main weapon for fighting back against these monsters is the Silhouette Knight, a kind of gigantic magic-powered mecha. Thus, he devotes himself to the art of learning everything there is about these machines and one day building and piloting one of his very own.

There’s nothing really wrong with this premise, but Knight’s and Magic is flawed in how one-track it is. The show’s really only about one thing - how robots are cool. Of course, I agree that robots are cool. Knight’s and Magic’s lineup of robots in particular is very cool, both in their form and unique functions. However, anyone who’s actually a fan of the mecha genre knows that just having cool robots isn’t enough to carry a show - you have to have compelling characters and interesting narratives. The all-too-frequently trotted-out line of “[x mecha show] is actually good, unlike the rest of the genre, because it focuses on the characters instead of just the robots” is probably the single most effective thing you can say if you want to piss off a mecha fan, because that sentence describes literally every mecha show that was ever worth a damn, even going back to the genre’s roots in the 70s. However, it arguably doesn’t really describe Knight’s and Magic. The series’ creators come off as just as obsessed with robots as its main character, and it comes at the expense of the characters and setting. Each new episode comes with a cool new robot or a cool upgrade for an existing one, but practically none of them feature development of the setting or its characters. Fremevilla and its neighbours never come off as anything more than “generic fantasy kingdom”, the supporting cast are all cut from extremely generic-feeling moulds, and Ernesti never undergoes any growth or exhibits any notable character traits beyond “likes robots.”

Now, there have been several characters in mecha anime who are in large part defined by their dedication to giant robots as an ideal, or simply to their aesthetic, and some of these are truly excellent characters. For instance, Gai Daigoji from Nadesico, Akagi Shunsuke from Dai-Guard, Noa Izumi from Patlabor, Sei Iori from Gundam Build Fighters, or the Super Robot Wars Original character Ryusei Date. The difference between all of these and Ernesti is that being fans of robots isn’t the only thing that makes them relatable or endearing characters, whereas in Ernesti’s case it’s basically the only thing that defines his personality. It also doesn’t help that he’s perhaps the biggest Mary Sue main character that I’ve seen in a mecha anime. His gimmick is that his past-life experience as a programmer also makes him profoundly adept at magic, and that he’s a genius Silhouette Knight designer. He’s always totally successful at everything he tries and everyone loves and respects him for his accomplishments. Ironically, it’s this that makes him an unlikable character for the viewer, because, again, he has no real admirable qualities beyond liking robots and being good at making and using them. It’s a character’s struggles and tribulations that ultimately make them truly sympathetic, and Ernesti is never really challenged until right at the very end of the series, and ultimately that challenge only feels like a mild speed bump for him. This results in a series that despite all its cool robots and flashy battles is fundamentally dead as a story at its core.

However, all of this simply describes a series that I would find boring and mediocre rather than one I actively disliked in a serious way. However, this is arguably the first series I’ve watched since Gundam Seed Destiny that really ground my gears quite badly, and it all boils down to one specific moment in the show’s narrative. To explain why, I need to diverge from my usual review format and spoil not only this show, but also it’s forefather, the original mecha Isekai, Aura Battler Dunbine. I really don’t think spoilers for the former is anything to worry about but spoiling the latter is probably more of an offense. As such, the remainder of this review is below this spoiler cut:

Dunbine is not everyone’s cut of tea. It’s old, has bad animation, it’s long-winded and has a sometimes confused and scrambled narrative in accordance with some of Tomino’s worst habits. However, it was also a work of great imagination that really delivered on communicating a valuable message in some engaging ways. It’s a message that Knight’s and Magic cheerfully and infuriatingly tramples all over. Let me explain.

In Knight’s and Magic, the show’s hero is an outsider who enters into a fantasy world and uses his real-world knowledge to bring about a revolution in technology. This also happens to be the chief descriptor for a major character in Dunbine too.

However, this isn’t the description of the show’s protagonist, Show Zama.

It’s the description of the show’s villain, Shot Weapon.

Shot Weapon is the creator of the Aura Convertor, the technology that powers the show’s mecha, the Aura Battlers, and other weapons besides. The introduction of this technology destroys the peace of Dunbine’s world, Byston Well, and causes it to descend into anarchy and bloodshed. However, the real devastation doesn’t occur until Shot’s creations are transported back into our world, where they inflict destruction almost beyond imagining. Ultimately, Shot Weapon’s actions condemn him to a punishment of being forced to live forever in Byston Well in a state of eternal suffering, like Cain after murdering his brother Abel. Dunbine’s ultimate, most crucial message is that those who manufacture weapons and spread death are to be condemned.

Knight’s and Magic gave itself the exact same opportunity to deal with this exact same theme. The show’s final arc is that a kingdom called Zaloudek has accumulated vast military power and used it to invade its neighours. We get to see as they descend into a neighbouring kingdom, slaughter its just and rightful rulers and install themselves as tyrants. Now, enter Ernesti and his friends at the conquered kingdom’s borders. At this point he’s achieved his aim of creating his own unique robot called the Ikaruga, and in its first battle effortlessly dispatches the Zaloudek soldiers guarding the border. In the aftermath, he examines the wreckage of a destroyed Zaloudek Silhouette Knight. He and everyone else see the obvious - this machine, the Tyranto is based on Ernesti’s designs. Previously, one of the prototype Knights he’d constructed in an earlier arc was stolen by a mysterious foreign agent, and now it’s become clear what happened to it. The source of the military strength that’s fuelling Zaloudek’s ambitions of conquest are the new technologies that he created, reverse engineered from the stolen mecha. As he looks upon the wreck of the Tyranto, the show is presented with a unique opportunity to do something that it’s thus far not done - challenge its protagonist with the consequences of his actions. Sure, Ernesti is not exactly the same as Shot Weapon - he only wanted to create robots because he thought they were cool, while Shot Weapon wanted power. However, in this case the end result has been the same - death, destruction and oppression. Ernesti has a chance to think about whether the things he’s done are right and acknowledge that he’s at least somewhat responsible for the disaster that’s played out, even if it’s just to acknowledge that he has a duty to set things right by beating Zaloudek. This is an opportunity for him to grow as a character for the first time.

The show swerves this opportunity without flinching.

Sure, Ernesti does liberate the kingdom in the end, but it’s clear that it’s not as a result of any real moral calling. He just wanted to build more robots and fight with them. His motivation in the final battle is that he wants to destroy the enemy’s flying battleship because he’s worried that battleships might replace Silhouette Knights if he doesn’t. He remains a totally one-dimensional character right to the end.

As I said before, Ernesti’s obsession with cool robots arguably mirrors that of the creators of this show, if its myopic focus on them is anything to go by. Perhaps this seems extremely out of character for me to say, but this is an infantile obsession. Yes, I like giant robots, but I don’t like them so much that I miss the point. The core of not only the real robot genre that both Knight’s and Magic and Aura Battle Dunbine belong to despite the fantasy trappings of the show, but arguably of the mecha genre as a whole, is that technology can be a force of destruction and great evil when not used responsibly. Yes, the protagonist mecha in these shows are meant to be heroic, but only in their opposition to those who’d use technology as a tool of death and oppression. This is the core of the soul that makes mecha as a genre compelling. It’s a point that Knight’s and Magic completely misses and why it’s fundamentally a failure. It’s as if it’s trying to be what the mecha genre’s detractors try to paint it as.

That said, despite my misgivings there is entertainment to be found if you only want dumb action. But I’d highly encourage you to check out any alternative. If you want a fantasy mecha series, Dunbine, Escaflowne and Rayearth are all much more compelling stories than this - even ones I’m not so keen on like Panzer World Galient and Ryu Knight are fundamentally more interesting as stories than this. If you want a story with a mecha fanatic in the lead role, you’re much better off watching Patlabor or the chronically underrated Dai-Guard instead.

#knight's and magic #mecha #respect the robot

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captainrexforever · 5 years ago

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Trials and Tribulations 2/2

Rating: T

Word count: ~6k

Summary: The reader discovers that she has formed a force bond with her Mandalorian companion. This has some unforeseen complications during the events at the Imperial refinery on Morak.

Warnings: angst, fluff, canon typical violence, more Dad! Fett, awkward! Din, use of in-universe curse words

Note: Part 2 at last! There are quite a few pov. changes, so I hope that they don’t interrupt the flow of the story too much. Happy reading, and I hope you enjoy!

Pt. 1

After settling into the cockpit alongside Fett, the only thing you can do is wait for Fennec’s signal, but that doesn’t mean you have to be bored.

“Is it too much to ask for a tour of the flight controls?”

“I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.” He speaks honestly.

You can only chuckle in response and shrug. “What can I say, I’m not used to holding a conversation with my crewmate.”

“I take it Mando doesn’t talk much.”

His eyes search your face, and although you attempt to hold his gaze, your eyes fall to the floor as you answer. “No, he doesn’t.”

Fett only nods in response, and you have a sudden urge to change the subject. “So, I noticed that you wear your helmet while flying, even though all the screens are displayed on the console.”

He must note the change in topic, but he doesn’t bring it up. “Yes, I tied all the tracking technology into the visor of my helmet. That way if I have to aim at something while in flight, I can observe it through the viewport and follow the object with my eyes, as if aiming a real blaster.”

“Woah, that’s really cool.”

“Indeed. It’s an idea my father often shared with me, although he didn’t get the chance to implement the changes. I was finally able to make the alterations myself.” There’s a little bit of nostalgia in his voice, and you wonder if you should feel bad for bringing up a potentially sensitive topic. “Perhaps I can let you try it on the retrieval run.” Boba continues.

“Oh, no, no, no, maybe later, thank you. I don’t want to jeopardize the mission with my novice flying skills.”

“Is that so? You project the aura of a competent pilot.”

“Yes, but it’s been a while since I’ve sat behind the controls of a ship.”

Fett raises a hand to his chin, as if stroking a non-existent beard. “So you didn’t fly Mando’s ship?” It’s definitely a question, but it comes off more like a statement.

“Well, I...I usually left that to Mando, I felt like it was almost a form of relaxation for him and I didn’t want to take that away.”

“Can I give you some advice?”

That throws you off a little.

“Sure.”

“A Mandalorian’s ship is a precious possession, not as important to them as beskar or their code, but still. A ship represents a Mandalorian’s freedom and individuality. If you were allowed to live within that ship for what I estimate to be several months, there was something else going on.”

It feels like someone lodged their fist into your chest and squeezed all the air out of your lungs. Surely he couldn’t mean...“What, what do you mean? Are you saying he was desperate for help no matter the cost?”

Fett wants to bang his head on the console, then bang it against your head to knock some sense into you. No wonder you and the Mandalorian get along so well, you’re both absolutely clueless.

“Do you know that he carried you up the ramp of this ship last week when you were on death’s door, demanding medical attention from me?” Your eyes widen in response. “When we eventually realized you were losing too much blood, his first instinct was to infiltrate a medical station to obtain the necessary blood samples for a transfusion. Lucky for him, I had some sequencing instruments aboard, and we were able to identify your blood type. By some miracle, you and he happen to possess the same blood.” The atmosphere is becoming more tense by the second, and you can only sit there as Fett recounts the events surrounding your recent injuries. “He stayed by your side during the entire two day flight to Nevarro, refusing to eat or sleep. With the amount of time he spent providing blood to the transfusion system, I was sure he would pass out from blood loss before we arrived.” A choked sound leaves your throat. “The second we landed, he was on his feet, clutching onto your body as he carried you to the Marshal’s office.”

He lets his words sink in for a moment as he pins you underneath his gaze once again. “I have fought countless battles, lost many comrades, and seen fellow warriors suffer horrible injuries. But I have never seen a man so stricken with grief and despair at the thought of losing a fellow comrade-in-arms. It’s obvious you mean much more to him than either of you realize.”

He notices that you’re in shock after taking in all of that information, and he opens his mouth to say one last thing. “If you want to take a seat in the hold and let yourself process all of that, I’ll let you know when I receive the cue to take off.”

The sentence is uttered with kindness, and you can only nod, thankful for his understanding. In a second you’re slipping down the ladder to the main hold of the ship.

Kriff.

Tears bite at the corners of your eyes as you suppress a sniffle with your forearm. That damned Mandalorian has been holding out on you. It all makes sense now. The affection you sensed earlier, the brief moments where you often notice his gaze linger for a millisecond too long. He cares about you. The thought has you releasing a muffled sob into your palms, why has he never told you? You would have welcomed his affection and returned it a thousand fold, if he had ever offered you the chance.

A spike of fear races up your spine suddenly, and you tense in response. There is a familiar tickling sensation in the back of your mind, and you realize that Din is unintentionally projecting on you. After what happened earlier, you’re sure that you are the last person he wants to communicate with. His fear washes over you again, this time accompanied by panic, and you know that something has gone terribly wrong. Feelings be damned, you need to know what is going on down there. A firm nudge against his thought process grants your mind access to his, and the singular pulsing thought that envelops your brain gives you an immediate headache.

“This is for the kid. The kid needs me, I can do this for him. I can do this for the kid.”

“Din, what’s going on?”

“You need to leave right now.”

“Din, what’s going on, let me help.”

There is no response. You’re so frustrated right now that you want to punch him, and you must be projecting because he allows you to see one more thought.

You gasp in disbelief and shock.

“Din...no. You can’t take your helmet off.”

“This is for the kid, Y/n. There is no other way.”

“Your creed, your way. What will you do after you take it off?”

“I...I don’t know. This is the only way I can save him.”

A tear rolls down your cheek.

“I understand.” Then you pull yourself from his mind.

Even faced with death, while you cried over his limp body, he had refused to remove his helmet.

No, you don’t understand at all.

By the time Mayfeld and Mando board the ship, you’re seated in the cockpit once again, desperately trying to keep a firm hold on your emotions. The ship rocks with the force of an explosion as Boba makes a hasty retreat.

“We got company. Hang on.” He announces.

The ship swerves to the side as he maneuvers away from the blasts of two tie fighters, and you watch in fascination as the scope on his helmet automatically drops into place in front of his visor.

“These Imperial pilots can’t hit a damn thing.” He complains to you.

“Isn’t that a good thing for us?” You ask.

“I suppose. It isn’t much fun though.”

Wow. Maybe he and Din aren’t so different after all, or perhaps all Mandalorians are just crazy.

“You wanted to learn about the controls, right? Flip that gold switch I’m pointing to.” He requests.

After grasping a hold of the pilot seat to keep yourself upright, you reach for the control panel and flip the switch.

“Excellent, now take my helmet.” He removes it and holds it out to you. “Let me know when the two fighters are within 80 meters of each other.”

You take the helmet eagerly, desperate for some type of combat action to block out your overwhelming emotions. The visor remains dark until the helmet thunks into place around your head, then it bursts into life. There are so many readings on the display that you are overwhelmed for a moment.

“Look at the top right corner of the HUD, it’ll show you the close-range scans and a distance measurement for the two targets.”

“Got it. The display measures the distance at 100 meters.”

“Alright, just wait a second. Standard flight path protocol will have them grouping up soon.”

Sure enough, the number plunges down to 90, then 85, then 82. Just a little bit closer…“Now!”

A light flashes somewhere on the HUD as a click filters through the helmet’s speakers. A glance at the top right corner of the display reveals a projectile moving towards the two tie fighters, and you grin at the resulting explosion. There is still a satisfied smile on your face when you hand the helmet back to Fett.

“Nice shot. And thank you.” You hope that he understands your referring both to the advice he shared earlier, as well as his recent actions.

He nods. “Any time, vod.”

“Vod?”

“It’s Mando’a, the closest term in Basic is ‘comrade’.”

That spikes your interest and there is a burning question on the tip of your tongue, but you leave it for later.

“I’m gonna set the ship down, you might want to take a seat.” Fett breaks the silence.

You scramble to follow his advice, and once the landing cycle is complete he rises from his chair. “Just a moment.” He elaborates, as he descends down the ladder.

His absence leaves you with a quiet moment to reflect, and you hold your fisted hands out so you can list some facts and organize your frazzled thoughts. Ok, you tell yourself as you take a deep breath.

One, Din cares about you.

Two, you care about Din.

Three, he cares for the child like a son.

Four...what’s another fact? Dank farrik!

Four, you repeat as you rack your brain. Ah yes, Din’s Creed forbids him from revealing his face to another being.

Five, Din obviously knew he had no choice but to risk breaking his code. The choice was to either reveal his face, or abandon the child to a fate that could be worse than death.

Six. Well, now that you think about it, you are being a little bit petty. You would also be willing to risk anything, if it was the only way to save the kid. Now that you’ve gone and said it, you feel a little ashamed. Poor Din doesn’t deserve to deal with the loss of his child and your foul mood at the same time.

You decide to continue your list.

Seven, Boba Fett’s ship is cool as hell.

Eight, Din is kinda hot. Wait, what?! Hold on a second.

Eight, Din is...alright fine. He’s pretty hot.

Nine, He does have very nice thighs.

Ten, He’s really attractive when he’s fighting.

Eleven, He’s...Wait, you only have ten fingers!

You really need to get yourself under control, this is completely out of line.

“Let’s hold tight up here for a moment, Mando’s putting on his kit.”

You let out an undignified squeak, caught entirely by surprise. What you said earlier was becoming more and more true by the second, Mando and Boba weren’t so different after all.

Meanwhile in the small fresher, Mando is in the process of attaching his beskar chestplate when you start projectingly very loudly. A blush rises to his cheeks as you approach the end of your mental list. He has always hoped that you felt some semblance of affection towards him, but the thoughts you are currently entertaining are on a whole new level.

After the events in the refinery, he’s still a little shaken, but he feels he owes you an explanation for his recent behavior. Once the last piece of Beskar is attached to his figure, he prepares to ascend the ladder to the cockpit. But, when he approaches, he can distinctly make out your voice, as well as Fett’s.

“There are two words that I sometimes hear Mando use, and I think that they are from Mando’a. Would you mind translating them?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

“I did once. He didn’t answer.”

“What are they?”

“‘Verd’ and ‘ika’.”

“Interesting.” He strokes at his chin again. “It’s actually one word, verd’ika.” (Little warrior)

“Oh. What does it mean?”

“It means…”

Oh no, Din thinks. I need to break this up right now.

“What’s the status on Cara and Fennec?” He blurts out. Affection and amusement fill him when he notices you jump slightly in your seat at his sudden appearance.

“They should be approaching our position at any moment now.”

Din nods. He realizes he’s awkwardly lingering at the base of the ladder now, but he can’t let Fett share that translation with you. Not yet. Not until he is able to explain himself.

“Fett, could you provide me with the materials to replace the cooling core in my blaster? All my spare parts and tools were on my ship.”

Boba stares him down. He knows exactly what Din is trying to do. Din sighs, he is far too fatigued, mentally and emotionally, to deal with this right now. He’s just about to give up when Fett gives him a sharp nod, plops his helmet over his head, and rises from his chair before descending into the hull. Din notices him shoot you an apologetic look, which you respond to with a tight-lipped smile.

Now that at least one disaster has been avoided, Din turns to follow through with his made-up task. A voice crackles through the speakers in his helmet, and he startles when he recognizes Fett’s voice. He hasn’t heard a fellow Mandalorian’s voice transmit through his helmet’s audio channel since the destruction of the covert.

“I know what you did back there.” Fett states.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I meant in the refinery.” Fett clarifies.

Din tenses in response and whirls around to face Fett again. How could he know?

“I was monitoring all Imperial communications from inside the refinery as a precaution, just in case there was a complication. The Imperial terminal in the base uploaded a facial scan that wasn’t registered to the computer’s database right after you two arrived.”

Din’s hands clench into fists, if Fett saw the scan…

“Don’t worry Mando, I never saw the image. But, I did have to perform a fair bit of technological jargon to approve the scan. And, I made sure the image was deleted from the Imperial database immediately after the files were downloaded.”

Din’s figure visibly relaxes, those were just two more favors he owed Fett.

“You know, you owe your companion a lot of explanations. Or should I say, gar verd’ika.” (Your little warrior)

If Din didn’t feel so exhausted he would put up a bigger fight, but he can’t help the way he immediately gives in to Fett’s unspoken inquiry.

“She is...important to me, I just don’t know how to tell her.”

“Well you’re going to have to do better than that. Think about it, then come talk to me. We will figure it out, as brothers.”

Din nods his approval.

“Are you two done staring into each other’s eyes? Because you’re kind of freaking me out.”

Mayfeld.

“Shut up Mayfeld.” Boba and Din huff in unison as they shoot him two identical helmeted glares.

Later, after Mayfeld is relieved from the crew, Boba and Din agree that they should fly to the nearest friendly planet so that they can restock their food stores and ammunition. While the ship is in hyperspace, Din takes a seat to prepare the message he plans to transmit to Moff Gideon. It only takes him a moment to agree on the wording. He decides to repeat the same lines that Moff Gideon arrogantly delivered on Nevarro several months ago, with a couple key differences. The message will serve as a warning, an omen of what is to come.

The last line of the speech suddenly gives him an idea. Perhaps he knows what to say to you after all.

Now that Mayfeld is gone, (you don’t even bother to ask why you are leaving him behind) you are free to sit down in the hold once again. But, after spending so much time in the cockpit, you find yourself wanting to stay. Boba Fett still sits in the pilot seat, wearing his helmet as he pilots the ship. Mando sits in the furthest corner of the hold, facing the clear viewport, as he and Cara discuss their next steps towards retrieving the child. You assume that Fennec is also down below, most likely passing the time by polishing her beloved rifle.

Fett breaks the comfortable silence that reigns over the cockpit. “As I recall, I promised you a chance to fly. Even though we’re in hyperspace right now, it’s good practice to just sit in front of the controls and familiarize yourself.”

“Are you sure?” You’re secretly jumping up and down with excitement, but you don’t want to annoy Fett right as he’s offering you the opportunity to fly his ship.

“I’m quite certain.” He stands up, offering you the seat.

You sit down immediately, running your fingers lovingly over the controls. It’s been a long time since you’ve been behind the console of a ship as unique as this one. After you’re done gawking, you look over to Fett, only to notice that he’s staring off into space. At least, you assume he’s staring off into space, you can’t really tell while he is wearing the helmet. He looks over to you after a second and removes his helmet, offering it to you for the second time that day.

“Are you sure I need the helmet?” Please say yes.

“Go ahead, you might as well be familiar with all the aspects of the in-flight instruments.”

You offer him a beaming smile before settling the beskar over your head. “I’ll be right back.” You hear him say, along with the sounds of him descending the ladder. Odd, you think, he seemed to be in quite a hurry.

As Din discusses his plan with Cara, he hears Fett’s voice crackle through the speaker in his helmet. “You ready to have that discussion? Your companion just announced she’s heading to the fresher, so we have time for a brief chat in the cockpit.”

“I’ll be there shortly.” Din responds.

Din continues his conversation with Cara, and when he notices a blur make its way down the ladder from the cockpit, he politely excuses himself.

He makes his way towards the ladder, the echo of his feet meeting the rungs causing nerves to bubble to life in his chest. One foot meets the durasteel flooring of the cockpit, then the other follows. He stands there awkwardly for a second, the back of the pilot chair and Fett’s helmet in clear view, then abruptly spills his thoughts.

“I know what to say.” He clears his throat as his voice cracks a little.

Fennec stands from her seat, affectionately patting her rifle as she props it against the side of the chair. As she passes by the supply closet on her way to the refresher, she notices Fett warily peering out from the doorway.

“What are you doing?”

Boba Fett, the famed Boba Fett, actually jumps at her words, hushing her as he continues to peer in the direction of the cockpit. She wrinkles her brow in confusion and glances towards the cockpit as well, wondering what exactly she should be watching for.

A few moments later, Cara notices that there is not a soul in sight, and she rises to her feet, determined to figure out where everyone has disappeared to. A quick sweep of the hull doesn’t reveal a sign of Mando or Fennec, so she decides to check the hallway on the other side of the hold. As she rounds the corner she notices both Fennec and Fett peering out of the doorway of what appears to be a supply closet.

Her eyes narrow as she stares them down. “What---”

Both Fennec and Fett shush her immediately, their gaze fixed upon the cockpit. Thoroughly bewildered, she too looks towards the cockpit, worried that something has gone awry.

Meanwhile, you are sitting in the cockpit, trying to scrape your jaw off of the floor as you examine each of the control panels. This really is one unique ship. Just as you are taking a closer look at the targeting instruments, a voice breaks through your thoughts.

“I know what to say to her now, Fett. I will tell her that she means everything to me, that she means more to me than I can ever put into words.”

You are completely dumbfounded. Does Mando know who he just said that to?

Fett...that sneaky little bastard...he set you two up, didn’t he.

Well, you are not one to look a gift taun-taun in the mouth, so you take off the helmet, stand up, turn around, and level your gaze with Mando’s.

“The feeling’s mutual, vod.” (Comrade)

He panics, because one second he’s standing in the cockpit, and the next he’s disappeared from sight. The clang of beskar meeting durasteel, along with a grunt of pain, echoes through the hold as you drop the helmet and scramble into motion.

You rush to the top of the ladder, staring down at Din’s splayed out form in shock. A snicker breaks the silence and your gaze flies to the hallway where your other three companions are smothering laughter into the palms of their hands. You can’t help yourself, the ridiculous sight has you falling into a fit of giggles as well.

“This is not funny!” Din’s voice echoes through your head.

The abruptness of his statement startles you, and one second you’re standing on firm durasteel, the next you’re falling through the air as you too plummet towards the flooring at the base of the ladder. Except you don’t hit the floor. You hit two warm arms that absorb most of your fall, then a beskar-clad chest.

A pained grunt escapes Din’s helmet.

“You’re heavy.”

“Yeah? Well you are busted, Mando.”

“Busted?” It sounds like he is still straining for breath.

“Busted.”

More laughter peals through the recycled air of the hold, and you and Din turn simultaneously to fix all three of your crewmates with a glare.

“You see what you’ve done.”

“It’s not my fault you're clumsy, Din.”

“Clumsy? You’re the one who fell on top of me!”

“You shouldn’t scare me all the time!”

“Are you two gonna get up, or are you just gonna lay there on the floor?”

“Cara!” You exclaim, your cheeks bursting into flames.

“I can’t wait till this mission is over, you all need some serious help.” Fennec grumbles, but she’s hiding a grin as she stomps to her chair, retrieves her rifle-just a precaution, she mumbles-then enters the fresher.

As for Fett, he has a shit-eating grin on his face, and you can’t help but notice that he looks like a proud father.

“Well, Mando, I think we solved your problem.” His grin falters a little. “Or, at least, one of your problems.”

Fett shoots you a wink as he steps over your prone form and ascends the ladder. “Good luck with that one, you’re gonna need it.”

Cara also walks past your sprawled out bodies, taking a seat as she pointedly looks away from you and out the viewport.

You look down at Mando, a soft smile overcoming your features when you notice he’s been staring at you. One of the hands that was used to brace your fall is now settled on the small of your back and it holds you firmly to his chest. The other hovers in the air beside your left ear, hesitating, and you give it a glance out of the corner of your eye. You so desperately want him to touch you with that hand, just like you’ve always imagined. So you give him a little nudge.

“Could you brush that piece of hair out of my eye for me?” It’s practically a whisper as you refrain from shattering this tender moment.

A shaky exhale rattles from beneath his helmet, and then his hand moves slowly to fulfill your request. Seconds drag by like hours...and then his touch finally greets your skin. With a tenderness that is so shocking it hurts (has he thought about this too?) the tips of four fingers meet your forehead, sliding down your temple oh so slowly until they glide through your hair, finally curling around the shell of your ear as any stray strands are tucked away.

You shut your eyes for a moment, every nerve ending fizzling out in complete bliss as you bask in the warmth of his touch. Neither of you move for a long while, and you would think he’d fallen asleep if not for the incessant chatter that hums through your mind.

“You’re smiling.” His voice surfaces through the haze of thoughts.

“I know. I can feel you, your voice, your thoughts...I thought you shut me out.”

“Never.”

You open your eyes and he is still in the same position as before. His hand curled behind your left ear, his visor staring up into your face, and the hand on your back still radiating the same warmth. After another shaky breath, he drags his hand down the side of your face, curls it around the back of your neck, then slides it upward over the base of your skull. Each movement is drawn out, as if he’s moving in slow motion. You both know that he’s only trying to prolong this moment, along with each gesture, for as long as he possibly can.

It’s your turn to sigh when he bends your head down, closing the distance between your faces so that your forehead rests against the top of his helmet. Your palms, that had previously been supporting your weight, abandon the floor to splay themselves over Din’s beskar chestplate instead. The closeness is suffocating in the most beautiful way, and you’re sure that if he wasn’t wearing a helmet you would be begging for a kiss by now.

“You’re thinking very loudly.”

His voice has you blushing, but you can’t bring yourself to feel ashamed.

“I can’t help it. You’re just too damn hot to handle.” It’s meant to tease him, but the response you receive is the complete opposite of what you expect.

“Yeah, especially when I’m fighting, am I right?”

There is a dramatic pause while your brain stalls to a grinding halt. “Were you listening earlier, Din? Why the nerve--”

He backpedals immediately, trying to reconcile his previous statement before you decide to jump up and clock him in the head. “Do you know that we’ve been kissing this whole time.”

Huh? Kissing? Your lips haven’t even touched! He must have hit his head harder than you thought.

“Are you coherent right now?”

He chuckles fondly, the sound echoing through your mind, and you’re sure it's the most beautiful sound you have ever heard. “This gesture, our foreheads touching...it’s called a keldabe kiss. Since my people do not remove their helmets, that is how we show affection to our loved ones.”

“Oh.” You can feel his nerves pulsing through your mind. “It’s perfect.” A searing warmth blossoms throughout your whole body, and you know it is the result of his happiness. “Will you tell me--”

Fennec emerges from the fresher and shocks you two out of your stupor. “Are you two going to stop gazing into each other’s eyes and take a seat?”

Fennec and Cara both share a chuckle at the way you and Din jump at the sudden intrusion. You are too immersed in your lovey-dovey emotions to even glare at them so you just huff in response. A glance towards Din’s helmet doesn’t reveal much about his current thought process, so you rely on your bond and just let yourself feel.

The emotions he possesses are so powerful they are blinding, so you guide yourself to his loudest most current thoughts.

“...how’d I get so lucky? I wonder if she will let me kiss her again.”

You just shake your head fondly. “Come on Romeo, let’s go sit down.” You offer a hand once you are standing, and he grumbles, eventually taking it even though you both know he requires zero assistance to lift himself from the floor. He doesn’t release you though, even when he reaches his seat and settles into the chair. Just as you’re about to turn and return to your own seat, he tugs on that hand and sends you barreling into his lap. A wide-eyed look of shock is the only expression you can manage as you fumble to keep yourself on his lap without tumbling to the floor.

And now he’s laughing into your bond again...great.

“Stop laughing and help me, you buffoon!”

Din quells his chuckling and finally moves to help you right your figure. His hands attempt to settle you into his embrace, but he can’t help but notice that you still seem uncomfortable. He looks to Cara for help, only to realize that her gaze is still directed out the viewport. Instead, he looks to Fennec, and the gaze that she eventually gives him screams you’ve got to be kidding me. He glares at her from beneath the helmet, raising a hand in desperation as he gestures towards you. Fennec glares back, and then mimics the pose of a droid, with her arms out, legs limp, and an impassive gaze on her face. Then she gestures back towards him. He gets the hint immediately, blushing red beneath the helmet, and nods his thanks. She just waves him off and continues to polish her rifle.

For the first time in his adult life, the Mandalorian slouches in his seat. His spine rounds as he curls himself around your form, providing a protective shell around your body. Both hands guide you into a sideways position, similar to a wedding carry-he blushes even harder at that realization-and then he tucks your head into the crook between his helmet and chestplate, where his cloak will cushion your head. You give him a sleepy smile and snuggle closer to his armored chest, looping an arm around his neck as you get comfortable.

“So will you tell me what it means?” You attempt again.

“What does what mean?”

“Verd’ika.”

“It means ‘little warrior’.”

The smile that overtakes your face is almost blinding. You fall asleep with the echo of that thought in your head, and wake up to the gentle snores of a certain Mandalorian. There’s an incessant needling in the back of your sleep-addled brain. There’s no way Din would have fallen asleep with the rest of the crew watching. You blink your eyes open, and panic a little bit when you realize that hold is quite a bit darker than earlier. There are a couple blinking lights from the cockpit that shed some light on the room. And after a second, you scan the area only to realize that there is no one else in sight.

Abruptly, your back twitches in pain and you realize that Mando’s vambrace is digging into your back. You shift slightly, trying to adjust your position without leaving your warm perch. Din mumbles in his sleep, shifting a little bit at your movements, and it causes the hand you slung behind his neck earlier to thwack him rather violently in the back of the head. He shoots to a standing position immediately, and you squeak, clutching onto him like a koala as he nearly sends you hurtling towards the ground.

His blaster is drawn in a second, and your sluggish mind struggles to connect with him through your bond in order to calm his frantic motions. He must break out of his trance before you are able to form a connection, because he suddenly settles back down into the chair with a tired exhale.

“Sorry, you startled me.” He apologizes.

“It’s ok.”

He adjusts you into a more comfortable position, fussing as he tucks you back into his chest. You just hum against his neck, basking in the warmth that he produces. Surprisingly, the beskar itself is also warm, and you note that it must maintain the same temperature as his body.

“We landed a little while ago. The others left to enjoy a night on the town, they won’t be back for several hours.”

“Mmm.”

“Are you even awake?”

“Yes.” You respond as you peel an eye open. The adorable way Din is tilting his helmet to look at your face sends a wave of affection blossoming through your chest. But, as cute as he looks right now, you really want to be asleep.

“Since we have a moment, I want to talk about what happened today.”

That has your attention, and you’re fully awake in seconds.

“I know that we disagreed on a couple things today. And, we have both made implications about our feelings, but I want to lay everything out on the table so it is one hundred percent clear.”

You nod in agreement.

“You and the child will always be the first priority to me. No matter what. Mandalorians value their clan, their family, above all else. You and the kid are my family.” He cuts himself off, voice cracking a little as he tries to continue.

You rush to fill the silence, eager to reassure him of your own feelings. “You and the kid are my family too Din, and I would not have it any other way. I know that you didn’t give me the mission earlier because you were worried about me. And, I know that you had to remove your helmet because there was no other way to locate the little one. I am sorry I didn’t support your decisions. I was bitter and hurt, but I won’t make that mistake again.”

A sound, like that of a choked sob, escapes Din and your heart squeezes in pain. Before you can finish, he cuts you off.

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way ner verd’ika. (My little warrior) I am so sorry, I didn’t even think about how you would feel.”

“No! Don’t apologize, I am the one apologizing to you.”

You are both laughing through your tears, and you clutch at his hands with both of yours.

“I love you Din, I love you so much, and I will always support any decision you make.”

“Ner verd’ika, ni kar'tayli gar darasuum. (My little warrior, I love you) You hold my heart in your hands.”

At that admission, you feel a burning desire to kiss him, but you settle for resting your forehead against his helmet instead.

“I seem to recall that you promised to ‘kick my ass’ once we landed.”

“Stop it, you’re ruining the moment.” You rebuke him as you shove half-heartedly at his chest.

“I think you’re wimping out, ner verd’ika. (My little warrior) You don’t think you can beat me anymore?”

How dare he tease you. The nerve of this man.

“No, I’ll still kick your ass anyways. I hope you won’t be too embarrassed when I school you in front of everyone else tomorrow.” A smug smirk stretches across your face as you finish speaking.

“You’re quite feisty, my dear.”

“Shut up, you love it.”

He grumbles beneath the helmet, neither denying nor acknowledging your statement.

“I never realized you had such a dirty mouth.” The words are directed through your bond, and you can’t help but notice that the tone is a little suggestive. His words have your face erupting into flames.

Your Mandalorian has some real nerve.

Ending Notes: I am actually really happy with how this turned out. Multi-chapter stories are a little intimidating and I admire all of you writers that can juggle several multi-chapter stories at once. I hope that this did the whole un-masking/face reveal thing justice while still staying as true to Din’s character as possible. ALSO, if I messed up any of the Mandalorian culture/lore stuff, please let me know.

#the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #mando x reader #mando x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin fluff #mando reader fluff #mando fluff #mando fic #captainrexforever writes

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ckret2 · 4 years ago

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GVK spoilers below, about conspiracy theories

I’m gonna get around to posting all my GVK reactions but this one got long so I’m putting it in its own post.

The Monsterverse series, in both KOTM and GVK, has some pretty interesting things to say about conspiracy theories and ecofascism; but, unfortunately, it doesn’t REALIZE that it’s saying any of them, so it keeps dropping the ball and missing opportunities to explore them.

Starting with KOTM, “there’s too many humans so we’ve just gotta let some die and that’ll fix pollution 🤷” is like false ecofascist claim #1 but at no point in the movie was it challenged as unfactual, it was just presented as a sad truth that people have to do morally ambiguous things about. Except that it’s just literally mathematically not true!

Emma could be such a GREAT, believable character—especially in this world with, like, frigging QAnon nonsense getting such widespread traction—showing a compelling, realistic tragedy of how this normal, intelligent, well-educated white mom who otherwise is likely left-leaning (pro-environmentalism, pro-nature conservation, got a doctorate and generally more academia correlates with more liberal ideals) got sucked into a far right ecofascist doomsday militia that combines hokey pseudo-environmentalist propaganda with “in balance with nature” semi-religious mysticism, because she was exploited at a time when she was emotionally vulnerable (when her kid had just died) and was lacking healthy emotional support (when her husband turned to alcohol and then ran off).

... Except the movie never says that her “overpopulation” beliefs are WRONG. It says that they’re RIGHT, and she was just forced to choose between two losing scenarios—deliberately kill most of humanity to hopefully save a few, or watch humanity kill itself.

Nobody bothers to mention that the size of the population isn’t the problem, it’s the disproportionate pollution coming out of first world countries. Nobody bothers to mention that when Emma talks about “overpopulation” and shows a screenshot of an overcrowded neighborhood, it ain’t affluent downtown skyscraper condos in Europe or America that she’s highlighting, but large masses of poor people whose neighborhoods look “dirty” to the white woman’s eyes, despite the fact that they’re contributing the least to humanity’s carbon footprint.

Emma’s beliefs are empirically wrong, and if KOTM had ever demonstrated that, it would’ve been brilliant. Instead, it tries to say “she was right, she just went too far,” and in doing so loses an opportunity to make Emma a deeply believable, timely, realistic, well-meaning but wrong villain.

And now we’ve got GVK, which has swerved away from the ecofascism but doubled down on the conspiracy theories. Here, Emma’s daughter, who was raised for five years with what amounts to a survivalist doomsday cult’s beliefs, when faced with the grief of her mother’s death and the struggle of trying to reconnect to her estranged father, turns—again—to conspiracies to make sense of the world around her. Because that’s what Madison’s been raised with, and even though she got disillusioned with the particular “we know something special that the normal people can’t handle” beliefs that she was raised with, that kind of thinking is still what she knows. She’s still doing what her mother raised her to do! She’s still pulling the “hypercompetent highly-trained lone wolf ‘survivor’ saves the world” shtick that Jonah’s gang taught her to do—but it’s never brought up that it was screwed up to raise a child like that and it’s screwed up for her to still be interacting with the world like that.

At least THIS conspiracy theorist isn’t literally advocating for global genocide. Bernie’s focus largely seems to be on “this corporation is trying to screw people over and screw up the environment—” (because in Monsterverse, as in Toho monster movies as a whole, kaiju/titans and the environment are symbolically conflated, so if a corporation is messing with Godzilla then they’re messing with nature as well) “—so I’m gonna find out what they’re up to and be a whistleblower.” Which is great! Solid start! We’ve got a guy taking aim at big business and who says “when the weather Godzilla acts erratic, it’s not random chance, it’s because a big business is doing something it shouldn’t,” so it looks like we’ve got a leftist conspiracy theorist, that’s different, could be interesting to explore.

Except then he starts talking about governments serving a “global elite” and facilities built by “lizard people” and then we’ve swung right back around to the far right by casually dropping in a couple of antisemitic conspiracy theories.

Add that in with the whole “hollow earth” thing and damn, we’re namedropping a lot of antisemitic conspiracy theories, aren’t we? Granted, most conspiracy theories ARE antisemitic—but like, they could have dug around for some that aren’t. Have him talk some more about Roswell. Have him bring up things that we’ve actually got documentation happened and theorize that MKUltra research was used in Apex’s development of their pilot’s psychic mind link to Mechagodzilla. Have him bring up tailor-made-for-the-Monsterverse conspiracy theories that don’t exist here, “Monster Zero is actually the secret weapon of a nearby ‘Planet X’ that’s gonna invade,” whatever. Instead, nah, we went with the antisemitic ones.

Now, do I think the writers behind KOTM and GVK intended antisemitism? Do I think they’re closet alt-right trying to dogwhistle the fascists in the audience? No, I think they think they’re making fun of—or playing around with—what they see as harmless, unbelievable, way-out-there conspiracy theories. I think they know just enough about “hollow earth” and “global elites” and “lizard people” to make references to them, but not in a way that promotes the common antisemitic understanding of those theories as true. (Monsterverse’s hollow earth, a weird underground jungle where King Kong lives, sure doesn’t resemble the usual conspiracy theory.) To me, the way they were used suggests the writers didn’t deeply understand (or at least, didn’t deeply think about) what the theories really mean—nor what they imply about the beliefs of the characters who espouse them. Which is the crux of my issue with how the movies deal with conspiracy theories and ecofascists and so forth (beyond the fact that, hey, I just don’t like seeing likable characters casually referencing antisemitic beliefs): the writers didn’t think about the implications.

Because these things do imply a lot! For example, if, say, Josh, total newb to conspiracy theories, had asked about lizard people, I would have grimaced to hear it but I would have believed that he’s a teen boy that picked up the term at school and doesn’t know anything about what’s behind it. But on the other hand, I can’t believe a guy so deep in the conspiracy theory world that he bathes in bleach doesn’t know exactly what those conspiracies mean—or, even if he does somehow staunchly refuse to believe that “lizard people” is a code for “Jewish people,” that whatever circle of conspiracy theorists he runs with doesn’t use it as a code. Bernie didn’t pick up those beliefs in a void. I really doubt that’s what the writers wanted to imply about the goofy likable underdog with a podcast.

And sure, the “global elite” and “lizard people” references are presented like a “haha look how far out his beliefs are” joke—the same as the fluoride reference, which is basically Hollywood code for “bogus nonsense only complete lunatics believe” thanks to Dr. Strangelove—but at the same time, they’re never really disproven. Nothing he believes is challenged. Nor are any of Madison’s beliefs that she’s picked up from him. Everything they both believe is either a “wow that’s wild” throwaway joke, or else they’re presented as totally right, e.g. about Apex being up to dubious crap that’s irritating Godzilla.

Just like Emma, who was presented as in the wrong not because she was incorrect but because she WAS correct but took the wrong actions. And just like Rick in KOTM, who kept bring up the hollow earth theory like a running joke but then the joke was that he was right.

And that’s at the root of the issues with both movies’ portrayals of conspiracy theories. Aside from the jokes that are never explored (and therefore, never disproven), the movies say that, every time it matters, the conspiracy theorists on the fringe are correct, the heroes that need to be believed. Even though all (excluding Rick) are characters who have suffered deep loss, who have been hurt, who you can imagine as passionate but grieving people who turned to dangerously wrong extremism in their search for meaning... the movies don’t portray them as people who have been led astray by their pain, but enlightened by their pain. Which is what they themselves think they are, sure, but that doesn’t line up with reality.

The movies never forces them to grapple with how far they’ve gone astray from reality—and I think they should. I’d like to see them processing the revelation that their beliefs are wrong. Whether it’s as big as somebody trying to convince Emma that killing half the population doesn’t fix the pollution caused by corporations rich enough to weather a global hurricane, or as small as Bernie looking at Apex’s financial records and realizing the company’s money is going to the CEO’s vacation home rather than a reptile government and deciding to rethink those beliefs after they’ve checked out Hong Kong.

“Conspiracy theorist is right about everything” is already a common enough trope that Monsterverse isn’t breaking any new ground with it. And in a franchise like Godzilla, whose movies are rife with messages both allegorical and literal about environmentalism, corporate exploitation, the futility of military action, international politics, war crimes... letting the conspiracy theorists be wrong and showing that they’re wrong and what that wrongness can lead to would mesh far better with the themes of Godzilla.

Think about Jonah and Emma unleashing Ghidorah (who emerged from a destroyed ice cap and immediately caused devastating hurricanes—a perfect metaphor for climate change), and what that could say about how ecofascists who purportedly joined the movement because they support environmentalism are actually far more in bed with the destructive industries really at the root of environmental damage... if the movie acknowledged them as ecofascists.

Think about how Jonah collected Ghidorah’s head at the end of KOTM and by the time of GVK it was in Apex’s hands, and how this exchange demonstrates that “I want to unleash titans to destroy humanity to save the environment” Jonah the ecoterrorist and “I want to beat the titans to protect humanity” Simmons the billionaire CEO actually have far more similar ideals beneath the surface of their opposed goals—ideals that have less to do with the environment or with humanity and more to do with securing personal power and control... if the movie had explained how this exchange took place.

Think about how Madison’s mother died trying to mitigate just a little of the damage she did under the thrall of a doomsday cult’s skewed beliefs, how even though Madison broke free she found herself embroiled in similarly skewed beliefs just three years later, and how powerful it would have been if she recognized that she herself had walked right back into the kind of fringe beliefs her mother had led her into as a child, and if she had then resolved to learn how this kept happening to her and break this pattern... if the movie had ever let her realize that she was making the same mistakes, or even acknowledged them as mistakes.

There’s so much potential there, so many things you can see happening right beneath the surface... but the movies never touch on them. And so it looks like, in Monsterverse, all fringe beliefs are either right or harmless. And we never get the “disillusioned conspiracy theorist” story that could be so brilliant and that, right now, would be so relevant.

#gvk #godzilla vs kong #gvk spoilers #godzilla vs kong spoilers #godzilla #kotm #meta

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chokemeanakin · 5 years ago

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Anakin Teaches You How To Drive Headcanons- Anakin Skywalker x gn Reader

Masterlist

This wasn’t requested, but in honor of my second attempt at passing my drivers test in a couple of weeks, I had a fun little thing bouncing around my brain that I wanted to put out. have fun 😝✨

You never needed to know how to drive an airspeeder because you came from a more rural planet where transportation mostly consisted of walking, riding on the backs of various indigenous wildlife, or occasionally coming across a run-down speeder bike.

When you got to Coruscant, you always relied on taking the busy streets or the bus to get places you needed to go. Anakin insisted you take an airspeeder instead— it was safer, faster, and much cleaner than slumming it around down in the crowded alleyways.

You had to tell him it wasn’t really a possibility for you... although you knew the basics of piloting starfighters, that knowledge did not carry over to airspeeders.

Anakin offered to teach you.

He picked you up on your balcony, seated in a slick-looking, boujee yellow airspeeder.

“Where’d you even get this?” You asked him, taking the hand he offered to help you get into the drivers seat as he slid over to the passenger side.

“Oh, just some senator.”

“They’re letting us use it?”

“They’re letting us borrow it...” from the look on his face, they were not. He shrugged and said, “Look, what they don’t know can’t hurt them.”

You looked at the shiny exterior of the car. It was one of the more expensive ones, no doubt. Anakin truly had an eye for picking the finer things in life.

“If I crash this...” you warned.

“I know how to cover our tracks. It wasn’t us.”

You laughed at this, and then turned toward the controls. There were handles, buttons, levers, flashing lights. You thought a good place to start was by grabbing onto the levers.

“Alright, so these handles are to steer— turn left to go left, right to go right— the pedals by your feet are break and accelerate, this lever puts you in reverse, this one puts you in drive, there’s your headlight, that’s your turn signal—“ and on and on and on.

Your brain was whirring with all this information, sometimes Anakin’s brain moved too fast and he didn’t realize he’d left you in the dust. But it really was something you could handle— not that much different from a star fighter, after all.

So when he asked, “Got it?” You nodded your head and pressed the lever by your feet.

You didn’t move

You pressed again and again and again, jamming your foot down harder each time. You checked the dash to see if you were in drive. You were. You looked at Anakin, confused.

He leaned over and peered down at the levers by your feet. “That’s the break,” he laughed, and then stopped suddenly. “... I hope you’re not planning on driving with your left foot.”

“A foot for each peddle right? Left goes on break, right goes on go?”

“No.”

After squabbling over the senselessness of that rule, he got you to practice going between break and accelerate with your right foot only before actually beginning for real this time.

“Okay, step on accelerate, gently now—“

You pushed the pedal down and went shooting into the sky, narrowly avoiding another speeder as you yanked the steering wheel to straighten yourself out.

“Force! I said gentle!”

You lifted your foot off go and slammed it on break instead, causing you both to pitch forward and almost smack your heads into the dashboard.

“Y/n you have to go! You’re in the middle of the airway!”

“What?? What do you mean?!” You yelled in panic, desperately yanking at the levers to reverse, go forward, anything. There were speeders coming at you from both ways, and you were t-ed up across multiple lanes.

Anakin reached across you and set the settings straight. He ordered you to press go and took hold of the steering, maneuvering you safely away from the airway.

Once you were in the clear, he dropped back into his seat and let out a big breath.

“Okay, bad idea to start you out up there.”

“I SUCK!!!” You cried.

“No no no! That was my mistake! You’re doing great!”

You let out another sound of despair and then tapped on accelerate gently. The speeder smoothly flew forward a couple inches, so you pressed down harder until you got to a good speed.

“See? You’ve got this,” Anakin encouraged, reaching for the safety handle by his side. “Now you’re approaching a building, so turn the levers slowly...”

It was very jerky, but you avoided crashing into the building so it was a win in your book.

“Good!”

You decided you needed to smooth out your turns, so you kept the lever all the way to the left and made donuts in the open air. Then you practiced going the other way.

“Now make figure 8’s around the skylights,” Anakin suggested, so you went around and around these lights in circles until you were dizzy and your turns were perfect. When you wanted to stop, you let up on accelerate and abruptly jammed on break again.

“Oof— geez,” Anakin braced a hand on the dashboard. “You don’t have to slam on the pedals. Just be slow and gentle, it’ll make it a much smoother ride.”

After experimenting a bit more in the free space, you said you were ready to go on the streets again.

“Are you sure?” Anakin asked nervously. You nodded. “Alright, head for the airway but stop before going on. You have to look both ways to make sure no one’s coming at you from either direction.”

You did as told, trusting his instincts more than yours to tell you when to go. When he gave the signal, you burst across the lane and began driving. You didn’t know why Anakin was freaking out again.

“You’re in the wrong lane!” Anakin grabbed for the steering wheel to get you to turn around, but you slapped his hands away.

“I can’t learn when you’re trying to drive for me!”

“You can’t learn if we’re both dead!”

You managed to inch your way into the other lane just as another speeder went whizzing by. Anakin thanked the force this backstreet wasn’t as busy as the usual highways in the main streets of Coruscant, otherwise you’d be toast by now.

“Alright,” Anakin took another calming breath. “There’s a stoplight coming up. You know what the signals are right?”

“Yes sir.”

“Okay, so just go straight after the light.”

You peered around the area, waiting for the light to turn green. You ended up spotting your favorite cafe place and nudged Anakin with your elbow. “You wanna get some drinks?”

“Sure, but we can circle back around if you just go straight.”

“But it’s right there. Why can’t I just take a left?”

Anakin has faith in you, but he saw his life flash before his eyes. “Fine.. take a left.”

He instructed you to put your turn signal on, then explained how you’re supposed to wait for oncoming traffic to go before you and then watch for more oncoming speeders so that you could take the left turn.

The light turned green, and for some reason your jumpy brain had you slam on the gas pedal and skirt through the intersection, bypassing all speeders and causing them to stomp on their breaks to avoid hitting you.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry!” You screamed as you sped along, swirving this way and that to get the speeder under control. Multiple honks followed after you, and it wounded your feelings more than you ever imagined it would.

“Hey... they’re honking at me...” you said sadly, peering behind you at the angry cars.

Anakin straightened the levers as you started to swerve. “Just— just focus on parking. Look. A pull-through spot up ahead.”

You were actually phenomenal at parking. If phenomenal meant being crooked across the lines and taking up at least 3 spaces.

When you turned the engine off, you looked at Anakin hesitantly. He was staring straight a head, blinking the disbelieving look out of his eyes.

“I’m never stepping foot in a speeder ever again,” you decided, confidence plummeting.

This snapped Anakin out of it, and he took your hands in his. “Don’t say that! It’s your first day. Driving in a speeder is much different than a star fighter, there’s many more obstacles and rules and regulations. As far as first days go, you’re doing better than even I did!”

“Really?”

You weren’t, but he lied because he loves you.

You both went in to get your drinks and then Anakin insisted he drive the way back home.

You wanted to focus on your drink anyway so you let him. Honestly, you were done testing your luck today and were just happy you didn’t crash the damn thing.

Anakin dropped you off back on your balcony again and promised to come over later after he returned the speeder. He also promised he’d take you out driving again— “This weekend, when the streets aren’t so busy...”

With lessons from the best pilot in the galaxy, you think you’ll be driving your own speeder in no time 🥴

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin fic #star wars crack #star wars fic #anakin x reader #self projection fic lol #anakin fluff #driver instructor anakin #they both definitely peed their pants #its funny cause obi and ani’s roles are swapped here #anakins like get me out of here i hate this #OK NO ONE SEEMS TO LIKE THIS ONE BUT I REALLY DO SO THATS ALL THAT MATTERS 😤

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honey-dewey · 4 years ago

Text

Patient Zero

Chapter Four

Pairing: Din Djarin/Imperial Reader

Word Count: 2,885

Warnings: No big ones, mention of blood draws.

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell

Working with the Empire as one of their researchers was, in theory, a boring job. At least, right up until you were assigned the mysterious Patient Zero. With no records, no data, and no name, he may as well not exist. But he’s much more than meets the eye, and you’re about to find that out the hard way.

Multi-chapter story. Chapter 4 of 4. Read Chapter 1, Read Chapter 2 Read Chapter 3

Returning to the medi-ship with the blaster hidden in your clothes wasn’t exactly the smartest move, but it was the only one you could pull off. It was nighttime, so the lights were all dimmed and the only person you knew would truly be awake was Yen. Walking through the halls as if nothing was wrong, you headed towards the medical rooms, where Din was likely sleeping. If all went right, you wouldn’t have to reveal your blaster. If it didn’t, well, then things were about to get ugly.

Yen was, as expected, outside Din’s door when you walked up to it.

“You’re back early!” He said happily, yawning widely and grinning. “Have fun?”

“Not really,” you grumbled, trying to act natural. “There is sand everywhere.”

Yen laughed. “Damn. Why don’t you go shower and get some sleep? Patient Zero was a doll for me while you were gone, by the way.”

You took a breath, preparing your poker face. “Ah, that reminds me. I got orders from the boss while I was on my way back. They want to move him. Something about an upgraded facility in the outer rim that might be able to finally ID him.”

“Oh!” Yen perked up. “That would be nice! When do you leave for that?”

“Uh,” you shuffled your feet and put on your best guilty performance. “Technically I was supposed to leave yesterday. Figured I’d come to get him as soon as I got back, but I couldn’t make it in time. Is it okay if I take him now?”

Yen sighed. “Sweet Maker. Alright, I’ll go prep a ship. Sure you don’t wanna wait until morning?”

Shaking your head, you pulled your key card from your pocket. “Nah. I have to make up for lost time. And I have a ship prepped. Never turned the one I used off, so she’s still running, ready for immediate takeoff.”

“Alrighty then,” Yen said, stepping back as you unlocked Din’s door. “I guess this is goodbye.”

Guilt gripped your heart. “Yeah. Don’t worry, I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

Yen smiled. “Me too.”

Just like that, he was gone, and you were sliding into Din’s room. “Zero!”

He shifted in his bed, rolling over and blinking at you. “Wha?”

You rushed to his side. “Get up. We’re going.”

Din’s face changed, confusion decorating his features as he sat up in bed. “What?”

Taking his hands, you looked directly into his eyes. “Din Djarin, I am taking you home.”

Din jumped to his feet, not even bothering with shoes as he followed you out. You kept your head high as you walked, hoping not to run into anyone else. Luckily, you were able to get Din onto the ship without any issue. Unluckily, as soon as the doors were closed and you were climbing up into the cockpit, alarms started to blare.

“Dank ferrik!” You yelled, sliding into the pilot’s seat and gripping the controls. “Hold on!”

Powering the ship up, you took off, immediately swerving to avoid hitting a TIE fighter. The medi-ship didn’t have much by way of attack power, but it could absolutely defend itself if it had to. “Come on!”

Din gripped the chair he was sitting in, his face tight with worry. “Let me pilot.”

“Little busy!” You shouted back, swerving again and swearing violently.

Din stood, holding onto the control panel for support. “Move over!”

You kept your hands on the controls, standing and letting him sit. As soon as he took over the controls, it was like he was piloting a whole new ship. The Crest moved with odd ease, flipping and swerving with no effort at all.

“Where to?”

“Tatooine!”

Din hit the hyperdrive, the blackness of space blurring away and fading into the pale blue of hyperdrive. You finally relaxed, falling limp into one of the copilot chairs.

“Okay.” Din turned, keeping an eye on the controls as he put the ship into autopilot. “Explain.”

And you did. You told him everything. The trip to Tatooine, learning who he was through Boba Fett, the plan to get him out and send him on his way to reunite Mandalore. He listened intently throughout the entire thing, facial expression never changing.

Finally, once you were done, he nodded. “Does this ship have a communicator?”

Twenty minutes later, you watched as Din set up the holo-communicator, frustration making his face pull. Eventually, it worked, a shaky image of a man appearing.

“Din?” The staticky voice said. “Is that you?”

“Yes,” Din said, nodding.

You stepped away, allowing Din to have his conversation in private. Shutting the cockpit door, you headed down the ladder to the cargo hold, beginning to set up two small spaces to sleep in storage cabinets. It wasn’t neat, nor was it very comfortable, but it was private and it would work.

“Hey.”

You jumped, seeing Din holding the holo-communicator. A scrawny blonde with light robes and a single glove was on the screen. “Who’s that?” You asked.

“His name is Luke.” Din held the communicator out to you. “He wants to talk to you.”

You took the communicator, setting it up on a crate and urging Din to sit beside you. “Luke. Hello.”

“Hello,” Luke said cheerily. An urgent babbling cut him off, and he grinned. “Din, your son is very eager to see you again.”

Your heart almost stopped when Luke lifted a very cute green baby up, his wide brown eyes finding Din’s face and he cooed happily.

“Is that,”

“Grogu? Yeah.”

You smiled. “Hello Grogu. It’s nice to meet you.”

Grogu burbled and began to chew on a metal fixture on Luke’s coat.

Luke gently pulled Grogu away and turned back to you. “Din tells me you’ve been doing regular tests on him, the most concerning is a blood draw. Now, we’ve had theories for years, but I’m eager to see if they’re to be confirmed today.”

“Well,” you started. “We noticed when we started taking samples of Din, that he wasn’t naturally Force sensitive. However, he reacted to the use of the Force and he had a higher M-count. So, we assumed he’d associated with a particularly strong Force user for a long period of time, and that exposure to the Force changed his systems and adapted him to become more Force tolerant.”

“Wait,” Din cut in. “Does that mean I’m like Grogu?”

Luke shook his head. “No. I doubt you could be able to wield the Force. However, this means that the things the Jedi only theorized are true. I would love for you to join me on my planet and explore this concept further. Din, you would be welcome as well, of course.”

You were shocked. Learning and researching with the Empire was one thing, but with Luke Skywalker? It was a dream come true.

“Of course,” you said. “I would love to.”

“And you Din? I could always use more protection out here.”

It wasn’t even a question for Din. He nodded. “Absolutely. But we have to stop on Tatooine first. Can you send us the coordinates?”

The communicator pinged, the coordinates saving to the device.

Luke smiled. “May the Force be with you.”

“And with you,” you responded, shutting off the communicator and looking at Din. “We’ll be on Tatooine in about 12 hours. Do you want to sleep?”

Din nodded. “If I’m not up, can you dock us in a specific place?”

You agreed, and Din immediately went off to sleep away his rescue. Meanwhile, you settled down in the cockpit, ready to land the ship when it came out of hyperspace.

Approximately twelve hours later, you were landing the ship, hesitating upon hearing faint yelling.

“I swear to the Force Mando! If this ship is falling apart again I will kill you myself, beskar be damned! Where the hell were you? No wonder this thing is always in horrible shape!”

You grinned, stepping out of the ship to find a short woman in a mechanic’s uniform. “Hello! Are you Peli?”

The woman scowled. “Are you with Mando?”

“Uh.” You had no idea how to respond. “Yes?”

“Yeah, they’re with me.”

Peli softened when she saw Din, stepping forward to get a better look. “Where’d the helmet go?”

Din shrugged. “I was kidnapped. The armor’s all with Fett.”

In an instant, there was a blaster pointed at your face. “Did they kidnap you?”

“No!” Din scrambled to correct her. “No! They broke me out.”

You nodded, letting out a breath as Peli lowered the blaster. “Fine. Do you need speeders?”

Din shook his head. “Just a place to refuel and get some new clothes.”

Peli looked Din up and down, finally taking in his stained white Empire issue clothes and no shoes. She did the same to you, eyes narrowing at your cleaner cut researchers uniform. “C’mon in. I don’t suppose you’ve still got the little one, do you?”

“He’s off getting proper training,” Din reassured, following Peli into the building. “With a Jedi.”

Peli made a noise of approval as she handed you a stack of clothes. “Try those, I think they’ll fit. And Mando,”

“Din.”

“Din,” Peli corrected herself without skipping a beat. “Try these.”

She left you two to change, abandoning the Empire white for Tatooine browns, greens, and burgundies. As you adjusted the loose cargo pants, you giggled at Din, who was desperately trying to pat his hair down. “C’mere.”

He moved towards you, waiting as you sat on the bed. You patted your thighs. “Sit. I’ll fix your hair.”

Din sat between your legs, allowing you to slowly comb through his hair with your fingers. He’d been decent about self-care while he’d been with you, always shaving when his facial hair got annoying and never needing help with his hair before this. You had to wonder how mentally drained he was if he needed your assistance here.

Peli came back in, holding two plates of food. When she saw the blissed out Din, she quietly put the plates down. “Do you want a real comb?” She whispered.

“Yes please,” you whispered back, nodding your thanks for the food.

When she returned with the comb stick in a cup of water, you thanked her again and slowly drew the wet comb through Din’s hair. It worked much better than your hands, untangling the knots and taming the cowlicks. When Din finally got up to eat, he looked much more presentable.

You turned to use the comb on yourself, but Din stopped you. Taking your wrist, he looked at you with pleading eyes. “Can I? I mean, you did it for me. It only seems right that I, y’know,”

“Of course.” You dropped the comb into his hands and sat on the floor, waiting. Din carefully put his legs around you, sitting on the bed and wetting the comb. Water trickled down the back of your neck as he worked, his warm hands firm on your head as he guided you. The tug of the comb lulled you into a soft, gentle place. A place beyond trouble or fear.

But good things don’t last, and suddenly you were up and eating so you could head out to Fett’s palace.

“You come back now, you hear me?” Peli said as you climbed aboard the ship again. “I don’t want you dropping out of the galaxy, okay?”

“Yes Peli!” Din called back, shutting the hatch. “See you soon!”

You smiled, waving as you took off. Fett’s palace wasn’t far, so you didn’t even bother napping during the short trip out.

When Din landed, he eagerly bounded off, knocking firmly on the front door you’d stood before not even a week prior.

“It’s Din.” He confirmed to the hatch. “I’m here to see Boba and reclaim my armor.”

Immediately, the doors opened, and Fennec was scooping Din up in a hug, his feet actually leaving the floor. “You had us worried sick!” She said happily. “Boba and I assumed you were dead! And you,” She said, turning to you. “You returned our bounty hunter safely. Is there any way we can repay you?”

You shook your head. “No m’am.”

Fennec snorted. “Please. Just Fennec will work. C’mon, let’s go see Boba.”

Of course, on the way, you two detoured to pick up Don’s armor. He methodically put it all on, from the flight suit to the vambraces. You watched, memorizing his every movement. He picked the helmet up, staring at the dark visor. “When I swore the Mandalorian creed,” he said softly. “I swore that if my helmet ever came off in the presence of any other living thing, I wouldn’t ever put it back on. I would lose that part of myself, forever.”

You stood, taking the helmet from his loose grip. “Din. You’ve earned this helmet ten times over.” Slowly sliding the helmet on, you noticed an immediate difference. Din stood taller, more confident and clearly more comfortable. “It suits you.”

Fennec poked her head in. “Are we ready?”

Din nodded, strapping a strange hilt to his belt and sliding a pure metal spear into a sheath on his back. “Let’s go.”

Meeting Fett again was interesting. He, like Fennec, thanked you for returning Din. You simply responded that it had felt right, and there was no need to thank you.

That night, after ample private celebrating during which Din removed his helmet so he could drink, you were alone, staring at the moons through a barred window. Slowly turning over, you sighed, trying to chase away the loneliness in your chest.

A hesitant knock at your door snapped you upright. “Come in?”

Din pushed the door open, slipping into the room. He was in his pyjamas, armor nowhere in sight. “Can’t sleep?”

“And I take it you can’t either,” you pointed out, standing and stretching. “What’s troubling you Din?”

“Loneliness.”

You smiled. “My bed is always open,” you offered, not even thinking before you spoke.

Din blinked. “Really?”

Before you could hesitate or stop yourself, you nodded, scooting over. “Of course. C’mon.”

He slid into the bed with you, eyes immediately blinking shut as you drew the covers up, covering yourself and Din to the shoulders. He relaxed, breathing out and sliding an arm over your body. You didn’t protest, instead curling closer to his warmth. “Are you really going to stay with Luke and Grogu?” You asked the hushed air.

Din breathed out. “For a bit. I have a planet to run, apparently.”

You laughed a bit, trying to stay quiet. “Right. The planet.”

Din smiled. You could feel his cheek moving against your head. “What about you? Will you stay with Luke forever?”

“Probably not,” you admitted. “I’m a traveler at heart.”

“Me too,” Din said. “Bounty hunting was how I got out of the covert.”

You snuggled deeper under the covers. “But you’ll stay with Luke for a bit?”

Din was quiet for a minute. “As long as you stay too.”

His response confused you. “What do you mean?”

“I like you,” he admitted, his voice tender. “I enjoy having you around.”

You smiled. “I enjoy having you around too. Can we finally be friends instead of researcher and project?”

Now it was Din’s turn to laugh. “I thought we already were friends.”

“Maybe we can be something more than.”

Din hummed out a shallow breath. “Something more,” he said. “I like the sound of that.”

The next day, as the twin suns painted the sky a brilliant orange and pink, you bid Fennec and Boba farewell as you got aboard the Crest. Din let you pilot, opting to, instead, organize the ship. You heard him clattering around every so often, but didn’t question it. He’d clearly flown a Crest before, and you trusted him to make this his home.

Finally, you landed on the mysterious green planet from the coordinates. Setting down near a temple, you drew a cloak across your shoulders as you stepped off the ship.

Immediately, Grogu came running as fast as his tiny legs would let him. Din crouched down and scooped him up in a tight hug, his shoulders heaving as you realized he was crying. Quickly ditching the helmet, he let Grogu pat his face down, smiling behind his tears.

“Ah?” Grogu finally noticed you, pointing one small claw at you.

“Yeah,” Din said. “That’s a very nice person who helped me come home to you.”

You smiled, stepping forward and taking Grogu’s hand. “Mhm. Your dad is very brave and has waited a long time to see you again. He told me all about you.”

Grogu cooed, cuddling into the curve of Din’s shoulder and falling asleep.

Luke came over the hill, much slower than Grogu. “Hello.” He waved. “How was the trip?”

Din shrugged. “Just fine. We didn’t find trouble, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Perfect!” Luke said, clasping his hands. “I’ve got two rooms set up for you guys, if you’ll follow me. I apologize if they’re messy, my nephew is visiting.”

“Actually,” you said quickly, glancing to Din and getting an approving nod. “Is there any way you could make that just one room?”

Din smiled, kicking his helmet. You reached down to pick it up. “Yeah,” he said, putting the arm that wasn’t holding Grogu around your waist. “Just one room.”

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #Pedro Pascal #My writing

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jate-kara · 5 years ago

Note

May i request Fives, Echo and Rex for 46. “Shut up, I am a delight!” bescause "Vode An" is tearing me apart rn and thank you!

The prompt is from this list. My interpretation of ‘short’ is highly variable.

You can find Vode An here, in case anyone is looking for it

Lifeday | On AO3

Summary: It’s Ahsoka’s lifeday.

For years, the 501st has been talking about throwing her a party: baking a cake, coming up with gifts, singing her that stupid song all the civvies take such delight in. This is the first time it’s actually been a real and genuine possibility. Rex guesses he should thank Fox for that, whenever the Senate gets around to clearing him of any charges related to Palpatine’s very sudden and necessary end.

–

“You are all absolutely unbelievable.”

Fives doesn’t even have the decency to look properly ashamed of himself. He, Jesse, Dogma, Hardcase, and Echo are covered from head to toe in flour and of the group, only Dogma looks even the slightest bit sheepish about it.

“The General loans us his kitchen, in his home, and this is what you pull,” Rex says.

“We’ll clean it up,” Dogma says quickly. “Promise, sir.”

“It was Hardcase’s fault anyway,” Jesse says.

“How as I supposed to know the bag would explode?” Hardcase grumbles.

“Oh, we definitely don’t know,” Fives says dryly, “but when you figure it out, you let us in on it.”

The war’s been over for three weeks and Rex already wishes he was back on the front lines. There’s still plenty to sort out, of course, that’s sort of an inevitable side-effect of the Republic’s Chancellor having orchestrated the entire war for his own benefit, but beyond waiting for orders about which Separatist holdouts still need to be cleared up, there’s not much they can do.

And besides, it’s Ahsoka’s lifeday and for years, the 501st has been talking about throwing her a party: baking a cake, coming up with gifts, singing her that stupid song all the civvies take such delight in. This is the first time it’s actually been a real and genuine possibility. Rex guesses he should thank Fox for that, whenever the Senate gets around to clearing him of any charges related to Palpatine’s very sudden and necessary end.

“All right, men,” Rex says at last. “We’ve got to pull ourselves together or this is never gonna get done.”

“I’ve never baked anything before,” Hardcase says. “I didn’t know it was gonna blow up.”

“Will you stow it already?” Jesse groans. “We get it: you didn’t think the bag would blow if you punched it. Well, guess what, genius? It did. It blew up and now it’s everywhere and we’ve got no flour for Ahsoka’s cake.”

“We could just go get some more,” Echo points out. Suddenly, all eyes are on him. “What?”

“I suppose you have credits for that,” Fives drawls.

“I do,” Echo says. “Hunter gave them to me. Tech’s really good at pazaak.”

Rex can feel the headache coming on already. “All right,” he says. “Echo, you, me, and Fives are on retrieval. We’ll go to the market, get the flour, and bring it back here. The rest of you, get this kitchen cleaned up. I want it in top shape, and I don’t want to hear any complaints from General Skywalker or Senator Amidala about it later. You got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Dogma bites out, which is better than the eyerolls Rex gets from Jesse and Hardcase.

“They’re gonna make an even bigger mess and we’re gonna be the ones that have to deal with it,” Fives says as they climb into the speeder. “What do you bet, Rex?”

“They’ll be fine,” Rex grumbles. “Just drive, Echo.”

“Whoa,” Fives says. Echo pauses; his finger hovers over the speeder’s ignition. “No, no, no. He’s not driving.”

“What is it with you and my driving?” Echo demands. “I drive fine.”

“No, you used to drive fine. Then you started hanging out with the Bad Batch and now you drive like you have a death wish.”

“I don’t have a death wish. I’m just trying to get us there faster.”

“I’ll drive,” Rex says mildly, and Echo scowls at Fives and moves over.

The market’s crawling with people. There are no other clones, besides a few of the Coruscant Guard keeping watch from a distance.

“So,” Fives says, “what’s the plan if they won’t sell to us?’

They were all thinking it. “They will,” Rex says, though it doesn’t sound as confident out loud as it did in his head. “I mean, why wouldn’t they?”

“Well, we’re the face of the war,” Echo says. A smirk plays at his lips. “All of us. We have the same face. Get it?”

Fives and Rex groan.

“Shut up. I’m a delight.”

“You’re not,” Fives says. “You’re a pain in the shebs.”

“We still need that flour,” Rex points out, “so cut the chatter unless you’ve got something useful to say.”

There are plenty of vendors scattered around the courtyard; it’s the largest outdoor market on Coruscant and the only one in the vicinity that carries the specific brand of flour needed for a Togrutan lifeday cake. “I’ll just go ask,” Echo says haltingly. “What else are we gonna do?”

“You’ll get swindled is what you’ll do,” Fives said. “Have you ever bought anything before? Let Rex do it.”

Echo blinks at him and shrugs. “All right,” he says. “Rex, you’re up. Show us how it’s done, sir.”

Rex warily accepts the credits and scans the crowd for the correct vendor. As soon as he finds it, he shoulders his way through, conscious of Fives and Echo at his back.

The vendor is an old Togruta woman. She looks them up and down and blinks at them, unimpressed. “You got credits?” she asks suspiciously. Rex bites back the urge to sigh. Everyone knows they don’t get paid (and no one does anything about it).

“We do,” Rex says a long beat later. “How much?”

“How much you got?”

“How much are they?”

“That depends on how much you’ve got,” she says, annoyed.

“How are we supposed to pay you if we don’t know how much it is?” Fives asks. “I mean, come on.”

“That’s how it works here,” she shrugs. “How much you got?”

“Just tell us how much,” Rex says. “…please.”

She screws her face up but seems to realize it’s the only answer she’s going to get. “Twenty credits,” she says slowly, like she’s testing them. “For the little bag.”

That’s all they need. Rex very carefully hands her the correct amount. She tosses the bag at them. “Thanks,” Rex says, but she doesn’t answer them: she’s already moved on to talking to the next customer.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Echo says, once they’re back at the speeder. He gingerly settles the bag in the dashboard compartment and clicks it shut.

Ten minutes back to Skywalker and Amidala’s apartment. The others should have the place cleaned up by now. Assuming Kix doesn’t get swept up in more post-war paperwork, he’s supposed to extricate Ahsoka from Kenobi and the 212th and bring her over by 1800.

So that leaves them three hours to make, bake, and decorate the cake when none of them has ever baked anything in their lives.

At least it comes with instructions.

Rex whips the speeder around the corner – and promptly brings it to a screeching halt. There are vehicles lined up as far as they can see up the lane.

“Shab,” Echo says. “What happened?”

“Crash, probably,” Fives mutters. “They were probably driving like you do.”

Rex gives it ten minutes. At twenty, they’re still sitting motionless. The speeder behind theirs has started revving its engine off and on like that’ll somehow make the pileup shift into motion.

They don’t have time for this.

“Where are you going?” Fives asks as Rex pulls out of the lane. Rex doesn’t answer him, just puts the speeder into a sharp incline and guns it.

“Rex, this is a military lane,” Echo says.

“And we’re military personnel,” Rex shoots back.

“In a civilian speeder!”

“Speeder, identify yourself. You are in a restricted lane.”

Fives is plastered to his seat but he still manages to reach forward far enough to hit the blinking comm. “This is Captain Rex,” Rex says easily, heedless of Fives’ scowl. “We’ve…commandeered a vehicle and are using the lane for passage.”

“Roger that, Captain. Carry on.”

“You’re lucky Fox is locked up right now,” Fives says through gritted teeth, “or he’d have your head for this.”

“That was Thire on the comm,” Echo says. “I’m pretty sure he’ll report it.”

No one wants to be on traffic duty. Rex wonders what Thire did to get stuck with it.

“Let’s hope not,” Rex says.

“Please slow down,” Fives snaps. Rex glances at him: his eyes are squeezed shut. “You and Echo and your shabla driving. It’s like no one taught you how. Ever.”

“Relax,” Rex says. “We’re f—”

“Look out!”

Rex swerves just in time to avoid the Coruscant Guard swoops ripping across the lane. “Wonder who they’re chasing,” Echo says.

“Slow down!” Fives barks. “Damn it, Rex, I don’t want to die again.”

By the time Rex sets the speeder down back at Amidala’s apartment, Fives is shaking. He stumbles out of the speeder and wobbles across the platform.

“Hey, Fives,” Jesse says, poking his head out the door. “You all right?”

“Rex should be relieved of his command,” Fives mumbles, letting Echo lead him inside, “until he learns how to pilot a kriffin’ speeder.”

Jesse giggles. Rex glowers at him and shoves the bag of flour against his chest. “Keep Hardcase away from it,” he says. “We are not doing that again.”

“Red means stop, by the way,” Jesse says with a wide grin. “Saw you coming down the lane. You blew through the traffic signal, Captain.”

“Get that cake made, Jesse.”

By some miracle, the cake comes out fine. Rex suspects Dogma was a very large part of that particular outcome, just like he’s sure Echo’s steady hands are the reason the frosted lettering is at all legible; it’s blue on a white background, for the 501st: Happy Lifeday, Ahsoka.

“There is an ‘h’, right?” Fives says, furrowing his brow.

“Yes, there’s an ‘h’,” Rex says. Echo heaves a sigh of relief. Behind him, Hardcase is balancing on Dogma and Jesse’s shoulders to hang up the last of the streamers and balloons.

“Ten minutes,” Echo says. “If Kix is on schedule.”

“Give him plus another ten,” Fives says, folding his arms. “He gets caught up pretty easily.”

The door clicks open. They spin as one. “General,” Fives says. “Welcome back.”

“Don’t call me general when I’m at home,” Anakin says, wrinkling his nose. “Really, Fives.”

“What are we supposed to call you…sir?” Dogma asks.

“You can call him Anakin,” Padmé says, sweeping through the door. They haven’t exactly been the most subtle about their relationship since the news of Palpatine’s treason came down the line, but then, Rex very much doubts the Jedi Council has the time to care right now. They’re too busy dealing with the fallout of an almost-Order-66.

And the fact that Fox and Fives, not the Jedi, were the ones that stopped it.

Everyone’s hair is still growing back from having their chips removed.

“Yeah, no, that’s not gonna work for us,” Jesse says. “What else is there?”

“Ahsoka used to call him Skyguy,” Rex says with a smirk. Skywalker scowls at him.

“No. Not that,” he says. “You can call me Anakin. You’re just gonna have to figure out how to make it work. Now hurry up and hide. Ahsoka and Kix were five minutes behind me so they’re gonna be here any second.”

Amidala clicks the lights off. Rex huddles behind the couch with Echo and Fives. Jesse and Dogma duck behind the overstuffed chairs.

“I think it should be open,” Ahsoka says from outside the door. “Anakin usually leaves it unlocked if he knows I’m coming by.”

“Sounds hazardous,” Kix says. Rex rolls his eyes. Beside him, Fives jumps slightly. He stills him with a hand on the shoulder. Not yet.

The door swings open. Amidala hits the lights. “Surprise!” they bellow, and Ahsoka’s face goes from startled to delighted.

“Happy lifeday, Ahsoka,” Anakin grins, and drags her into a hug. She holds on for a second and then Jesse’s elbowing his way in for his turn. Rex hangs back and waits until the others have had their chance. Ahsoka beams at him.

“Happy lifeday, vod’ika,” Rex says, and pulls her close.

“We made you a traditional Togrutan cake,” Dogma says proudly. “With the right flour and everything.”

Ahsoka’s eyes are shining. Rex hoists her up onto his shoulders. “Come on,” he says. “We barely managed not to burn the thing.”

“I’m sure you did fine,” she says.

“Well, it was mostly Dogma. Echo did the frosting.”

“I picked the sprinkles,” Hardcase says, following after. “They’re silver. Just because.”

Fives cuts the cake unevenly, Echo picks at him for it, but none of their bickering seems to bother Ahsoka. There’s a brightness to her eyes that Rex hasn’t seen since the first time he met her on Christophsis. The others are crowded around her, doting and stacking the gifts they brought beside her so she can open them later. Skywalker’s arm is around Amidala. He’s wearing a wide smile.

They’re safe, they’re happy, and they’re so very alive.

For the first time in his life, Rex’s heart is light.

–

#star wars #the clone wars #captain rex #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #arc trooper fives #arc trooper echo #arc trooper jesse #dogma #kix #padme amidala #anidala #you know it's good to take breaks from longfics #like i love writing vode an #but sometimes it feels just as intense to write it as it must be to read it #anyway fun to take a break and write smth cute and goofy

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brave-clarice · 4 years ago

Text

“Clarice” Liveblog: Episode 2

Again, some extremely unfashionably late hot takes.

(Special thanks to @kathrynethegreat and @special-agent-pendragon for encouraging another liveblog!)

Clarice is working out! And eating junk food! I love it.

and cleaning her gun!

hey, Ardelia is drinking what I’m going to assume is her grandmother’s “smart people tea”.

Krendler disciplining Clarice already is infuriating but appropriate.

“I lost control.” Oh no, I don’t like that. Don’t make Clarice unstable. Her mental and emotional state never had anything to do with her failing career.

getting weird mixed signals from Ardelia. Last week, she obviously didn’t want Clarice to lie/stick to the script Krendler gave her, but now she’s telling Clarice she messed up by not doing so...?

“I better know you if you’re calling this early.” Amen, Ardelia.

I’m in love: this cinematography is straight out of the film (when she’s flying to WV with Crawford)!

“When’s the last time you went back to Appalachia?” “It’s been years.” What??? It has NOT been years--Clarice was JUST in West Virginia last week as well as in Silence, and she arguably attended college there as well. (UVA is at least nestled in the mountains, and you don’t have to drive far outside the Albemarle Valley to hit Appalachia proper.) After all the details about her character they’ve been nailing, they miss this glaring error?

I like the tiny details she’s noticing (like the guy biting his nails). Not only because she’s an investigator, but because it’s reminiscent of Hannibal’s influence (imo).

Clarice Is Short: The Saga continues

still not getting any creepy vibes off Krendler. He’s going to be much less effective as an antagonist if he isn’t lewd as well as a dick.

I really don’t care for the way the opening “credits” fade out from the death’s-head moth to Clarice’s face. There are MANY animals that represent her, or parts of her, in the books--lions, lambs, horses, and of course birds--so this choice feels empty and lazy to me.

also lazy: having a fellow agent straight-up tell her in episode 2 “you shouldn’t be in the Bureau.” Maybe in two or three years, after some further “Death Angel”-type incidents, I could see this blatant rudeness, but not yet.

“Reesey”? Thanks, I hate it.

this flashback must be of Clarice’s little brother. That answers one question I had last week. That said...Clarice’s brother doesn’t play the same role in her story that Mischa does in Hannibal’s--but this sure feels like a Mischa-esque flashback.

good: they’re finally getting to the source of Clarice’s actual trauma!

bad: this is NOT how Clarice found out about her father. In fact, that whole incident is laid out in detail in the novels, and there’s nothing overly literary/un-cinematic about it, so this feels unnecessary. “The police are here! Something happened to Daddy!” No, bad! Show, don’t tell!

she would’ve known better than to introduce herself to that kid as “Clarice Starling, FBI,” come on now.

were they regularly able to wire tap hair clips in 1993?

actually, nothing in this show looks very 90s to me so far. I’m sad about it.

so in eighteen months, Ruth Martin has gone from a junior Senator to the Attorney freakin’ General, and now she might run for governor?? At least let her get settled in one position of power first, why don’t you!

yet more Buffalo Bill flashbacks...alas.

are they trying to make this guy another surrogate Hannibal character? He’s commenting on Clarice’s accent and the dryness of her skin, asking about who she “left behind”...it all feels very Hannibal. (I know he’s a Charismatic Cult Leader trope, too--but when played off of Clarice...)

“Ew.” “I hate this guy.” I laughed.

I understand that Clarice probably feels conflicted re: her siblings in the book, but I’m really not digging the flashbacks of this Tim Burton character her brother.

@ the writers: Clarice already has the lamb backstory/symbolism, too. We don’t need this Little Brother stuff.

*shrieking* Mrs. Starling! At the sink washing the blood out of his hat!!!

...aaand they had to ruin it with the brother’s painfully bad dialogue. Will still be good for gif-making, though.

are we supposed to interpret all these flashbacks as Clarice being incapable of controlling her emotions/state of mind? She keeps losing herself in memories and emerging all doe-eyed and panicky. I don’t like it.

not to be a broken record but...Clarice should be TOUGH. Again, Ardelia only saw her cry once in seven years. But she’s more worked up in this scene than Jodie was in Memphis!

when Mr. Cult Leader shouts “Agent Starling! Agent Starling!” he sounds exactly like Hannibal calling her back to his cell in the asylum. That has to be intentional.

damn, wish that I could look as good five minutes after I’ve been crying as Clarice does.

I LOVE that Ardelia gets to be the crucial behind-the-scenes book-smart partner to Clarice’s action heroine.

AG Martin’s just playing politics by turning a blind eye to the crooked sheriff. But when her own daughter was just kidnapped and almost killed, she looks like a real hypocrite.

gosh, Rebecca Breeds is great. I already hope she gets nominated for an Emmy.

so Krendler is...doing the right thing???

Clarice’s father was definitely not a sheriff. I hope she’s just exaggerating for dramatic effect. (Maybe this will be clarified later.)

she couldn’t just sit with a manipulative guy without getting emotional, but she’s cool as a cucumber while telling an extended story about her father? HmmMM.

sometimes her mannerisms and facial expressions are so much like Jodie’s that it’s uncanny, like here when she leans forward to confront the Cult Leader.

“She did it.” Damn straight!

another great callback to Silence. this show’s camera crew knows its stuff!

“He’s concerned I have some residual trauma from Bill.” I. Hate. This. Subplot--and all its OOC implications.

“Catherine was close to her father, too.” Ooh, a nice allusion to the novel! Clarice makes note of their “common wound,” the loss of a father, when she’s in Catherine’s apartment in Silence.

she is just SO pretty.

little Clarice looks a LOT like Rebecca Breeds. I hope we see some more of her.

The Good:

the continuing visual nods to the Silence film via cinematography

Mama Starling!!!

Clarice’s “The World Will Not Be This Way Within the Reach of my Arm” attitude, refusing to leave without helping the victims.

Ardelia Mapp coming in clutch!

Clarice being, generally, a badass

and using psychological tricks/mind games to pin the antagonist...that’s the woman who disarmed a monster with just a few words.

Rebecca Breed’s acting has been phenomenal so far.

I like Clarice’s haircut a lot better when worn down (though it’s not very practical for fieldwork, so we probably won’t see it much).

The Bad:

the continuing Buffalo Bill-related Trauma Subplot. Ugh.

all the flashbacks to Clarice’s brother (and the not-so-subtle suggestion that her brother is, symbolically, another lamb).

will the real Paul Krendler please come forward? this guy is so TAME.

the other agents’ hostility towards Clarice needs to be toned down slightly so that it can escalate. Otherwise, where’s the tension?

is this actually 1993? I’m not feeling it. Shouldn’t it have a little of that Season 1/2 X-Files aesthetic? Please give me more than once-an-episode references to pagers and fax machines!

that glaring Appalachia continuity error...it’s still bugging me.

I missed the overt Hannibal references, even though they’re not necessary to any part of this episode. A lady can dream!

Overall, I really liked this one despite my various issues with it. It started shakily but built to a great finish. The emphasis across both episodes on Clarice being in the FBI not just to “get out, get anywhere,” but out of a genuine desire to help victims has been wonderful. I just hope they don’t swerve too far into the “too traumatized and emotionally compromised to function” lane. It would be a disservice to Clarice’s character and to her journey (and would smack too much of “Hannibal really did prey on her weak mind/brainwash her”.

Things I’d still like to see: More of her personality. Her hobbies and interests. That she’s cleaning her gun is great! Now let’s see “Poison Oakley” practicing her sharpshooting skills. Or car shopping. Or clothes shopping to show off her “developing taste.” (Ardelia can come!) I’ll take literally anything. Give us more of Clarice’s sense of humor as well. She had some subtle funny moments in the pilot, and it’s nice to see Rebecca smile for a change.

And Krendler? Smear that man in grease! I appreciated a happy ending even though Clarice’s career is, as we know, already in a downward spiral--the last thing we want is for every episode to be a slog, especially when a good chunk of the audience hasn’t read the book and doesn’t know Clarice is doomed to fail in the Bureau.

However... Krendler’s not a “redemption arc” kind of character. Or even a “run-of-the-mill sexist asshole” character. This is a man who spent seven years systematically sabotaging a young woman’s career because a) he was jealous that she solved the Gumb case before him, and b) she wouldn’t fuck him. He was a Justice Department official working fist-in-glove with a serial child molester who was planning some of the heinous vigilante justice imaginable. THAT’S why his very gruesome end at Hannibal’s hands felt deserved--even Clarice thought so! In short, he needs to get nasty.

Anyway, thanks for coming to another long-overdue TedTalk. Fingers crossed that the next one will be more timely (aiming for Sunday night)!

#Clarice Starling #clarice #cbs clarice #rebecca breeds #once again I apologize for how late this is #and how long and somewhat ranty lol #please let me know if you want more ♥♥♥#media [cbs show]#char [clarice starling]

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jalapeno-princess · 5 years ago

Text

Tear in My Heart

Mark Tuan X Reader

Word Count: 1.5K

Genre: FLUFFY AS HELL

A/N: I wrote this in 15 minutes. Based on the song “Tear in my heart” by twenty one pilots. Please enjoy!

You fell asleep in my car I drove the whole time But that's okay I'll just avoid the holes so you sleep fine I'm driving here I sit Cursing my government For not using my taxes to fill holes with more cement

“Stupid pot hole. Where the fuck do my taxes even go? I would think with the amount the government takes from me every year that they would fill up these stupid roads with more cement. I just changed my fucking tires.”

Both you and your fiancé were driving home from a party at your friend Jinyoung’s house. You were currently sleeping and Mark was trying his best to avoid the many potholes that seemed to surround the roads in order to prevent waking you up.

It was obvious that you were exhausted. Not only did you finish work only a few hours before the two of you left for the party, but you were currently five months pregnant and you tended to take naps whenever you had the chance. Since he knew you were going to be tired right after your shift, he had recommended that you both would skip out on the party but the adorable pout that rose on your face got him to give in to you.

Everyone and their mothers knew that Mark was over the moon for you and that he would do any and everything in his power to give you the world you deserved and more. That’s why he was practically swerving in and out of his lane. It didn’t help that it was dark and his vision wasn’t all that great, but your safety and well being were clouding his thoughts and all he wanted to do was hurry up and get you home.

He brought his free hand up to your face and gently cupped your cheek before bringing his hand down to your stomach and rubbing it back and forth. Mark still couldn’t believe that he and his favorite person were going to be parents. He’s dreamt of being a father for the longest time and he couldn’t wait to experience this beautiful journey with you.

At each and every stoplight, he would take the time and look at you in awe. If only you were awake, you’d be able to see the amount of love and admiration in his eyes whenever it came to you. Even after five years of being together, Mark looked at you like it was the first time he laid his eyes on you. You were his entire life. His world. He loved you with every fiber of his being.

He couldn’t help but leave chaste kisses around your face every chance that he got and before he knew it, the two of you were pulling up in to your garage. Since he was adamant on not waking you up, Mark parked the car and made his way to the passenger side. Once he opened your door, he unbuckled your seatbelt and carefully picked you up bridal style.

When you didn’t wake up by the countless movement no matter how much he tried to avoid any sort of noise or disturbance, he released a sigh of relief and began the journey upstairs. It was in moments like these where he regrets purchasing a two story house. It sounded better in hind sight, but since you were having a little one on the way you needed as much space as you could get. As soon as he stepped in to the living room, your dog Milo was quick to jump on him out of excitement; almost causing the both of you to fall but thankfully Mark’s reflexes were quick and he repositioned you so that it was easier for him to move around.

“Milo, now’s not the time bud. Mommy’s asleep. Come on, let’s go to the room.” After placing you down on the bed, he took a few seconds to breathe. It was obvious he was extremely out of shape and the fact that you were carrying a baby didn’t make it any easier but Mark wasn’t one to complain. He would sacrifice his strength if it meant you were comfortable. Unfortunately, Mark knew he’d have to wake you up sooner or later in order to get you ready for bed.

He got up and grabbed you one of his baggy shirts and a pair of his sweats before beginning to leave sloppy kisses on your forehead. Your fiancé gently began to shake your arm and murmured your name to try and get you up from your slumber.

“Babe. Baby. Let’s get you ready for bed.” It took you a few seconds, but when he saw your eyes fluttering he stifled back a giggle. You were so adorable.

“Sorry to wake you love, but I wanted you to be comfortable. I’ll help you change and brush your teeth, then we can go to sleep okay? How was your nap?” You smiled sleepily at your fiancé before letting out a suppressed yawn.

“Good. I had a weird dream though. You were grumbling to yourself about the pot holes in the road and how the government takes your money for no reason. And then you were cursing the stairs and got upset with Milo—with the look you’re giving me right now I have a feeling I wasn’t dreaming.” He playfully rolled his eyes as he motioned for you to lift your arms up so that he could help you take off your dress. Your cheeks warmed at the thought of him trying his best not to wake you by avoiding all the holes in the ground. Mark was always so considerate and it made your heart flutter. There were so many times in your relationship that Mark would make certain decisions with you in mind. As you were to thank him for the gesture, he spoke up.

“You were partially awake this entire time? You could’ve walked up the stairs—ow! What was that for?” He began to rub his shoulder after you shoved him roughly.

“Are you calling me fat? You know how I get when it comes to my weight I know I am a whale now please don’t remind me. It’s your fault I’m like this.”

Seeing your now sarcastic frustrated demeanor made Mark giggle. It was true though. A few weeks before you found out you were pregnant, Mark could not keep his hands off of you as per usual. However, that week specifically, Mark hinted and even bluntly asked for sex every single day but it was understandable.

Your schedules collided to the point where you hardly ever saw each other so when work started to slow down for you, he took advantage of every minute spent together. Although you were extremely excited to become a mother, you weren’t going to lie; pregnancy was difficult. Not only were you hungry all the time and could barely move without assistance, but you were bipolar and very insecure about your body.

Mark tried his best to do everything you asked him to and to remind you on a daily basis of how beautiful you were and how you had this glow now that you were a soon to be mother, but it didn’t help the fact that you felt like gross and ugly. But you knew that every woman felt this way when they were pregnant so you tried your best to ignore your negative thoughts and to enjoy the process while your baby was still growing in your tummy.

“Baby, stop thinking so negative of yourself. You’re so beautiful, I can’t even fathom it in to words. You’re not even wearing make up and you look like you’re straight out of a magazine. Well, maybe a pregnancy magazine as of right now. But like I said, I can’t get over how good you look pregnant. You and I, we’re creating a human being out of the love we have for one another. Can you believe it? And your body, God. I can’t get over how sexy you are. Don’t give me that look, I know you don’t believe me but damn y/n. You don’t understand how hard it is for me to resist pinning you against the bed and having my way with you.”

He let out a soft chuckle when he noticed a tear fall from the corner of your eye and he immediately kissed it away and pulled you on to his lap. “I’m sorry you’re going through so much pain and so many emotions right now but I’m very thankful for all that you’ve had to go through and all that I know you will continue to do. You know I wish I could be the one going through this so you didn’t have to suffer right? It’ll all be worth it once our little bub arrives. Until then, don’t hesitate to ask me for anything no matter what it is or what time it is. Whatever you need baby, you got it. Am I really going to have two cry babies? Come here.”

He connected your lips together and when he felt you smile in to the kiss, he pulled away and placed his forehead against yours. “I love you, more than you will ever know. You are a marvel y/n. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I would do it again and again if it meant having you in every single lifetime. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for our little family. I love you baby.”

Sometimes you gotta bleed to know, oh, oh That you're alive and have a soul, oh, oh But it takes someone to come around To show you how

She's the tear in my heart I'm alive She's the tear in my heart I'm on fire She's the tear in my heart Take me higher Than I've ever been

My heart is my armor She's the tear in my heart She's a carver She's a butcher with a smile Cut me farther Than I've ever been

#got7 imagines #got7 #got7 mark #mark tuan #mark tuan imagines #mark tuan fluff #got7 drabbles #got7 fluff

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is-it-art-tho · 5 years ago

Link

Summary: Tim Drake gives his all for the city he loves.

“Some great people have worn this uniform. It’s more than a name—it’s a legacy. If you’re going to do this, you’re going to have to work hard,” Bruce said, holding a new Robin uniform in his hands. “I’ll accept your all. Nothing less.”

Young Tim Drake nodded. “Yes, sir.”

The Batplane dipped and swerved towards skyscrapers as Tim, now several years older, fought to keep it above the Gotham skyline. Beside him, Bruce, his cowl torn to shreds, worked to keep the other set of controls in line. A damaged wing on the left side threatened to break free from the rest of the craft. Sparks flew up from the panel as the cockpit filled with smoke. Tim glanced at the countdown on the control panel: 8 minutes.

“What’s this?” Tim asked turning a slender weapon over in his hands.

“I call it a batarang,” Bruce explained. “Give it time. This will become one of your best friends.”

“Tim, bail out!” Bruce yelled over the blare of the alarms going off in the cockpit. “Now!”

Tim leapt from the seat and ran to the back of the plane. “There aren’t any parachutes!” he shouted.

Bruce cursed, made sure the rest of the sky was clear, then hurried back to join him. He instantly found a dark backpack. “There’s one right—”

Tim slammed the button to open the doors and shoved Bruce toward them. Bruce, dangling halfway out of the plane, grabbed Tim’s arm.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“I don’t understand!” Tim shouted, “Why are you so mad at me? I was just trying to help!”

“You were reckless— you could’ve gotten yourself killed. Never disobey my orders in the field like that again.”

“I thought we were supposed to look out for each other.”

“No, I look out for you. I protect you. Not the other way around. If I ever catch you putting yourself in danger like that for me again, you’re done. Is that clear?”

“…Yes, sir.”

“Tim!” Bruce barked, his voice being dragged away by the wind. “What are you doing?!”

Tim’s hand went to his belt. “I’m sorry,” he said, then whipped out a batarang and stabbed Bruce’s hand, forcing him to release. Tim peered out of the plane and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the parachute open in the distance. A massive clang followed by the screech of metal signaled the loss of the left wing. The plane started to dive.

“Computer!” Tim yelled, leaping back into the pilot’s seat. “Emergency stabilizer! Left side!” A flimsier, secondary wing folded out of the plane, taking the other one’s place. Tim forced the aircraft back into the air.

A few moments later Bruce’s voice crackled over his earpiece, furious. “Tim! Get out of there now! That’s an order!”

“If I leave now it’ll never make it.”

“Tim--”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

Silence. Then, “This wasn’t the plan. It was supposed to be me.”

“I know. But there can always be another Robin. There can never be another Batman.” Tim glanced over his shoulder at the payload of explosives at the back of the plane. The timer on the cockpit was at 3 minutes. He took a steadying breath as he soared over the city, headed towards the bay. “Bruce?” he asked, his voice lighter as he changed the subject suddenly.

“Yes.”

“You remember the first time we went on patrol together? My first night in the uniform.”

No response.

“Bruce?”

“I do.”

Tim laughed half-heartedly. “How many times did you have to show me which side my grapple was on?”

“It was a rough start, but you caught on quickly.”

“I had a good teacher.”

Another pause as the plane rumbled out over the water. “Do you remember what you said to me that night? When we got back?” Met with silence again, Tim continued, “It was almost dawn. I had taken a pretty good shot to the face and you were patching me up. I was upset because I thought it meant I wasn’t good enough. But you said—”

“‘Bleeding isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a sign of strength. It means you’re willing to take the hit when it counts,’” Bruce finished. “I remember.”

“Yeah.” Tim swallowed hard, his heart pounding. Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I’m trying to be strong now, but I’m getting kind of scared.” His voice cracked, betraying his practiced calm.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Bruce urged. “It’s okay. I’m here. Just breathe.”

Tim nodded, taking a breath. “Yeah. Okay.” One minute. Tears continued to fall as he stared out towards the horizon.

“Focus on my voice,” Bruce continued. “You’re doing great. You’re a hero, Tim.”

The boy laughed wryly. “I don’t feel like one.”

“No one ever does. But it’s true. This city owes you everything.”

Tim didn’t know what to say to that. He pivoted again: “Tell Alfred I said goodbye. And that I’m sorry about the stain on the curtains.”

“I will.”

Thirty seconds. “Dick, too,” he added suddenly. “Tell him I…” Tim’s voice caught. He tried to clear it.

“I will,” Bruce said gently, understanding.

Tim nodded. Fifteen seconds. It was almost time; he felt like he was watching himself from outside of his body. Everything around him had begun to take on a surreal, almost dreamlike quality. Suddenly something occurred to him. He spoke quickly, “This wasn’t your fault, Bruce.”

“What?”

“I chose this, okay? Promise me you won’t blame yourself.”

Back in the city, Bruce was perched on a rooftop, watching the plane through high powered binoculars.

“Promise me!” Tim’s voice was panicked, almost desperate.

Bruce took a trembling breath. “I—” The line went dead as the small plane exploded in a sudden, dazzling display of fire and smoke miles from the harbor. When the black cloud cleared, there was hardly a trace left. Bruce lowered the binoculars slowly and slumped back, numb, his eyes fixed on the water yet seeing nothing. For the first time since he could remember, his mind was entirely blank.

Suddenly, his earpiece crackled back to life. “Bruce? I saw the explosion from here— are you okay? Why isn’t anyone answering?!” It was Dick, frantic with worry.

“I’m here,” Bruce said.

“Oh thank God. Where’s Tim? He isn’t responding. Bruce?” A beat. Then slowly, his voice pitching and cracking awkwardly, “Tell me he didn’t do what I think he did. Tell me I’m wrong, Bruce. Please.”

Bruce couldn't find the words. He let the silence fill in the gaps. Dick cursed violently. "God damn it--!"

“Hello?” the young voice was weak, but clear, cutting Dick's tirade short. Bruce froze. “Are you two talking about me again?”

A broad smile cut across Bruce’s face as a relieved chuckle escaped his lips, turning quickly into a full-throated laugh. Through the earpiece he could hear Tim Drake laughing along with him, the sound mixing with the splash of waves. “Little help out here?” he asked.

"I'm on my way," Bruce said, standing. He fired off his grapple and swung away.

Down below, Gotham trudged on, never once acknowledging the disturbance on the water and completely oblivious to the immense debt they had almost owed to a sixteen year-old boy who had been willing to pay the ultimate price for them -- a city of people who didn’t even know his name.

#tim drake #robin #batman #bruce wayne #tim drake fanfic #tim drake fic #batman fanfiction #batman fic #whump #tim drake whump

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waveypedia · 5 years ago

Text

Key to a Memory

(warning for swearing)

{people need a melody to open their eyes

like a key to a memory frozen in time

holding on to everything, you’re stuck in the past

boy dontcha know that the world moves fast

it’s been a little while since we’ve been together

it’s been a long time since we were young and wild, remember

when we were friends, remember}

May 14, 2019 I 6:26 pm

UNKNOWN NUMBER: GYRO

UNKNOWN NUMBER: HEY GYRO

UNKNOWN NUMBER: It’s me Della!! Your bud!!!

UNKNOWN NUMBER: I’m back from space!!!

UNKNOWN NUMBER: I can’t believe you have the same number you nerd! lol I remember when Uncle Scrooge finally forced you to get a phone and you got a super cheap one and then upgraded it with your own tech

UNKNOWN NUMBER: I can’t wait to see how much more upgraded and fancy your phone is now!

UNKNOWN NUMBER: sorry for not texting you sooner I got back a couple days ago but things have just been really hectic since then ya know??

UNKNOWN NUMBER: anyway I know you’re probably busy changing the world and inventing amazing things for Uncle Scrooge

UNKNOWN NUMBER: he told me you got an intern!! Congrats!! I can’t wait to meet them

UNKNOWN NUMBER: just call me when you get a chance ok? I’d really like to catch up

“GYRO!!” Della screamed, kicking open the door to the lab. Gyro scowled at his desk and scrawled a quick note to outfit the elevator with self-opening doors. The scientist sighed and stood up reluctantly, stepping around his desk to be in full view. “What is it now, Della?”

Della sprinted into the lab, her grin threatening to split her face in two. She exuberantly waved a bundle of papers in Gyro’s face. “Donnie and I got tickets to the new Galaxy Wars movie, and you’re coming!! Thursday at 6!! Be there or be square!!”

Gyro snorted and gently waved her off, pushing the tickets out of his face. “Dels, I’m busy here. Besides, any self-respecting scientist knows those movies are garbage.”

Della fake-pouted and slung her arm around Gyro’s shoulders, despite the height difference. She had to lean and go up on her tiptoes to manage, making Gyro burst out in a fit of laughter. She shrugged, tugging Gyro down to her height. “Whatever. The premiere was a couple weeks ago, so you probably won’t get into a fistfight with an overzealous fan this time-”

“-Their fault-” Gyro muttered under his breath as Della prattled on.

“-Aaaaaand Cousin Gladdy’ll be there! With his luck we probably won’t get kicked out by the ushers,” Della finished proudly.

Gyro rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “Ugh, Gladstone? That man is too self-absorbed. Takes one to know one. And does that mean Fethry will be there as well?”

“Yep!” Della beamed. “He loves science, Gy, and he loves you! He’ll grow on you one day.”

“Highly unlikely.” Gyro shoved her arm off and stretched, standing up to his full height. “I grudgingly respect Fethry’s passion and his interest in scientific fields. He’s just so…” Gyro huffed. “Annoying.”

Della poked him in the beak. “Whatever. If you think Fethry’s annoying, my buddy Loopy from flight school will be there and she’ll blow your mind. But in a good way! Loopy’s amazing!”

Gyro groaned and slapped a hand on his face, slowly dragging it down. “Loopy and I are your only friends, aren’t we?”

Della puffed her chest out in mock effrontery. “I have lots of friends! I’m the best at making friends! They’re just all over the globe, you know, cause of all the amazing and daring adventuring I do!”

Gyro snorted and knocked his friend with his shoulder. “Whatever. When one of these international ‘friends’ comes around to Duckburg and hangs out with you beyond the adventure, let me know.”

Della smirked. “So you’ll be there?”

“Fine. I’ll be there.” Gyro affirmed, rolling his eyes.Della beamed mischievously. “Wonderful! See you there! Also it’s a sleepover and I’m adding you to a group chat specifically for this event now byeeeeee!!!”

“WHAT?!” Gyro squawked, racing after Della, but the elevator dinged and carried her far away. “Della! No! Come back! DELLA!!! I WILL NOT SUBJECT MYSELF TO THE TORTURES OF YOUR CHILDISH SLEEPOVER!!!” He chanced a look at his phone. It was already blowing up with texts from Della and Fethry.

Gyro groaned and slammed his head down on his desk, grateful for the solitude of his lab. He pulled up the calendar Scrooge filled with his deadlines from the board and added the movie night so he wouldn’t forget. A small, pleased smile played at his beak.

He picked up his phone, muted the group chat, and returned to his work.

read 9:28 pm

May 15 I 4:03 pm

Della Duck: hey dumbass

Della Duck: they have read receipts now stupid

Della Duck: I know you saw my messages

Della Duck: whatever I know you’re hella busy just call me when you get the chance

Della Duck: hahah did you see that? hella! I used new slang!

Della Duck: Louie taught it to me :D

Della Duck: I can’t believe his name is Louie and not Rebel! I’m kinda mad at Donald but also it suits him more than Rebel

Della Duck: Dewey though… he’s DEFINITELY a Turbo

Della Duck: Huey could go either way but he’s okay with Huey so I guess I am too

Della Duck: It’s a lot to take in

Della Duck: although Webby would be overjoyed to be Jet or Rebel

Della Duck: I can’t believe I have an extra daughter!!! how cool is that?? four kids for the price of three!!

Della Duck: or maybe it’s more like six kids for the price of three since Webby had friends over today and they all seem close

Della Duck: Ooh you know who would be a good Rebel? Lena! apparently she just came back from the shadow realm??? I missed so much

Della Duck: i can’t believe you guys got to fight magica de spell without me AND she had a kid

Della Duck: she’s still kinda hot ngl

Della Duck: but louie showed me a picture of her after she lost her magic and ehhhh

Della Duck: but also there are lots of hot people around these days and I’m kinda freaked out

Della Duck: like I made a best friend of my roommate on the moon!! Her name’s Penumbra but I call her Penny and I’d let her stomp on me. Best part is she probably would

Della Duck: also Uncle Scrooge got a new pilot & driver and I hate him cause he’s sorta replacing me?? But also he’s hot in a himbo kinda way

Della Duck: I know you have insanely high standards but you gotta back me up here gyro Launchpad is kinda hot

Della Duck: damn i’ve missed our conversations about various hot people and our lack of love lives

Della Duck: I told you about Penny you gotta fill me in on the current hotties in the Duckburg science community

Della Duck: I also met your intern! He seems nice ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ) ;) ;) ;)

Della Duck: i can hear your voice. “Della that is an excessive amount of emoticons”

Della Duck: well if you want me to stop you’ll just have to reply ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;) ;)

Della Duck: at least you’re not telling me to use “emojis”Della Duck: apparently they all have hidden meanings and I don’t understand

Della Duck: Louie, Dewey, and Lena tried to teach Uncle Scrooge and I

Della Duck: I’m ashamed to say I think he fared better than I did

Della Duck: he’s old!! He’s supposed to be clueless!! I’m not old I was just on the moon for a decade!! That’s gotta count for something right?

4:46 pm

Della Duck: i see how it is

Della Duck: ignore me all you want but i’m right

The sun was nearly below the horizon, painting the evening sky and the waves below it in a plethora of muted colors, when Della broke the topic. “Yo. I think Magica de Spell is kinda hot.”

Gyro swerved to stare at her so fast he felt something in his neck crack. “Magica?! She’s ancient; are you crazy?!”

Della shrugged, kicking sand around absentmindedly with her bare toes. “Yeah, but she doesn’t look it. She’s hot in an unattainable kind of way.”

Gyro snorted, loud and sad. “I know how that feels.”

Della nudged him teasingly. “What’s going on in your love life? I shared, now you have to.”

Gyro rolled his eyes and nudged her back, harder. “You know nothing’s happening.” He shrugged carelessly. “It’s not like I have much time outside of work.”

“Yeah, but that’s because you refuse to take care of yourself and you act like you’ll die if you leave the lab,” Della said good-naturedly. “You should come on an adventure with us!”

Gyro sighed contentedly and waved her away. “I’ll stick to the lab, thanks. My inventions’ corrupted morality circuits provide me quite enough stress and adventure, thank you very much.”

(He couldn’t very well tell her that her dear ol’ uncle had entrusted him with the project of a lifetime, his chance to thank her for her gift of friendship, his chance to prove himself to Mr. McDuck for once and for all, his chance to redeem himself from the smoking failure that was 2BO. He didn’t have to run himself ragged working on the Spear of Selene day and night, but this was important, far more important than anything Gyro had worked on at McDuck Industries before. For his career, and for his friendship. And he wanted to do it right.)

(Shame he failed in the end anyway.)

Della sighed assent, smiling, and leaned back on her elbows, working her fingers into the sand. She had given up for now, but Gyro knew she would broach the subject again soon, from a new angle, with a new tactic. Della Duck never gave up.

“Maybe one day,” Gyro said, surprising himself. After this whole Spear debacle is said and done.

Della beamed and knocked her shoulder into his affectionately. “I’ll hold you to that!”

Gyro smiled wryly. “I know you will.”

Gyro pushed up his glasses and studied Della’s texts, willing his eyes not to unfocus and his brain not to zone out. He read them once, twice, three times. Four.

He began typing.

Gyro Gearloose: I remember-

Gyro Gearloose: My love life is as nonexistent as it was when you left-

Gyro Gearloose: emojis are zealous anyway-

Gyro Gearloose: I’m sorry-

He deleted his words, frustrated, nerves and old, painful memories rubbed raw, and never sent a reply.

June 11 I 2:09 pm

Della Duck: so Fenton and I went out for coffee today

Della Duck: not on a date, just as a chance to get to know each other platonically

Della Duck: he’s so much like you

Della Duck: not on the surface. In fact you guys are pretty much opposites

Della Duck: but you both care so much, even though you show it differently

Della Duck: i know you care your prickly demeanor can’t fool me

Della Duck: you’re both incredibly passionate about sciences

Della Duck: you’re both super awkward

Della Duck: he has high praise for you, and he really admires you, but it sounds like you’re not that close and I think you totally should be!

Della Duck: I know you’re probably annoyed that I’m meddling in your (love) life again, but get used to it!! I’m the best wingman and friend and I’m here to stay!!

Della Duck: even if you don’t text me back

Della Duck: (but seriously, please text me back. I miss you.)

Della Duck: he said you might need some space and I guess that makes sense but i just don’t understand why

Della Duck: that’s the only reason I haven’t stormed down to the lab by now

Della Duck: Did i do something before I took off for the moon?

Della Duck: or are you like Donnie and you’re mad?Della Duck: at least I think Donnie’s mad

Della Duck: or he will be

Della Duck: he’s on a cruise, Gyro! A fucking cruise!!!

Della Duck: he left the day I got back and now he’s gone for a fucking month

Della Duck: he thinks I’m dead

Della Duck: I miss him so much

Della Duck: the cruise doesn’t allow cell phones so I can’t even contact him and tell him I’m alive

Della Duck: But Huey and I sent postcards!! I don’t know if they’ll reach him but I really hope they do

Della Duck: Huey and Webby have been checking the mailbox meticulously to see if he sends one back

Della Duck: sorry for ranting

Della Duck: I just miss him

Della Duck: I miss you too you know? Yeah i’m being stupid sappy again but it’s dumb that you’re right here, across the city, and we haven’t talked

Della Duck: call me gyro you fucking coward

2:43 pm

Della Duck: also Fenton is totally Gizmoduck right

Della Duck: I met Gizmoduck once when he came to formally greet me

Della Duck: and i’ve seen him around the city lots

Della Duck: but they’re so similar. They have the same mannerisms

Della Duck: I guess that means you built his armor then right?

Della Duck: or you helped

Della Duck: it’s great Gyro

Della Duck: look at you! An invention that didn’t turn evil!!

Della Duck: I’m proud of you bud

“Have you ever thought about hiring someone to help in the lab?” Della asked one day, apropos of nothing.

She had dragged Gyro into a fancy coffee shop - one he’d probably be banned from had he attempted to patronize it on his own, and one he would be in the post-Spear of Selene era - and forced him to take a break from the top secret project he’d been devoting all his time to. They bought overpriced, bougie coffees on Mr. McDuck’s dime and traded jabs without any real bite to them, as was customary for them. Della mocked Gyro’s unique taste for black licorice, again. Same old, same old.

And then, this.

Gyro paused, his ceramic mug halfway to his face. “I’m fine on my own. Any help would only get in my way. They would stumble over their own feet and I would have to take precious time off of my own projects to tediously help them flail and fall.”

Della set down her coffee and leaned forward with her elbows on the table. “You’re so cynical. Besides, you’re working yourself to death down there! It might help if you had someone else to lighten the load.”

Gyro paused. “I suppose I might be more productive if I didn’t have to do the menial tasks beneath me…”

“-And you could make a FRIEND!!!” Della cheered, standing up and leaning heavily on the table, her enthusiasm thundering in full-force. “Someone to chat with on late nights deep in projects, someone who understands your passion for science, someone you can count on when Donnie and I are off on an adventure!”

Gyro groaned, startled at first but then settling into resignation. “I should have known you had an ulterior motive.”

Della giggled, batting her eyelashes jokingly. “I only have your best interests at heart.”

Gyro shrugged and swirled his quickly-cooling coffee around in his mug. “Besides, Dels, you know there’s a reason you’re one of my only friends, right? You and Dickie and Daisy, you’re the people I’m closest with and that’s because you wouldn’t put up with my prickly, stay-alone-all-the-time bullshit. You guys drag me out of whatever place I’m holed up in kicking and screaming. Most people are not like that. I’m lucky to have three of you,” he admitted in the kind of moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability and clarity that only comes when you’re with someone you really trust.

Della snorted and reached across the table to shove Gyro gently. “Shut your self-depricating hole, Gyro Gearloose. Trust me, I wouldn’t put up with you if I didn’t want to.”

Gyro smirked, a small smile chasing away the dark storm clouds that covered his face. “I know, Dels.”

“Good.” Della replied self-assuredly. “I love Dickie and Daisy, and I love that they love you, but they’re not local. You need more friends, Gyro.”

“Maybe,” Gyro hummed softly, the closest he would ever come to admitting it. “But it’s even harder to get along with coworkers, and the chances of my subordinate being someone who actually wants to be friends with me is abysmal.”

Della shrugged. “Sometimes you learn to like each other. Like me ‘n Donnie! We drive each other crazy, but we have each other’s backs when it matters, and we’re always there for each other.”

Gyro snorted. “This hypothetical person and I will be coworkers, Dels, not siblings. That’s different. Besides, you and Donald love each other too much to be healthy.”

“Yeah, but Donnie and Uncle Scrooge and I are a little like coworkers, aren’t we? Adventuring is our job, and it’s very stressful at times,” Della said.

Gyro shook his head. “Dels, honestly, you have to get a job at some point. Mr. McDuck won’t let you leech off of him for much longer now, and you have no experience. It’s really not the same.”

Della shrugged. “At some point. I know Uncle Scrooge is biting at the bit, especially after Donnie joined the Navy, but I don’t want the responsibilities and schedules of work to tie me down and take me away from adventuring, you know? It’s the same reason I didn’t go off to college.”

“I still think you should have,” Gyro replied, smiling wryly. “You’re bright and you’d flourish being able to study what you choose.”

“I learn a lot adventuring,” Della replied smugly, stubborn as always. “I can speak seven languages fluently, you know!”

“Even if most of them are dead, or belong to otherworldly beings from alternate dimensions,” Gyro pointed out.

Della sighed contentedly and shook her head. “Whatever. What’s done is done, and I’ll get a job someday. But just think about it, Gyro, all right?” She locked gazes with Gyro pleadingly.

Gyro sighed in defeat. “Fine. I will give it some thought. But don’t get your hopes up, all right?”

Della smirked. “Whatever you say.”

Gyro put his head in his hands, roughly shoving aside his expensive coffee. (He was lucky it didn’t crash and burn, like most of his inventions.)

She’s not gonna win this one, Gyro aggressively promised himself. I can’t subject anyone else to my bullshit.

(The only reason he assented and allowed an intern on, in the future, was because Scrooge all but ordered it. He saw firsthand the way having positive people around improves lives and wanted that for Gyro too, especially with Della gone and Donald barely speaking to him. And if Mr. McDuck’s not-so-subtle hints and gentle persuasion-turned direct orders gave Gyro crystal-clear flashbacks to Della’s not-so-gentle prodding, and if he cried that night after his boss left, well, no one would be anyone the wiser.)

(He got quite lucky with Fenton and Manny, though. Some of that was the Board's thorough vetting process, but some of it was Scrooge himself intervening, because he wanted Gyro to make a friend as badly as Della had.)

August 15 I 7:26 pm

Della Duck: all right

Della Duck: I talked to Fenton again

Della Duck: i’m sorry for bothering you

Della Duck: it hurts to not talk to you but I’m gonna give you your space

Della Duck: I’m here whenever you’re ready

Della Duck: but please be ready soon Gyro i’m impatient

I know you are, Gyro nearly whispered as he read the texts. It felt like a finality, a surrender. But that couldn’t be right, because Della Duck never gave up.

How could he and his stupid, stupid inability to communicate his feelings and face his irrational fears be the one thing that forced Della Duck to admit defeat?

(read 7:58 pm)

The McDuck Annual Holiday Party was in full swing when Gyro arrived quietly. Launchpad had offered to drive him with Fenton, Manny, and Scrooge when they left a couple of hours ago, but Gyro had stayed to put the finishing touches on his current project, lest he lose his motivation.

That was the only reason. Not because Della would be there, and he might be forced to talk to her. No, sir.

Gyro clenched his fists so tight his knuckles turned white in the pockets of his vest. Who was he kidding? He wasn’t fooling himself, and he certainly wasn’t fooling his friends family coworkers. Every single one of them, even Mr. McDuck (now that was painful) had tossed him a look that ranged from disappointed to knowing to pitying as they left for the party. It made Gyro want to scream in rage and slam his fists against the wall until they were bruised and bloody. But even he knew that was unacceptable party behavior. (Mrs. Beakley had humiliatingly taken him aside for a quick rundown on which of his usual behaviors were not applicable at company parties.)

Steeling himself for a night of faux cheer and passive-aggressive conversations, Gyro quietly opened the door and slipped inside. Skirting on the outskirts of the party, he scanned the room desperately for allies to swarm to and enemies to avoid.

He spotted Fenton and Launchpad first, amicably chatting up the legendary Greek hero Storkules and his sister, the equally inexplicable and ethereal goddess Selene. (A mystery to unpack at a later date.) Beside them was the gruff Moonlander that Della seemed to love.

Gyro set his jaw. He could handle chatty immortals and aggressive aliens. At least they probably wouldn’t have a personal vendetta against him because of a malfunctioning invention or a poorly placed comment. He waded determinedly through the sluggish crowd, surprisingly stopped a couple times by friendly faces. (Boyd’s hug of greeting lasted almost three minutes, and that didn’t even account for the rest of the overzealously affectionate kids.)

Looking back, he’s lucky his the kids stalled him, because when he finally emerged from Webby’s hug, his eyes locked on his own personal horror story.

Della.

This was the first time Gyro had actually seen her since she’d come back from the moon. Her hair was longer, if only slightly, and her metal leg gleamed in the light from the chandeliers above. (His fingers itched to get his hands on it and upgrade it, toy with it, make it into a personal project, but he adamantly refused himself.)

Alongside the physical differences, Gyro noticed some changes to her demeanor as well. She seemed more… weathered, and tired, despite the ever-present spark of energy she seemed to radiate and her unwavering grin. It was cliché, and Dr. Gyro Gearloose hated clichés with a passion, but she had an almost haunted look in her eyes, contrasting her radiating cheery energy.

She was different, and he was different. So much time had passed. It seemed almost impossible that the duck in front of him was the same duck that Gyro had shared coffee and secrets with almost daily ten years ago.

And yet he yearned to return to their easy friendship. Not for the first time, Gyro wished desperately to go back in time a decade and stop the Spear of Selene from ever happening.

Della slipped between Penumbra and Selene, glowing in the way only an extrovert in social situations can. By way of greeting, she hugged everyone, even Fenton (!!!). She settled at last, hanging off Penumbra’s shoulder with Selene’s arm around her and Launchpad’s jacket around her shoulders (how she had acquired that, Gyro had no idea).

Unfortunately for Gyro, from her new position, she had a perfect view of him, stuck with only a single sparse group between them. Her eyes strayed to lock onto him and he froze, panic creeping in a mile a minute.For a moment neither moved, staring at each other.

She hadn’t texted him since August, true to her word, albeit how much it hurt for both of them. She had come to the lab a couple times, to pick up Fenton and/or Manny for coffee or to pick up or drop off Huey, Webby, or Boyd. But Gyro had always hid like the coward he was, terrified to face his best friend. The last time they’d talked was the day before Della took off in the Spear of Selene, ten years and eight months ago.

At last, after four months, and nine months of radio silence from his end, here she was, almost close enough to touch.

Then Gyro’s fight-or-flight instinct kicked in and he turned tail and ran, panic clouding his vision and his judgement. He shoved one of the Sabrewing husbands roughly aside (Scrooge would undoubtedly make him apologize for that later) in his frantic quest to escape all the raw emotions, of hurt and guilt and self-hatred, that sprung up all of a sudden.

His eyes locked on a door and he wrenched it open before slamming it shut. He leaned hard against the door, hands clenched around the handle, breathing hard.

Only once the panic began creeping away and his breathing slowed did Gyro finally process his surroundings. He was in a small broom closet, filled to the brim with glittery party supplies Mrs. Beakley had probably denied Webby. (She would probably find a way to sneak them into the party sometime later.)

And perched precariously on top of a box labeled “glitter fireworks” was a woman Gyro had met once, in the Old West, two hundred years ago.

Goldie O’Gilt sized him up, panicked and ruffled, and apparently decided he was no threat. She slid gracefully down from the boxes. “What brings you here, to the closet of forgotten and abandoned party supplies? Girl troubles?”

Gyro wanted to laugh, because technically, she was right. “I’m gay,” he replied, giving her his best deadpan stare. It was lacking.

She assessed him, trying hard not to smile, before bursting out laughing. Gyro barely resisted the urge to bury his face in his hands. “People problems, whatever. Please. You can’t fool me, hun.”

Gyro crossed his arms testily. “Why are you here? Away with you.”

Goldie grinned smugly, pretending to examine her nails. “Oh, nothing special. Just some extra fun for Scroogey later. May or may not involve glitter fireworks. You?”

Gyro snorted, without any real humor behind it, and rolled his eyes. “Great. Well, I have better things to do than watch you drive Mr. McDuck up the wall. See ya.”

“This is about Scroogey’s rediscovered niece, isn’t it?” Goldie called after him, as if as an afterthought.

Gyro froze, his fingers curled around the doorknob. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t, really,” Goldie hummed, faking disinterest. “But spare an old woman some juicy gossip, would ya? ‘Sides, I’m a professional conwoman. I see all the angles, and yours is in plain sight.”

Gyro scowled and shifted so he could see Goldie’s face again. She was smirking, small but triumphant, which did nothing to quell Gyro’s steadily growing mix between annoyance and panic. “And I suppose this has nothing to do with ‘Aunt Goldie,’ would it?”

Goldie shrugged nonchalantly, but the smile on her beak shifted into a small pout of annoyance. “I’ll do you a favor and be honest with you. Cherish this moment; it won’t happen again.”

She sighed and leaned more heavily against the precariously stacked boxes. “I may have missed Della and her adventurous, rambunctious spirit over the years,” she confessed, suddenly looking a good deal more like the age-old tired adventurer she was. “It hurts to see that spirit quenched, especially when I just got her back. She hasn’t even frustratingly tagged along to one of Scroogey and I’s not-so-solo adventures! And… I care about her. She’s almost my niece.”

Gyro frowned, stunned at Goldie’s clarity. “...Oh.”

Goldie straightened up and whipped out a shiny knife from the folds of her dress. “But tell anyone, especially Della or Scrooge, and they’ll never know what happened to ya,” she warned, wagging the knife in the direction of Gyro’s face.

He pressed himself against the door while maintaining his scowl, despite the fact that it was too far away to hurt him. He knew what she could do if she put her mind to it. “I won’t.”

Goldie slipped the knife back into the folds of her dress, where it seemed to magically disappear from her hand. “Good. Now go get my niece’s spirit back,” she instructed strictly, shoving Gyro not-so-subtly towards the door.

He wrenched it open and slipped surreptitiously outside, glancing around the party. The crowds seemed to have thinned a little.

Gyro spotted Della easily. She, Donald, and Mrs. Beakley were gently corralling the gaggle of children upstairs - it was quite late, after all. Gyro started to step towards her, then hesitated.

He chickened out and sprinted unsteadily outside instead, taking in big mouthfuls of the refreshingly cold December air.

The chill set in after a few moments and he wrapped his arms around himself, shivering, and despairingly started the long trek away from the mansion.

His phone was buzzing with worried texts from his friends (and Della, no doubt), but Gyro set his jaw and walked on, stubbornly ignoring their annoyingly righteous concern. No use telling everyone he lost his nerve again, just like every time Della texted.

Gyro gritted his teeth and pulled the collar of his jacket over the lower half of his face as protection against the biting winds. The physical pain lessened, but the icy feeling in his gut did not. He balled his hands into fists, as if to physically punch his overwhelming guilt and regret away.

I’m a bad friend.

Early April was always a little tough for Gyro, with the anniversary of the destruction he inadvertently sowed in Tokyolk. It got better with time, but the early years were always a little rough.

(And after that he always had another grief-filled and regretful anniversary to observe in April, anyway.)

He was pushing through it, though, by throwing himself into his work. This year was especially easy. The Spear of Selene was almost done, and would probably be finished just before the eggs’ hatching.

The last time he talked to Della was when he was taking a quick, rare break the day before what would be the second-worst day of Gyro’s life. (Tokyolk took first, if only narrowly.) He had gone off on a quest in search of coffee - he was at the launch lot, and he’d unfortunately been banned from the closest coffee shop. (It was their fault anyway - what kind of coffee shop didn’t want an automatic coffee bean stocker? Even if it tried to stock customers when there were no beans left? Really, they shouldn’t have run out of beans. And his price of free coffee for life was so reasonable and small, really, when he usually frequented the one closer to the lab. Their loss.)

“Gyro!” Della sprinted up to him, face flushed from running in the chilly winds and early spring air. She held out a coffee from the aforementioned shop to him with a grin, prompting his frustrated rant, but Della just let him prattle on with a goofy grin gracing her face.

“What’s going on?” Gyro finally demanded, after watching Della beam ardently at his violent threats and calls for justice and revenge towards the coffee shop. “Your smile is… sillier than usual. Which is saying something.”

Della waved him off, his insult breezing past her. “It’s a surprise. You’ll see!!”

Gyro raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Is it a good surprise?”

Della beamed triumphantly back at him. “Definitely.”

Gyro frowned dubiously, but he knew Della well. For all her recklessness, when she was this sure about something, her judgement was usually worth listening to.

(Later, he’d wish he hadn’t listened to her, and trusted his own gut, for once.)

He shrugged. “I highly doubt it’s as good as you think it is,” he replied haughtily, prompting carefree laughter from Della.

“It definitely is. Just you wait.” She reached out with her free hand and booped him on the beak, causing him to reel back, away from her. “I can make an educated guess that you’ll love it.”

Gyro rolled his eyes at her rudimentary science terminology, causing her to giggle. “If it’s another movie night with Fethry, I’ll pass.”

“Better than that,” Della promised, her smug grin turning downright devious. It didn’t faze Gyro in the slightest.

He shrugged carelessly. “With you, that could either mean better or worse. Otherwise known as pure, unadulterated torture for me.”

Della laughed, but her smile softened into something more vulnerable and emotional, no longer masked by a carefree and reckless demeanor. “I’m telling you, Gyro. You’ll love it. Come on, when have I ever been wrong?’’

Gyro barked a laugh. “Do you really want me to answer that? Because I have a full comprehensive list at the top of my head, and that only covers the basics.”

“Hating black licorice doesn’t count,” Della protested. “It tastes worse than every iteration of Hell, and I’ve been to every iteration of Hell!”

Gyro raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Did you taste every iteration of Hell?”

Della rolled her eyes playfully. “Whatever. Just trust me on this one, will you?” she asked, hitting him with that almost vulnerable expression again.

Gyro huffed. “Fine.” He stuck a finger pompously in the air. “But I reserve the right to pass judgement when I see it.”

Della sighed without any real weight behind it. “Fine, whatever you want. But trust me, you’ll be blown away by the amazingness of this surprise!!!”

“We’ll see about that,” Gyro replied, smirking. “Now, away with you!! I have a highly important project to finish - which is unanimously more important than whatever surprise you have cooked up - and I simply cannot afford any distractions!!”

Della snorted knowingly. “Whatever. See you tomorrow at my amazing surprise! And you’re welcome for the coffee, Mr. Banned-From-Coffee-Shops!!”

Gyro shook his head fondly and made his way down the hill back to the lot. The Spear of Selene loomed in front of him, shining in the weak midday sun. It seemed frozen, waiting, on edge.

“Soon,” Gyro promised to no one in particular. He climbed inside to make some last-minute tweaks to the nuanced controls. “You’ll be in the air by May at the latest,” he promised, patting the cold metal of the rocketship. “Just let me make sure this is perfect. So nothing could ever go wrong.”

Jan 3, 2020 I 5:47 am

Donald Duck: hey asshole

Donald Duck: fyi Della’s really upset

Donald Duck: she really missed her friends ya know?

Donald Duck: Look, Gyro

Donald Duck: I know how this feels

Donald Duck: I know you’re scared

Donald Duck: but dude you face scarier stuff every day when your inventions go evil

Donald Duck: if you can face Lil’ Bulb turning evil not once but twice and still call him your son I think you can face your best friend

Donald Duck: and i know I said some shitty things to you the day we lost her and I’m sorry, that was uncalled for

Donald Duck: I was upset, as were you

Donald Duck: I forgive you if that’s not clear

Donald Duck: i forgave you a long time ago

Donald Duck: Della has too

Donald Duck: she never blamed you

Donald Duck: except maybe for the flavor of Oxy-Chew. But that saved her life, Gyro!

Donald Duck: I know I said your invention killed her, but your invention also saved her, and after she fixed it your invention brought her home

Donald Duck: now she’s back, but you’re losing her again

Gyro stumbling blearily awake, fumbling for his glasses, tired and disoriented, was nothing outside of the norm. He was a secluded, inane inventor with few friends, little social interaction, and no sleep schedule. Not to mention the plethora of projects piled on his desk vying for his attention, and the ever-present mug of coffee in his hand. (At the moment, there was a half-empty one on his desk, placed precariously on top of some blueprints.)

But his latest cup of coffee’s predicament was the least of Gyro’s worries at the moment. Because his phone, charging on his bedside, was blowing up. And that was decidedly not normal.

Gyro, at this point in time, didn’t have social media yet. (Fenton, Louie, and Dewey didn’t exist in his life yet, and so they had not had a chance to plot and execute an intervention.) Sometimes his phone blew up from the group chat with Daisy and Dickie, or the group chat with Della, Daisy, and Dickie, or just Della when she got excited. Or Fethry, once in a while, but Gyro was certain he’d blocked Fethry’s number this time.

Gyro clumsily put on his glasses and pulled himself up into a sitting position, still half-asleep. He scrolled through his notifications, frowning.

Mostly missed calls from Donald and Scrooge, a couple confused text notifications from Gladstone, two missed calls from the Board (that couldn’t be good), and one from Roxanne Featherly, a trainee journalist under Angus Fangus who had taken an unfortunate liking to calling him whenever one of his inventions went haywire.

Panic began to stir in Gyro’s gut.

The weirdest part, though, was that most of the notifications had not come from Della. She was by far his most ardent caller, and she had called, a couple times, but they were all over an hour ago. They were all buried by the rest of his missed calls.

Odd. Very odd.

Gyro tried calling Della first, to soften the blow of whatever was happening. Della wouldn’t sugarcoat the problem. She knew better. But there was something about her contagious enthusiasm and optimism, as well as her face-it-head-on attitude, that made whatever issue was at hand seem less daunting.

But his call went to voicemail.

Gyro shook his head, confused and more than a little scared at this point. Della almost never refused his calls, even if she was on an adventure (as long as she had cell service). It annoyed Donald to no avail, but Gyro was grateful for it - he didn’t reach out for social interaction with no reason.

But now? It only scared Gyro.

He frowned, contemplating, and called Donald next. Scrooge was more likely to call unprompted than Donald, and he didn’t want to deal with the Buzzards or Featherly yet, so Donald it was.

He picked up on the third ring.“Oh, so now he picks up!! When he can’t be of any help!! What’s the big idea, Doctor?!”

Gyro scowled, annoyance beginning to mix with the terror in his gut. “For your information, I just woke up. Now, what is going on?! Della won’t answer my calls and I have an ungodly amount of notifications at three AM. Seriously, people.”

“You want to know what is going on?!” Donald screamed, his voice and temper steadily rising. Gyro flinched at the volume, but kept the phone pressed close to his ear out of half morbid curiosity and half unwanted worry. “I’ll tell you what’s going on!!! Scrooge just killed Della!! And he used your stupid, untrustworthy invention to do it!!!”

Gyro nearly dropped the phone.“...Killed?” he nearly whispered. “How? The Spear of Selene isn’t ready yet and-”

“She took it!!” Donald screeched. “She took that good-for-nothing rocket and flew straight into a cosmic storm!”

“She wasn’t supposed to!” Gyro spluttered, numb. “She wasn’t even supposed to know about it yet!”

“Well, she did!” Donald spat darkly. “And now she’s gone. She left her boys orphaned. What were you thinking, making her that rocket?!”

“It was Mr. McDuck’s idea,” Gyro whispered numbly, automatically. “He- I- We never thought-”

“Scrooge,” Donald growled, and if Gyro knew him well enough he was dragging a frustrated hand down his face. “Of course. He’s too reckless and careless. He killed my sister.”

Gyro rubbed at his eyes under his glasses, unable to think of a coherent response. “I- I don’t think-”

“That’s right, you don’t think,” Donald snarled. “None of you do. And now my sister is dead, thanks to Scrooge. And you. Lose my number, Gyro. You won’t see me again.”

Click.

Gyro stared numbly at the floor, his phone still pressed against his ear, as the dial tone played. Finally, he slowly lowered it to his side and dropped it on the bed next to him before taking off his glasses and dropping his head into his hands.

Then, finally, he cried.

Della Duck. Dead. His best friend. Dead.

It was impossible, improbable. Della Duck was a famed adventurer barely two decades old. She breathed life. She had faced perils and terrors far worse than a cosmic storm, sustained injuries far worse, and bounced back.

Dead.

Because of Gyro’s invention. Maybe if he had worked a little harder, been a little more meticulous, he could have saved her.

He had failed again, gambled and lost with precious lives again, caused death and destruction again. It was Tokyolk all over again, and this time, the lost stakes were even more personal.

Gyro grabbed his phone suddenly, shakingly off the bed and pulled up Della’s contact. Her face beamed back at him, so full of life it seemed to burst from the tiny circle on his cracked phone screen.

He called her again, listening to it ring with baited breath even though he already knew the outcome.

“Hey, this is Della Duck, adventurer extraordinaire! I’m probably trekking through the Amazon or fighting a demon monarch in another dimension right now. Catch ya later!”

Gyro hung up before she could finish her last syllable and sobbed.

February 28 I 2:26 pm

Della Duck: fyi I’m picking Huey up today instead of Launchpad since he has a sleepover with his friend Jason today

Della Duck: you know

Della Duck: in case you wanna hide from me again

Della Duck: btw do you care if I snag that magnifying glass that shrinks people in like a month? We’re gonna go to Miniapolis soon

Della Duck: i mean i’m gonna take it anyway but figured you might want a heads up

March 14 I 5:18 pm

Gyro Gearloose: go ahead

Della Duck: GYRO!!!!

Della Duck: oh sorry

Della Duck: look I’m really excited but I also don’t wanna come on too strong

Gyro Gearloose: you’re fine

Della Duck: :D

Gyro Gearloose: it’s my fault I was being a coward

Gyro Gearloose: i couldn’t face my emotions and that was shitty of me

Della Duck: Gyro i took off in a rocket at midnight without telling anyone and left my kids without a mother for a decade

Della Duck: i win for stupid shitty actions here

Gyro Gearloose: it’s not a contest

Gyro Gearloose: we’re both shitty and stupid let’s leave it at that

Della Duck: yeah ur right

Gyro Gearloose: but dels

Gyro Gearloose: I’m sorry

Gyro Gearloose: it’s been almost a year and i fucking ignored you

Gyro Gearloose: i had the chance to get you back and i didn’t take it

Della Duck: hey

Della Duck: it’s okay

Della Duck: i know this is all a lot

Della Duck: i’m here now and that’s what matters

Gyro Gearloose: della i’m so glad

Della Duck: hey Huey is coming to the lab today

Della Duck: what if I come to pick him up and then you and I go out and catch up?

Della Duck: get expensive coffee on Uncle Scrooge’s dime just like old times?

Gyro Gearloose: fuck yeah

Gyro Gearloose: I’ve missed our expensive shitty coffee and gossip

Gyro Gearloose: I have SO much shit to talk about Dr. Akita

Gyro Gearloose: god

Gyro Gearloose: I hate him now

Della Duck: oh man

Della Duck: Huey told me a bit about Tokyolk but I want to hear all about it for you

Della Duck: and Boyd!!! Omg I can’t believe you’re a father

Della Duck: he’s so sweet

Gyro Gearloose: I don’t know if I’d call myself a father he has the Drakes

Della Duck: but you want to be don’t you?

Gyro Gearloose: ...yeah

Gyro Gearloose: but i’d be a shitty parent you know that

Della Duck: actually I don’t think so

Della Duck: i’m a shitty parent and I’m doing fine

Gyro Gearloose: what a surprise

Della Duck: wow thanks for the vote of confidence

Della Duck: but Beakley Donald and Scrooge are helping me

Della Duck: we’ll help you

Della Duck: join the shitty parents club!!

Gyro Gearloose: haha all right

Della Duck: also

Della Duck: i want to hear all about fenton

Gyro Gearloose: then I want to hear all about Penumbra

Gyro Gearloose: you’re not the only one who can play the love interest card

Della Duck: joke’s on you I WANT to talk about penny

Della Duck: anyway i’m leaving now

Della Duck: see you soon!!

Gyro Gearloose: i can’t wait to see you and your ugly 10-year-old clothes

Gyro Gearloose: seriously you’re wearing almost the exact same outfit

Della Duck: uh HELLO you have no right to shit on the way I dress look at yourself

Della Duck: you dress like a very old gay man

Della Duck: i mean that vest?? really?

Gyro Gearloose: at least i’m not old

Della Duck: touché

Della Duck: LP is driving so i’m almost there see you in a sec

Della Duck: and i’ll probably grab that magnifying glass now

Gyro Gearloose: that’s fine

Gyro Gearloose: i missed you

Della Duck: aw you old sap

Della Duck: never thought i’d hear you say anything like that tbh you’ve gone soft

Gyro Gearloose: I realized recently that my greatest mistakes were not as black-and-white as they seemed

Gyro Gearloose: and if Boyd can forgive me for unknowingly letting Akita turn him into a weapon of mass destruction and for me ignoring him for years and belittling him throughout this trip

Gyro Gearloose: and if I can face both brainwashed 2BO and Akita and win with the “power of love” or whatever than maybe I can talk to you

Della Duck: damn

Della Duck: I have SO many questions about Tokyolk

Della Duck: but i can hold onto them for a minute

The lab doors dinged open, but Della was sprinting out of them before they were fully open. The rest of Team Science watched warily as Della rushed towards Gyro, beaming and laughing, joy seeming to spill out of her. They expected him to hide, or push her away. but to their happy surprise, Gyro met her halfway and wrapped her in a hug.

Or, Della nearly crashed into him and squeezed him so tight he couldn’t breathe, prompting some annoyance, but it was crushed under the sheer joy and emotions of seeing his estranged best friend after eleven years.

Gyro laughed shakily, holding back tears, until he realized Della was crying too. She got snot on his work shirt, but he didn’t care.

They held each other for quite a while, until Della finally pulled back, wiped her eyes, and socked Gyro in the shoulder. “Don’t ever leave me hanging like that again, you hear?! I will hunt you down! I’ll give you your space but I’ll hunt you down! I won’t let this happen again!”

Gyro smiled and wiped away his own tears. “Yes, ma’am. Now, coffee?”

Della beamed. “The expensive kind. You got it.”

“It’s about time,” Manny tapped grumpily in the background, with Huey, Fenton, and Lil’ Bulb adding their agreement, but Della and Gyro ignored them as they flounced out of the lab.They had eleven years of friendship and gossip to catch up on, after all.

{it’s not too late, it was

never too late}

woohoo this is a wild ride! i didn’t intend for it to be this long but it just got away from me. Della and Gyro having a friendship, especially before the spear of selene, is one of my favorite headcanons. I think Della would basically grab Gyro and force him to be friends with her and to hang out with her haha.

I have a hard time writing Gyro as mean as he is in canon because I’m a sensitive sweet bean who isn’t creative or socially adept enough to come up with good insults (yet, hopefully). but i’m getting better! i hope this read as somewhat in character. same with Goldie, i’ve been trying to figure out how to write her for two years now sdfghgfds. I think I got Della’s character somewhat down though!

soft Gyro is more of an interpretation (albeit supported by canon) than canon fact but I LOVE it and i’m writing four (counting this) fics based off of it so get ready for that

the title and song lyrics are from People Need a Melody by The Head and the Heart. That song is really special to me because it was my closing song for camp last year (we would sing a song special for each unit each night before bed). I didn’t plan to use this song from the start (the working title was “DR. GYRO GEARLOOSE GET OFF UR ASS AND ANSWER UR PHONE -Della”) - I was listening to it one night, nostalgic for camp, while writing this fic and I realized the lyrics fit!

(also I was on a call for colorguard while I was writing this author’s note and my instructor said “I hear a lot of typing” lol)

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #dt17 #gyro gearloose #della duck #ducktales fanfiction #wavey writes #my fanfic #donald duck #fenton crackshell-cabrera

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spookyold-saintjm · 5 years ago

Text

Confession

[gif: @h0rr0rpancake]

Mandalorian x female reader

Part of the Pilot series [Masterlist]

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol consumption/intoxication, canon-typical violence, it’s steamy but it’s not smut (yet) so chill.

Word Count: 3,808

Surprise! I was able to finish this one (number SIX?!) sooner than I thought, so here you go!

If you’re seeing my work for the first time: hi! You don't necessarily have to read the other parts of this series for this one to make sense; I write each new installment as something that can be enjoyed as a stand-alone or as part of the whole. Reading the others will give you bits and pieces of context that (hopefully) make each new part more impactful, but there’s no need to do so if you don’t want.

This is my longest work yet so...phew. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it! A lil ol’ reblog would mean the world to me, if you want. x

—

You had never thought it was something you’d see again. At least, not if it were done by your own hands.

Fragments of a one-man ship crumbled and burned and drifted down and out through infinite space. Your hands trembled like leaves against the Crest’s controls, and a cold sweat trickled down the side of your head as you stared numbly at the destruction you had just created. The life you had taken.

You heard the familiar footsteps of the Mandalorian approaching from behind you, and snapped back into survival mode. This wasn’t just about you.

You shakily turned toward the panel on your left, typing in codes to redirect your flight path to the nearest safe planet you could think of. The ship needed repairs; you needed to land as soon as possible. Mando was behind you just as you swerved the ship to a hard right and away from the sight of the debris. Away from choice you’d had to make to ensure your safety. And theirs.

You vaguely remembered him going to get the child immediately after you’d fired the fatal shot; somehow, despite the rocking and frantic turning of the ship, that sound had been what had awoken and startled the tiny being that had been resting in his carrier in another part of the ship. He was now tucked into Mando’s arm, ears perked in curiosity.

The amount of time that had passed up to that point was unclear to you; you’d kept a clear mind, focused, each move intentional and calculated as you attempted to get the attacking ship off your tail. It was when you realized that they weren’t going to give up on their pursuit, that they were intent to take you down, that you knew what you had to do. And you’d done it, but not without the dull, numbing feeling of acknowledging death quickly beginning to set in, despite the countless hours of training you’d once been through to teach your mind otherwise.

You had told yourself you weren’t going to do it again. And yet, here you were.

“I’ve changed our course.” You spoke quietly, quickly, before Mando could ask if you were okay. It was a question you didn’t want to answer. “We need to land soon. Damage.”

Mando said nothing, only watched your still-trembling hands attempt to restore the ship to full operation so that you could more quickly reach your new destination.

“S-sorry,” you added, immediately wishing you could take back the words that were already spilling from your lips. “I—I wasn’t—it’s been a long time."

He listened, letting you speak the words that were making your stomach turn the longer you held them inside. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t try to tell you to calm down. Only listened. It was something that you found yourself to silently appreciate as you started to steady yourself, your breaths regulating, your hands still.

He had seated himself in the co-pilot chair behind you, the child quiet in his lap. “Thank you.” he finally spoke. It was the only thing he could think to say, but it was enough.

Without turning away from the viewport, you nodded slowly in grateful acknowledgment.

“They were after him, weren’t they?” you asked, your voice low. You already knew the answer, but to assure yourself that what you’d done was worth it…

“I think so. Yes.” Mando replied simply.

“Not Guild. Not now.” You added.

“No. Someone else.”

You had a feeling you both had the same suspicions, that word had spread about the Mandalorian taking down Moff Gideon and escaping with a bounty he’d very intensely sought after. A very valuable one.

Neither one of you said it aloud, but you knew. The running wasn’t over.

—

Hot. Why did this planet have to be so kriffing hot?

You reached to wipe sweat from your forehead as you meticulously worked away on the wiring you pulled from out of a panel near the bottom of the ship. The repairs weren’t necessarily difficult, but time-consuming. And costly. Maybe it was the heat on this planet getting to you, but you’d snapped at Mando at his slightest hesitation of the full repairs.

“This ship is a ticking bomb. I don’t fix her, I don’t fly her. She’s all yours."

You could have sworn you’d heard his teeth grinding beneath this helmet when he’d handed over the credits for the necessary parts.

You were still coming down from your mood when the Mandalorian returned to the hangar where you’d been permitted to leave the ship a couple hours later. The child was following, happily toddling along behind him, but nearly thudded straight into his boot when Mando abruptly halted in his tracks.

He saw as you stood from your crouched position by the ship, muttering light curses under your breath as you stepped over to search through the crate of tools provided in the hangar for the repairs you were currently addressing. A stray hair drifted down into your eyes from where you had tied it atop your head, desperate for any means to cool down, and you blew it away as you continued to dig through the crate. Your long-sleeved shirt was tied at your waist, leaving you in your sleeveless undershirt that, thanks to the heat causing everything to stick to your skin, wasn’t leaving much to anyone’s imagination...

Not that…not that he would imagine anything. No, the heat was just getting to him, too.

Probably.

You finally noticed his presence and looked up, shielding your eyes with a hand to look at him through the light of the setting suns glinting off his armor.

“Hey, shiny. Step out of the light. I’m going blind here.”

Once he remembered how to walk, Mando was standing by the open hatch of the Crest, telling the child to head inside out of the heat. He obeyed, but not before letting a long stare glide between the two of you.

You were faced the opposite direction from him, but you didn’t hesitate to whip your head around your shoulder to send him a hard glare of warning before he quickened his pace inside with a small giggle.

“What does he say to you?” Mando asked as he approached you. You shook your head as you pulled the tool you’d been looking for from the crate with a low hum. He knew well enough by now how you communicated with the child, although maybe he didn’t quite understand the process of it. Some things were better to just silently accept. And this seemed to be one of them.

“You know…kid stuff,” you shrugged, though the fluttering in your stomach when Mando reached your side easily betrayed that. You walked over to the panel you’d been working on, and used the tool you’d retrieved to finish connecting and securing the last couple wires before locking and screwing the panel back into place.

“Well, we’re getting there.” You announced as you came from underneath the ship again. You dusted off your hands onto your thighs, and looked to Mando with a sigh. “Stabilizer still needs some work, and I have to re-align the left thruster. Need to double check the fuel driver. Might as well knock out the cosmetic work too if we’re going to be here for a few days.” You leaned to rub at a deep scratch in the thick metal of the Crest as you spoke. “Any luck on your end?”

“We found lodging. Doesn’t seem like we’ll be bothered.” Mando replied, already giving up on trying to make sense of the information you’d just given him. You knew that the mechanical side of things wasn’t really his area, so you weren’t at all surprised at his lack of questioning. Laughable as it may have been to you.

“Good,” you replied. “I hate being bothered.”

Mando folded his arms over his chest as he watched you type some final information regarding the repairs into the datapad before looking to him with a faint grin.

“Alright, then. If everything’s settled…I need a drink.”

—

With one arm propped against the bar, you knocked back the next shot of glowing orange liquid passed your way.

You weren’t quite sure what it was, but Maker, did it burn in the best way.

You swiped a slightly larger glass of dark brown liquid you’d requested off of the counter and turned to look for your companion for maybe the twentieth time that night.

You finally saw him, the rough silhouette of the Mandalorian making his way toward you.

Taking deliberate steps, you wandered over to meet him, the music in the room so gods-damned fantastic that you nearly forgot what you were doing until you nearly bumped into him.

You grinned up at him and shoved the glass in his direction. “Got you something!”

“I’m alright.” He knew you were beyond the point of him trying to explain to you that even if he did want a drink, he couldn’t drink it. For obvious reasons.

“Fine. Suit yourself.” Mando stared blankly at you as you pressed the glass to your lips and tipped back your head, finishing the entire thing in one go. You let out a heavy sigh of contentment as you placed the glass, now empty, down onto the nearest table.

He had agreed to stay back with the child as you’d gone to have a couple drinks at a nearby to unwind. When an hour and a half had passed and you hadn’t returned, he put the kid down to sleep and came to check in on you, a dull surge of worry rushing through him. It wasn’t entirely impossible that you’d all been followed onto this planet...

But instead he found you perfectly content, clearly more than a “couple” drinks in.

A tall, dark haired human female had wandered over, wrapping her arm low around your waist as they gazed eagerly at Mando.

“Oh! This your boyfriend or something?” The woman winked at him with a wide grin before she turned back to curiously tilt her head at you with her blue-painted, pursed lips. “Didn’t see you as the...boyfriend type, too.”

She turned back to Mando and reached a hand upward, a thin finger lazily reaching to trace the visor of his helmet. “What’s he look like under—"

Before she got the chance, you had her pressed face-first onto a table, that same hand pinned behind her back.

“Don’t. Touch. The helmet.” You spat down at her, before sending her off back in the direction she’d come from when you’d decided to let her go.

The Mandalorian wasn’t sure he was breathing.

“Handsy-ass bitch,” you muttered, turning back towards Mando with a shrug. “Sorry.”

He was still internally reeling from everything he’d just had to process in that matter of seconds, but shook himself out of it once he saw you faintly sway on your feet.

“We need to get back.” He said, his tone bordering that of an order. “I left the kid."

Your head snapped back upward toward him. “You left the—what the fuck is wrong with you?!” you gasped, and frantically tapped on the beskar covering his shoulders, urging him to turn around to the door. “We have to go.”

You both made it roughly five steps when he had to catch you from nearly stumbling to the floor. You walked the remainder of the way with hands clasped onto Mando’s arm to keep you steady.

You didn’t really need to, though. At least, that’s what you’d muttered under your breath on the walk back to where you were staying for the night. You were just being nice and accepting his help.

Mando let out a long sigh as you followed him inside.

Fortunately for the three of you, there were small rooms available for travelers to stay near the hangar, whether it be for time to make repairs to ships or to find temporary work until one could get off-world again. Mando, with the child tucked in his arm, had to quickly clarify that he would need two beds—in fact, two separate bedrooms—when he’d explained the requirements for a place to stay. Much to the owner’s amusement.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, guy. She’ll get over whatever you did to piss her off. They always do,” he had stated when he’d handed over the access card for the door.

Mando was silently thankful you hadn’t been there to hear the exchange, because even with you nowhere around he felt the distinct urge to throw himself into a sarlacc pit.

Your first instinct once you were inside, despite the haziness in your mind, was to check on the kid. He wore a peaceful contentment on his face as his slept in the carrier. Perhaps he, too, was relieved to be staying the night somewhere other than in an old bucket of a ship. Mando followed behind, a dull relief washing over him when he too saw that the child had been undisturbed during his short absence.

You spun around and glared up at him. “Do not leave him alone again.” You said, keeping your voice low. "For two hours or five minutes, I don’t care.”

He could have easily argued that maybe you were the reason he’d left him alone to begin with…but he was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be the best idea.

You had closed the door to the room you’d designated as yours seemingly before he could blink, coming out a while later, freshly showered in a new set of clothes. You still had that vague floating feeling as the effects alcohol continue to pulse steadily through your body, but you were at least coherent enough to walk on your own now.

The lighting in the room was dim, so as not to disturb the sleeping child, when you walked over to where Mando was tweaking the blaster he always carried with him at the small table in the room.

You plopped down in the seat across from him, hands rested under your chin, dark circles already formed under your eyes.

“Can I tell you something?” You asked, after watching him in silence for a while.

If it hadn’t been for all the other ways you’d surprised him that evening, the question might have given him pause. “Go ahead."

You tilted your head. “I want to kiss you, Din Djarin.”

And his entire world froze.

“I know, I can’t.” You waved a hand dismissively toward him, your words still slightly slurring. “It’s the Way, or whatever. I get it. But stars, if I don’t just want to kiss you sometimes.”

“Stop.” His voice came out far quieter than he’d meant as he began to earnestly wipe away a spot on his blaster that didn’t exist. “You’re drunk.”

You shrugged. “It's when I’m the most honest.”

He practically dropped the blaster onto the table, much louder than he’d meant. Both of you immediately jerked your heads toward the sleeping child, who thankfully hadn’t stirred.

Mando lifted his head, finally looking back at you. It almost felt like some strange stand-off, this long, silent exchange between the two of you. What was he supposed to say to that? His thoughts weren’t lining up right in his head, not only because of your confession, but the fact that you’d used his name when he said it. You hadn’t dared to speak it again since the night you’d left Navarro. Not until now. And then, there was the matter of what exactly you had said...

You were torture. Absolute torture.

“Um,” You slowly rose from your seat, muttering curses to yourself in your head when you realized he wasn’t going to give you a reply. You pressed your palms flat against the table until the shadows of the room and Mando’s silhouette stopped wavering around you. “I’m gonna go."

You had turned to walk back to your private space for the night when the single light in the room switched off.

You nearly tripped over your feet as you halted, slowly turning back to what you guessed was Mando’s general direction.

“Hey, wait I can’t see anythi—"

You felt his presence in front of you just as your mind fully processed the thought.

You couldn’t see.

Your breathing suddenly felt heavy, dizziness threatening to overtake you again the longer you were stripped of your sight. The quiet in the room was nearly deafening.

Mando was moving, a familiar sound of shifting beskar finally breaking the silence. Your feet were heavy weights, holding you in place while you heard him set something onto the table behind him.

Another silence passed, and breathing became nearly impossible as the walls closed in around you. “Mando, I—“

“Okay.”

Every nerve in your body threatened to short-circuit at the sound of his voice. His voice.

He’d taken off his helmet. He was standing in front of you and he’d taken off his helmet.

“Is that really what you want?” he asked.

Oh, Maker, if he kept speaking you were going to pass out.

Little did you know, he wasn’t feeling all that different. It took his every last ounce of pure willpower to keep himself from wavering, from putting back on the helmet and turning around and hoping he could convince you that you’d been dreaming if you asked in the morning.

But you wouldn’t, couldn't forget this if you tried.

He took a step forward, a step closer to you, awaiting an answer. “Well?"

“T—to kiss you?" you nodded once, slowly, despite knowing he couldn’t see you. “I…yes.” You swallowed thickly, an attempt to raise your voice above a whisper. “Do…do you? Want to, I mean.” Stop talking stop talking stop talking...

Another rustling, and you felt his touch, his fingers rested beneath your chin. “Yes.”

You stood unmoving, other than the heavy rise and fall of your chest. His forehead rested against your own, the first contact of his bare skin to yours enough to send you through the roof. You could hear his own uneven breathing now as he leaned in, his pace achingly slow. The tip of his nose brushed against yours, and your reflexively parted your lips in your wound-up anticipation…

And he kissed you.

His lips were feather-light and hesitant against yours, testing your acceptance to what was happening. You leaned into it, fully capturing his mouth with yours.

He tasted every bit the warrior, like blood and dirt mixed with something sweet and uniquely him, something that you could get drunk on, if you hadn’t been already.

The kiss was long, heavy. What had started out as something so light and timid quickly deepened into something else entirely, the instinctual need for contact that you’d both been deprived of for far too long rapidly taking over. What was once slow and steady soon turned messy, desperate, his teeth grazing against your bottom lip as you opened for him.

You’d snapped out of your shock and your hands were quick to press into his back to urge him closer to you before they wandered immediately up to his head.

Curls. The tiniest curls of hair sat atop his head and you wrapped one set of fingers in them while your other hand rubbed against the rough stubble on his face and slid along his neck and back up again. You wanted to remember every last inch of his face, how it felt. The sight of it didn’t matter. Not anymore.

At some point, you noticed your back was now pressed against a wall, the realization that he’d moved you there causing you to impulsively tug at his hair.

Some faint, low noise erupted from him and his fingers curled deeper into your waist in direct response and it set a fire deep within you that threatened to erupt at any moment.

More. You wanted more.

But he…was he trying to pull away from you?

You chased him, your lips reconnecting once he’d hardly leaned back. He indulged it a moment longer.

He, too, wanted more. Wanted it more than he knew he could possibly want anything.

But still he pulled back again, his hands moving to instead wrap around your arms to blindly pin you against the wall.

“Din—” you slurred, almost a plea. You reached up to move your hair away from your half-open eyes in a way that would have sent him to the floor if he’d been able to see it.

“I know,” he answered, his breath coming out in short bursts as he again rested his forehead against yours. “But not...like this. You’re still…"

He felt you nod against him before he could finish, despite the frustrated hum that crept from your lips.

“Okay,” you breathed. Your rested your palms against his chest, fingers curling against the armor there in a silent wish.

Mando leaned to press a soft, final kiss to your swollen lips before releasing his hold on you, both of you attempting to catch your breath as the room grew silent.

He was across the room again before you fully had the chance to miss his touch.

“You should sleep.” he stated, his voice again altered by the modulators of his helmet. There was now enough light for you to see rough shapes in the room, and despite how badly you wanted to turn away, you were looking back at him, standing, watching you.

You couldn’t help but sigh. Just like that, it was over. As if it had never happened at all.

“Yeah,” you muttered, the only answer you could pull from your throat as you turned back toward the room you had claimed as your own.You wandered inside, shut the door behind you with the blind press of a button, and immediately collapsed onto the bed. A real bed, but in that moment it felt as hard and unforgiving as if you were lying on the ground outside.

The knot in your chest and the fire set low in your stomach had yet to cease. Your eyes were wide open, but you were seeing nothing. You laid there, for several minutes or maybe hours, before eventually your exhausted body and the alcohol still drifting through your veins lulled you into a deep sleep.

And in the room beside you, Mando laid on his back, the beskar long stripped away. His hands rested at his sides, his eyes stuck to the low ceiling with no other thought than that of the choice he had just decided upon, the unspoken promise he made to himself, to you, as he, too, waited for sleep to overtake him.

—

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