#empath!reader

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

i'm down on my knees, i wanna take you there

summary: you are suiting up for your first mission, the only problem being everyone "forgot" (intentionally withheld) this information from Logan wc: 2.3k a/n: thank you thank you so much for all of your support about my other Logan fic!! I am really enjoying writing for him, and have a few ideas for this Logan as well as some for Worst!Wolverine aka Deadpool 3!Logan as well! More info about empath!reader's powers and her role at the school in this one <3 warnings: slight (incredibly) slight angst, protective!Logan, a bit of a hurt comfort vibe, Ororo, Scott and Jean are meddlers this is the previous fic with these two, not required reading at all, though!

The leather was cool and surprisingly soft against your skin. There had never been reason for you to have to accompany a mission requiring one of the suits before, and you were shocked at how comfortable the uniform was. Typically, when you were asked to help with a mission, you were there for intel. Scope the place out, get a read on the general vibe of the place. Your powers didn’t provide the same level of protection as laser eyes or a strong regenerative healing factor. You would typically arrive with Rogue, in clothes from your own closet and one of the least fancy cars from the garage. You would slip in, get your read, and get out. 

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to help, you just lacked the training that the other members of the team had. And after all, someone had to stay back to mind things at the school. When Charles had approached you a few months ago about some possible applications for your mutation that would come in handy on missions, you’d been hesitant. It was so outside of your comfort zone to load yourself onto a jet that you’d never even considered the possibility. You were far more comfortable in the library where you held English classes for the students, or helping Charles keep students calm while exploring their powers. Neither scenario included the possibility of a lot of violence. 

Ororo helped you finish zipping yourself into the suit, smoothing her hands along the sleeves before giving you a final nod of approval. Jean and Scott granted you small smiles and you did your best to look as confident as you knew they felt. 

They’d promised it was a simple mission, the kind they usually took students on when Charles felt they were ready to join the team, if that’s what they decided to do after wrapping up their schooling. Charles had heard word of a young mutant who had some kind of telekinetic powers and had recently had an eruption while at school. Everyone agreed that it would be best to find them and convince them to return to the school for some training with as little force as possible, only expedited by the fact that Charles had found them hungry and afraid after running away from home using Cerebro. In the past, the kids had been resistant due to huge amounts of fear, causing them to lash out. You knew they were right that your powers would be useful at times like these, and if you were able to help in any way you were inclined to. 

“The fuck do you think you’re doing to her?” You sighed. It wasn’t that you were all conspiring to keep this a secret from Logan. It wasn’t a discussion that you’d had to agree on group espionage. It just seemed that all of you had a sort of understanding that it might be better to ask forgiveness rather than permission. Not that you needed permission. 

Logan looked furious, and what’s worse, he felt furious. You and Charles had been working to extend your powers over further distances, no longer needing to touch someone directly to know how they feel. Though it certainly doesn’t hurt matters. You’d sensed him upstairs, seemingly pacing around and seething. You’d hoped one of the kids had gotten on his nerves, or something on tv had set him off. You could see that was foolish now. 

“We aren’t doing anything to her,” Scott had his visor on, blocking his eyes from view, but you didn’t need to see to know that he was rolling his eyes. “She’s chosen to accompany us on a mission.” 

“A small mission!” Ororo chimed in, doing her best to give Logan a reassuring smile. 

You checked back in with his aura. Still furious. But it was a nice try, you supposed. Logan’s hackles were raised, his chest heaving. This certainly wouldn’t do. “Can I have a moment with you,” you glanced around the room, briefly meeting the other three mutant’s eyes. “Alone?” 

Logan was still staring daggers at Scott. He wasn’t even the one who suggested you were ready to come along. Jean and Charles had approached you this morning. You laid a hand against his arm, hoping to lead him out of the room, but he flinched away. The pang in your heart was immediate. Did he really think you were so callous that you would ever use your powers without his express permission, or some kind of emergency. You could feel the tears starting to gather in the corner of your eye, your arms wrapping protectively around your midsection. 

Jean slipped one arm through Scott’s and took Ororo’s hand with her other, gently leading them out of the room. “We are going to check a few things with the jet, last minute.” She began to hustle them out of the room. “Call if you need anything!” 

The door shut firmly behind them, and you were left alone with Logan, who looked like he was going to start shaking. “I wasn’t going to-”

“You don’t think I know that?” You can’t help but recoil. You have never been afraid of Logan, even when it may have been in your best judgement to be wary, and you still aren’t. But you can’t deny that it hurts when he snaps at you. Especially when you thought, well. You thought you were growing close. You started to turn away, but before you could, a warm hand caught ahold of your arm. “I’m not… fuck.” He took a heaving breath, shaking his head as if he could clear whatever thoughts were bothering him. “I’m not mad.” 

Despite the serious energy of the conversation, you couldn’t help the incredulous look you shot his way. He tried his best to hide it, but you could see the corner of his mouth turning up at you. “Fine, I’m not mad at you.” 

“You know, you really can’t be mad at anyone, they were just doing-” you were cut off when you fell Logan’s hand traveling down your arm, and pushing your sleeve up gently from where it was covering your hand. He slipped his hand into yours and you felt yourself relax a bit. “Just, take a look, yeah?” 

“Are you sure you want me to?”

“I trust you, bub.” You searched his eyes for any sign of hesitancy, but all you found was trust. Complete and utter trust. You nodded, tightening your own grip on his hand. Doing your best not to let the gentle rub of his thumb against your knuckles distract you, you took a deep breath and opened yourself up to his feelings. 

At first you did feel anger, bright red and hot. You sifted past it, steeling yourself. The first time you had encountered such strong anger, you had felt as if you were going to collapse. But you were stronger now, more prepared to deal with these kinds of feelings. The anger was strong, but also surprisingly shallow. In the depths of his emotions, Logan was worried. Terrified. A deep dark purple that made your own hands shake. His grip on your hand tightened, effectively drawing you back to yourself. There was more, a soft inviting pink that you didn’t dare to touch and shiny bright gold, which told you he was proud. 

You opened your eyes, fighting back the heat you felt creeping onto your cheeks. His expression hadn’t changed, pure trust and tenderness. It should have been disarming, or at the very least surprising. Logan wasn’t so open and honest with people. But the two of you had always had different expectations for the other. 

You couldn’t help it, a smile crept over your features. “You’re proud of me?” 

He rolled his eyes, but his smile only grew. He took your free hand in his, pulling you in closer. “I’m always proud of you.” He hesitated for a brief moment, and you did your best to bite your tongue. You could tell Logan had been making an effort to open up lately, and not just to you, but that didn’t make prolonged silences and easier to bear. “I know it’s not my place to demand anything of you.” 

“You’re my… friend.” You cut him off, wincing at the pause. It didn’t feel like the time to pressure him into labeling whatever feelings may be floating around. “And I always want to hear my friend’s opinions. What’s bothering you so badly?” 

“I could hear your heartbeat from upstairs.” Your eyes grew wide, too shocked to try to school your expression. Logan had told you several times that he had learned to block out his enhanced hearing when he was quite young. Usually to tease you when you got on a long tangent about something you enjoyed. He pretended to zone out and ignore you, but he would always remember small details about your rants, bringing them up nonchalantly at a later date  “I, uh, keep an ear out sometimes. Helps with the worry.” 

He worries about you? Even more surprising, he’s listening to your heartbeat like background music to his day. You promise yourself you will ask him about it when you don’t have a room full of your friends waiting on you. “I thought we’d covered this. I can take care of myself.” 

He sighed, bringing a hand to rest gently where your jaw meets your neck. “Sweetheart, I know you can. But that doesn’t stop me from watching out for you.” 

Your hand moved to rest overtop of his. “The good news is that I will have lots of people watching out for me. You know they won’t let anything happen.” You receive a single huff in return. He’s not convinced. “You know that these are the kinds of missions we send the kids on. I’ll be fine.” 

He considers for a moment, before dropping his hand and nodding. “Give me a second to get changed, and we will head out.” 

You grabbed for his hand, but he was already out the door, and moving too fast for you to stop. “Logan, don’t be ridiculous.” 

“What’s ridiculous is you thinking that I would ever let you go out there alone.” 

“As we already established, I have three very capable friends coming with me. I am only going as a contingency plan.”

“Well then consider me the contingency to the contingency plan.” You huffed, following him next door. 

You darted around in front of Logan, pushing against his chest with all your strength, even if you were fully aware that it was the equivalent of a fly buzzing around him. He stopped all the same, eyebrows pulled together in frustration. “I know you’re worried and I know that this is you trying to help.” Logan had his I’m about to interrupt you look on his face, leaving you to shove him again. Thankfully, he understood your intention. “This is important to me. You can’t be there every time, and I have to stand on my own two feet. I want to contribute to the work we do here more than just teaching kids about how awesome Shakespeare is.” The look was back. “Which is still an important contribution.” You added, which seemed to appease him. “But, I don’t want it to be my only contribution. So I am going to go and make sure that this scared kid who is all alone out there makes it back here safe. And you are going to stay here and make sure that everyone gets dinner and help with their assignments. And then when I get back, we are going to have a talk about all this.” 

“All this?” A smile crept back onto your face, hearing the teasing tone in his voice. 

“Oh my god shut up!” He caught your hands before they made contact with his chest, but he was slow to let go this time. He brought the back of both of your hands to his mouth, dropping a small kiss on each one, before returning your hands to your side. 

“If you come back with so much as a bump to the head, Scott’s dead.” 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, and pointing out that this was exactly what you were talking about earlier did little to sway him. So you gave in, agreeing to give him a full report before slipping your hand into his and tugging him towards the jet. 

“We’ll be back in a bit.” You promised. You could feel the others staring from just inside the jet, but you barely noticed. Logan was checking over your suit meticulously, tugging zippers a few more clicks up and making sure that the collar wasn’t too tight around your neck. He kneeled down, checking to make sure the laces on your boots were double knotted. “Logan,” you laughed, reaching down to tilt his head up to look at you. “I’m too seconds away from sending a lot of exhaustion your way and leaving you passed out in here. You have to let me go, it’s going to be fine.” 

He remained kneeling for a second too long, a look in his eyes you couldn’t entirely place. The sound of the jet powering on broke the both of you out of your trance. He was on his feet in a flash, checking over you one final time. You rose up on your tippy toes, balancing by resting your hands on his shoulders, before gently kissing him on the cheek. You pulled back, nose scrunched up from the tickle of his facial hair. “We’ll be back in a few hours. Hold down the fort for us, yeah?” 

He nodded, pupils slightly blown out and a dreamy look on his face. You giggled, walking backwards for as long as you can before turning around and finding a seat on the jet. You could feel Jean and Scott’s eyes on you as Ororo began maneuvering the jet out of the garage. “Don’t even start.” You muttered, settling firmly into your seat, doing your best to soak up the pride and confidence the others were projecting into the cockpit. 

as always, feedback is so appreciated! if you have any requests for these two/wolverine in general, please leave them here!

next part

[cynicalmusings]

Beyond the Operating Table — Impromptu Snippets

[A little masterlist I threw together to keep these snippets in one place before stitching them together for a longer fic. Pairing is Boothill x empath!Reader.]

Original Fic — ‘On The Operating Table’

Snippet 1 — Second Beginnings

Snippet 2 — Acknowledgement

Snippet 3 — Reminiscence

Snippet 4 — Companions of Each Other

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (Book 4) Chapter Fifteen

TOS! Spock x Empath! Spouse! Reader

Chapter Fifteen: Reversing Loss

Summary: The crew has Spock in sight. But is he the same Spock they lost?

            As the Enterprise crew approached the group of lifeforms, they slowed, keeping to the woods and trees for cover. Only a single Klingon was left, and he had Saavik and Spock at phaser-point. Instantly, Kirk ran out with his own phaser. The Klingon turned on them, phaser drawn, and Kirk fired. The Klingon was hit and went flying. He hit the ground, dead. Saavik and Spock were left free.

            (Y/N) ran fastest and fell to their knees beside Spock, who was unconscious on the ground. “Spock,” they breathed. “Bones—”

            “I’ve got him,” said Bones, scanning Spock instantly.

            Kirk looked around himself at the camp. Several Klingons were dead from the fight that had left Saavik and Spock at the final Klingon’s mercy, but Kirk only cared about one body. David’s lay in the grass, and Kirk knelt beside him, gazing mournfully at the body of his son. Honorably, he took off his jacket and covered David in it. Then, he rose and returned to his crew.

            “What happened?” he asked Saavik.

            “He gave his life to save us,” said Saavik.

            Kirk nodded. At least his son had died bravely, protecting people. “Bones?”

            “He’s rapidly ageing,” said Bones. “All genetic functions highly accelerated.”

            “What about his mind?” said (Y/N) worriedly.

            “Pretty much a void,” said Bones. “Just instinct. It seems I’ve got all his marbles.”

            (Y/N)’s gaze softened in concern as they looked at Spock.

            “He asked for you,” said Saavik.

            (Y/N) looked up to her. “He did?”

            Saavik nodded. “He is not lost.”

            (Y/N) knew she was merely relaying facts, but they suspected some kindness was involved. They nodded, thankful for Saavik’s words.

            “Is there anything we can do?” said Kirk.

            “Only one thing,” said Saavik. “Get him off this planet. His ageing is part of what’s going on around us.”

            A few meters away, a small sinkhole opened up, and Genesis crumbled in. Flames shot out moment later. It seemed David had spoken the truth; the Genesis experiment was a failure.

            “So we still need to get Spock to Vulcan to remove his Katra from Bones and give it back to him,” said (Y/N).

            Saavik nodded. “Yes.”

            Kirk looked around for inspiration and picked up a Klingon communicator. He made eye-contact with his crew, and they nodded. They trusted whatever decision he made. And there was only one ship left in the sky—the Klingon Bird of Prey.

            Well, we’ve already committed a few treaty violations. So have they. And I’m willing to do anything for Spock.

            “Klingon Commander, this is Admiral James T. Kirk,” said Kirk. “I’m alive and well on the planet’s surface. I know this will come as a pleasant surprise to you. Our ship was the victim of an unfortunate accident. Sorry about your crew, but, as we say on Earth, ‘C’est la vie.’ ”

            (Y/N) raised a brow. It was a unique choice to provoke a Klingon, but psychological games were always effective.

            “I have what you want,” said Kirk. “I have the secret of Genesis. You’re gonna have to bring us up there to get it. Do you hear me?” Around them, Genesis trembled. “I’m waiting for you! What’s your answer?”

            The earthquake grew stronger, and (Y/N) held onto Spock’s body tighter. They were not losing him again.

            “Drop all weapons!”

            The crew whirled to find a Klingon with a phaser pointed directly at them. Kirk obeyed, tossing his phaser to the ground. It was time to risk everything.

            “Over there.” The Klingon gestured to the side. “All but Kirk.”

            The crew obeyed, but as (Y/N) tried to pick up Spock, the Klingon pointed at them.

            “Leave the Vulcan,” said the Klingon.

“Why?” demanded (Y/N).

“Because you want him with you,” sneered the Klingon.

            (Y/N) curled their hands into fists, eyes flashing angrily. “Let me fight for my Captain and Spock.”

            Everyone looked at them in surprise.

            “(L/N),” said Kirk.

            “Please, Admiral. For Spock,” said (Y/N). They looked at the Klingon. “I was here when Genesis detonated. I understand it.”

            “Very well,” said the Klingon.

            “(L/N)!” said Kirk in alarm.

            But the Klingon spoke into his communicator, and the crew began to dematerialize. (Y/N) just kept their gaze on the Klingon.

            “Give me Genesis,” said the Klingon.

            “It’s all around you. And it’s dying,” said (Y/N). “It’s a failure. What you’re looking for is pointless.”

            “It is the ultimate weapon!” said Klingon.

            “It is a failed experiment,” said (Y/N) calmly.

            They sighed and rolled up their sleeves. The ground shook around them, caving in to reveal fire and lava. Spock’s hair was graying, too. He was almost the age he’d been when they’d lost him. (Y/N) was running out of time to finish things. So they wouldn’t waste anymore.

            “We’re both going to die,” said (Y/N). “If we don’t beam out.”

            “Then that is how it shall be!” said the Klingon.

            He rushed them, and (Y/N) took the hit. They tumbled down a hill with the Klingon, rocks scraping their back and side. (Y/N) hit the bottom where a rift was opening up and scrambled away from the heat. The Klingon grabbed their leg, dragging them back, and (Y/N) kicked him. He tore at their uniform, pulling them under him to strangle them.

            (Y/N) placed two fingers on his head as they strangled them. “I’m going to get my husband and leaving here, whether you like it or not!” Their golden eyes glowed brighter, and fear pulsed through the Klingon. “So get out of my way!”

            The Klingon wrenched back at the onslaught of terror, tripped over a root, and fell into the lava teeming beneath Genesis’s surface. (Y/N) didn’t waste a second and ran for the top of the hill. They scrambled up the roots and rocks, pulling themself back to Spock’s side. His features were not his own, the dignified, wise age of their husband. (Y/N) smiled at him, held onto him, and picked up the remaining communicator. Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) copied the order the Klingon had given to get the crew beamed up.

            (Y/N) held Spock close, and as the world caved in around them, they closed their eyes. Whatever happened, they had Spock. That was all that mattered.

l

            (Y/N) and Spock rematerialized on board the Klingon vessel, and (Y/N) looked around themself, instantly on edge. They were on the Bridge, but no one was fighting. In fact, the only Klingon was handcuffed. Kirk had already taken control of the situation and defeated the remaining Klingon, promising to “kill him” after they got away.

            “You made it,” said Kirk in relief.

            “Thank god, goldie,” said Bones, staring at them.

            “Do we already have control of the ship?” said (Y/N), bewildered.

            Kirk sighed. “We will once those three decide what is the anti-matter inducer.”

            Chekov, Sulu, and Scotty were huddled around a control panel. (Y/N), filled with adrenaline at being alive and having Spock, let out a surprised laugh.

            “This?” said Sulu.

            “No, this,” said Chekov.

            “That or nothing,” said Scotty decidedly, pressing the button.

            “Did it work?” said Kirk, helping (Y/N) support Spock.

            “If I’m reading this right, we have full power,” said Sulu.

            “Go, Sulu,” ordered Kirk.

            Sulu didn’t have to be told twice. He punched it, and the Klingon Bird of Prey flew away from Genesis as fast as possible as the planet swallowed itself up into a mass of magma.

            “Goodbye, David,” said Kirk softly.

            “I’m sorry, Jim,” said (Y/N), resting their hand on his shoulder.

            “We are free and clear to navigate,” said Sulu.

            “Best speed to Vulcan,” ordered Kirk. “Mr. Chekov, take the prisoner below.”

            “Wait! You said you’d kill me!” said the Klingon.

            (Y/N) sighed. Klingons and honor and dying.

            “I lied,” said Kirk. He wasn’t interested in more death. He looked at (Y/N). “And now we’re going to get to Vulcan.”

            (Y/N)’s heart thumped, and they held Spock tightly. They were going to be alright.

l

            “Ambassador, they are on approach.” Uhura stood before Sarek. “They’re requesting permission to land.”

            “Permission granted,” said Sarek. “Tell them—tell (Y/N) we’ll be ready.”

            Uhura smiled and nodded.

l

            “Mr. Sulu, you’re on manual,” said Kirk as the Bird of Prey approached Vulcan.

            “It’s been a while, sir,” said Sulu. “Here we go.” Carefully, he brought them through the mountains of Vulcan and towards the landing pad where Uhura and the Vulcans were waiting. “Retrothrusters.” Gingerly, he lowered the ship down until they landed properly. Sulu was an expert, even in a ship he’d never been in before.

            Solemnly, (Y/N) stood and, together with their friends, picked up the cot with Spock on it. They walked down the gangplank silently, approaching the awaiting Vulcans in their ritual regalia. Torches lined a path over the mountains, a fountain stood before them, and every Vulcan was ready for Spock’s Katra to be honored.

            Uhura and two guards stepped forward to them. She hugged (Y/N), understanding the emotional turmoil they were still going through, and (Y/N) held her in return.

            “Sarek is waiting above,” said Uhura softly, looking at the stairway.

            A gong sounded, and (Y/N) nodded. They held Spock’s cot tighter, and they led the trek forward. This was for Spock. This was for their husband. This was for the man they loved.

            They stepped towards the stairs, and several Vulcan attendants interceded, taking the cot from them. Sarek held up a hand, and the Vulcans paused, allowing (Y/N) to remain beside them as they walked. (Y/N) was Spock’s T’hy’la—that would be respected at this ceremony.

            (Y/N) watched him be carried before a Priestess and laid down so she could examine in. Their hand hovered over their ring, trying to assure Spock they were there, with him, always.

            The Priestess raised a hand and touching Spock’s temples. “Sarek.” She spoke evenly, voice echoing in the silence. The attendants raised a single hand each, the white dresses fluttering around them as if moved by the Priestess’s voice. “Child of Skon, child of Solkar…the body of your son still lives. What is your wish?”

            (Y/N)’s heart skipped a beat, and they looked at Sarek, gaze asking him to help Spock. Sarek looked at them and then to the Priestess.

            “It is not my wishes that are needed,” said Sarek. “It is his bonded’s, (Y/N) (L/N), child of Nikomedes. They are the family.”

            (Y/N) straightened as everyone looked at them.

            “(Y/N) (L/N), child of Nikomedes, the body of your husband still lives. What is your wish?” said the Priestess.

            “If there is a way to give him his mind back, I wish for it,” said (Y/N).

            Sarek spoke to them. “They ask for the Fal-Tor-Pan. The refusion.”

            (Y/N) nodded, not understanding the words but trusting Sarek.

            The Priestess’s eyes remained on (Y/N). “What you seek has not been done since ages past and then only in legend. Your request is not logical.”

            “It is not. But I am not entirely logical,” said (Y/N) honestly. “I will not pretend to be.”

            The Priestess raised a brow, impressed by the straightforward answer. (Y/N) did not hide behind pretense. The Vulcans could at least respect that, if not logic. “Who is the Keeper of the Katra?” she asked.

            “I am,” said Bones. “McCoy, Leonard H. Son of David.” He spoke awkwardly, but he was as firm in his desire to help Spock as any of the others.

            The Priestess now gazed at him. “McCoy, son of David, since thou art human, we cannot expect thee to understand fully what (L/N) has requested. Spock’s body lives. With your approval, we shall use all our powers to return to his body that which you possess. But McCoy, you must now be warned! The danger to thyself is as grave as the danger to Spock. You must make the choice.”

            Bones didn’t hesitate. “I choose the danger.” He looked at (Y/N) and Kirk incredulously. “Hell of a time to ask.”

            (Y/N) smiled slightly, grateful to have such supportive friends.

            Sarek gestured for Bones to step forward, and he did.

            “My lady priestess,” said (Y/N), and all eyes went to them. They slid Spock’s ring from their finger and held it up. “This is part of our marriage bond, beyond just our minds. And I am an empath. Whatever I can do to steady Spock’s katra or Bones’s mind, I will to ensure they’re both same.”

            The Priestess regarded them thoughtfully before inclining her head. (Y/N) was allowed to approach with Sarek and Bones. The other crew members were escorted out of the ritual hall to await the results.

            (Y/N) barely noticed as they walked to the podium. Bones lay down beside Spock and closed his eyes. The Priestess stood over them both, the wide sleeves of her robes draping across them.

            “Ben, wal, navu,” she said, speaking with purpose.

            (Y/N) placed their ring back on their finger and touched Spock’s face with one hand and Bones’s shoulder with the other. Closing their eyes, they focused their empathy on their husband and the bond they could still feel with him.

            Come, Spock. Come back to me. Come back. I love you.

            It was all they wanted.

l

            A gong sounded and brought (Y/N) out of the empathic meditation they’d been in. Their eyes snapped opened to find sunlight filtering through the clouds onto them, Spock, and Bones.

            Sarek stepped back from the podium, and the Priestess took her hands away. (Y/N) stood and walked down the stairs. They understood that all that could be done had. Now it was time to wait. Slowly, Bones opened his eyes and sat up. (Y/N) supported him and helped him down the stairs until he could stand. Together, they exited the ritual room. (Y/N) looked back at Spock lying on the podium.

            Please. They reached out through the marriage bond one last time. Come back to me, Spock.

            “Bones. (L/N),” said Kirk as they left. The entire crew was waiting for them, never having left for a moment.

            “I’m alright, Jim,” said Bones.

            “So am I,” said (Y/N). Their empathy was certainly tired, but it had been used for a good cause. They paused and looked at Sarek. “Will Spock be alright?”

            “Time will answer,” said Sarek.

            (Y/N) turned around, and their eyes widened. Spock was standing and being clad in a white robe. On their left hand, their ring felt warmer. “Spock,” they said softly.

            Spock turned as if hearing them, and his dark, steady eyes landed on them.

            “(Y/N),” said Sarek, and they tore their eyes from Spock’s to look at him. “I thank you. What you’ve done is—”

            “There is no world where I would not have fought for him,” said (Y/N) softly. They loved Spock. They always would.

            Sarek gazed at them and inclined his head. “Spock chose well.”

            Two attendants guided Spock down the stairs before leaving him. He stood in the white robe and was escorted past the crew. Each member of the Enterprise crew kept their eyes on him the entire time, and (Y/N) twisted their ring.

            Spock passed each crew member, and he looked at them. His eyes landed on (Y/N), and he paused. He turned to them fully, and (Y/N) gazed back. Slowly, Spock shed the hood of his cloak, and sunlight hit his face. (Y/N) looked back at him warmly. Spock took a few steps towards them.

            “…I know you,” he said.

            “You do,” said (Y/N) gently.

            “You…fought to bring me back here,” said Spock.

            “You would have done the same for me,” said (Y/N).

            Spock furrowed his brow slightly. “Why would you have done this?”

            (Y/N) slipped his ring from their finger and held it up. “Because sometimes the needs of the one outweigh the needs of the many.”

            Spock paused before reaching up and taking the ring. He looked from it and its blue stone to the Vokaya in (Y/N)’s ring to (Y/N)’s golden eyes. He gazed at them intently. “…You’re safe.”

            (Y/N) smiled at him with tears shining. “Yes, Spock.”

            “And the ship…?” he said.

            “It’s safe, Spock. You saved all of us,” said (Y/N), stepping towards him.

            “(Y/N),” said Spock, slipping the ring properly onto his finger. (Y/N) felt the bond solidify between them once more. “You are (Y/N). My t’hy’la.” He held out two fingers.

            “I am.” (Y/N) touched two fingers to his. “I am.”

            Spock pressed his fingers back before looking back at the others. Bones winked and tapped his forehead. Uhura, Sulu, Scotty, and Kirk grinned. Saavik nodded to him. Spock looked back at (Y/N).

            “T’hy’la,” he said firmly. This was the person he loved, his spouse, his t’hy’la. Even without his mind, he’d longed for them. His heart always would.

            “Always,” said (Y/N), pulling Spock in.

            And Spock pulled them in right back. In both Vulcan and Celian manners, he kissed them. Spock was back. (Y/N) and Spock were reunited.

Taglist:

@a-ofzest

@grippleback-galaxy

@genderfluid-anime-goth

@groovy-lady

@im-making-an-effort

@unending-screaming

@h-l-vlovesvintage

@neenieweenie

@keylimeconstellation

@wormwig

@technikerin23

@ilyatan

@nthdarkqueen

@kyalov

@starlit-cass

@rookietrek

@gingertimelord

@snowy-violet

@jaguarthecat

@jac012

[getosbabymuva]

i feel like suguru is definitely the type to immediately recognize your change in behavior and can tell if you’re struggling as much as you try to hide it. he never pesters you about it though, he often just lingers around until you’re ready to open up.

you look through disheveled hair as you tiredly stir around some vegetables in the searing pan in front of you. you sharply exhale. this has probably been the worst week of your year, if not your life. your usual schedule consisted of coming home, being a able to take a long shower, and cooking dinner within a decent amount of time to get enough sleep. but now, with your boss insisting you work overtime for the last week, everything’s been thrown off. to make it worse, your office job is not the most friendly environment and you often have to deal with rude coworkers.

while being lost in thought, the burnt vegetables underneath you start to sizzle violently. you curse under your breath and hurriedly turn down the stove in an attempt to save the edibility of the food. this fails, of course, some smoke wafting from the burning pan.

this was the last straw for you. your grip around the pan handle loosens and you sigh deeply. before tears can threaten to leave your eyes, you sense someone’s presence behind you. strong arms wrap around you firmly, pulling you closer. geto rests his head on top of yours, some of his hair falling over your shoulder. he doesn’t say anything, and neither do you. but with the way he sways slowly back and forth with you, your nerves are just a little bit at ease.

[revasserium]

had me at hello

todoroki shouto; 4,082 words; fluff, tiny sprinkle of angst, no "y/n", summer camp, canon-divergent, domestic fluff, teeth-rotting fluff, summer-time romance, self-indulgent as all living fuck

summary: nothing lasts forever, not even goodbye. or, in which todoroki shouto discovers that summer flings really aren't his thing

a/n: chat we are SO back. back on this todoroki brain rot GRIND!!! and as opposed to posting at the last possible second for @pixelcafe-network's challenge friday like i did last time, i'm posting mine first this time to make up for it! the theme was "saying goodbye to a summer love" ♡⸜(˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶)⸝♡

It was to be a whirlwind summer, one that’s different from every one that came before it. Todoroki had thought, naively, that summer training camp would end up being just that — just another summer thing.

And he’d never been fond of the heat.

But you — you’d swept in like the rain, all bluster and brilliant, summer-thunder laughter. You struck across his storm-ridden skies like a spark of lightning, setting all his forests ablaze.

At first, he didn’t think much of it. Didn’t think much of the volunteers that the Pussycats had brought along to help around camp. Groupies, he’d dismissed, and thought of it no more. But the first night everyone came back, exhausted and sore and sweating in places they’d never thought could produce sweat, you’d been there along with the others (he doesn’t remember their names now, but he remembers yours), passing around cold water and setting up the food for dinner.

“Here,” you hand him a water bottle; he dips his head, his chest still heaving from exertion. He twists off the cap and gulps down half the bottle, feeling a cool trickle escape the corner of his mouth to run down his chin. He wipes at it with the back of his hand just as you cast him a grin before turning around to hand another water bottle to Kirishima.

Todoroki swallows, his palms warm, watching as you laugh at something someone says. He lingers on the gloss in your hair and the ease of your smile. He wonders what kind of quirk you might have; he catches himself wondering, and then proceeds to wonder why he’s wondering at all.

He thinks it’s the heat — fanning himself, he looks away — glancing up at the smoldering sky before sighing and capping his water bottle.

“They must love you at school, huh?” you ask, your voice jolting him out of one reverie and into another. Dinner’s almost done, and he’d wandered toward the edge of the wood for a moment of quiet, of peace or sanctity. He hadn’t noticed you following him, and that in and of itself should have set his senses on high. But, the air is tepid and the humidity heavy, and Todoroki only has time to cock a single eyebrow before you smile and continue —

“Your quirk — keeps you cool in the summer, and warm in the winter. Useful, no?”

He watches you watching him, your eyes huge and full of the dancing flames. He looks back towards the rest of his classmates, all chatting and laughing, grouped loosely with one another, Ashido flitting from one group to the other like the social butterfly she is.

“It’s alright,” Todoroki answers, surprising even himself. He drops his eyes, fixing his gaze on a point just above his own feet before you laugh, the sound drawing his attention back towards you.

“You’re not a very good liar, but that’s okay. It’s not a bad thing.”

You shoot him another grin.

“Your quirk,” he says, clearing his throat slightly as he feels a distinct heat prickling up the sides of his neck, “can I ask what it is?”

You list your head to one side, your expression curiously blank. Before you shoot him a smile that can only be called devious.

You nudge him with an arm before dancing away, but that momentary contact is all you’d needed. Todoroki feels his whole body relax, feels some of the tension drop from his shoulders, the strange nervousness that had been coiling in his stomach unclench.

“Guess!”

Someone calls your name from over your shoulder.

“Coming!”

You give him one final wink before dashing off, leaving him dazed, head reverberating as if someone had rung him through like a bell on a Sunday morning.

The weeks had passed in a strange blur after that, as if some vengeful giant had gone stomping through his memories, dragging a large hand across the vivid scenes, smearing the colors and scrambling the timelines. He remembers the ever-present ache in his muscles, the eternal shortness of breath that had accompanied the first few weeks, but he also remembers your presence in the evenings — always in the evenings, the shadow of you flickering around each and every one of his classmates, mostly asking about their days, but sometimes placing a comforting hand here or there.

He remembers your touch well, the gentle anchor of it, the immediate relief.

“Your quirk… it has something to do with feelings, doesn’t it?” he asks one night, a towel draped around his shoulders from a recent shower, his hair still damp in the early evening dark.

You flash him an enigmatic smile, swinging your feet as you turn your head back towards the liquid moonlight casting pale shadows along the edges of the summer-still leaves.

“What makes you say that?”

“Just…” Todoroki joins you, letting his arm brush along yours, his eyes following your gaze as he too sweeps the now empty campgrounds, the remnants of the barbeque fires still smoldering in their pits, the smoke twisting towards the cloudless sky like so many misty-tendrilled streams.

“Had a feeling.”

“A feeling, huh?” you echo, laughing softly, looking back down.

Todoroki doesn’t push you, but you don’t deny it either.

“You’re not wrong,” you say, after a brief moment of silence, “my quirk — it’s not offensive, or even defensive but… if I’m touching someone, I can… siphon their feelings into me,” and as if to demonstrate, you gently press your leg to his, and Todoroki feels the tired wariness drain from him, the feeling of ease trickling through him like hot water cascading down his skin.

He stifles a soft groan, feeling a blush press up against his cheeks.

You move your leg away, leaning back till your head is resting against the back of the park bench, poised at the edge of the large encampment.

“But that’s…” Todoroki searches for the right word — somehow ‘useful’ doesn’t seem quite right.

“No, you’re right,” you say, giggling even as you save him the necessity of finishing his sentence, “it’s a good quirk to have. It’s… necessary.”

But the way you say that word sounds a little too much like heartbreak for Todoroki to ignore.

“You said siphon…” he says, after a brief stretch of quiet, and he tastes the word on his tongue as if saying it for the first time.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you say, and longing is too close a friend of his for him not to notice it threaded through your voice like a secret.

“Which means… whatever you take from the person you’re touching… you have to feel it too, right?”

You lick your lips, your eyes flickering down to your hands, palms open.

“Yes.”

It’s a simple answer, but one that lands with a gut-punch of implication. Todoroki swallows, shifting ever so slightly to let his knee rest against yours. He tries his hardest to focus on calmness, to project relief. You turn to flash him a smile.

“You’re sweet,” and he hadn’t meant to blush, hadn’t meant for his heart to kick up like a drumbeat, but does. And he knows, instinctively, that you’d felt it too — passing through from his skin to yours by some strange glitch of nature.

He makes to pull away, but you reach out to rest a hand on his arm.

And almost instantly, he feels his heartbeat calm, feels the heat receding. But it isn’t like before — it isn’t the feeling of having something leave his body, but rather having something pressed in. Like a warm blanket settling over his shoulders, or a cold hand to ward off unwanted heat. Your calm seeps into him like summer rain, cooling his mind until he’s breathing steady.

He blinks down at you, startled.

“It goes both ways,” you say, and he can see the twin glow of warmth high in your cheeks. He spares a moment wondering if that blush had once belonged to him, if you were just holding onto it for a bit longer before letting it go. You move your hand away and he has to fight down the urge to pull it back.

“Oh,” is the only thing he can think of to say.

You are everywhere after that — perhaps not in the physical sense, but Todoroki seems to have lost the ability to not notice you. Or maybe he’s just gained the ability to — to what? Develop a crush? Is that even what this is? He doesn’t know — he’s never had one before to compare it to.

But he can’t help now how instantly his attention snags on the sound of your voice, like a stray thread on a mesh-wire fence, or how an unshakable shiver traces down his spine whenever you’re near. He feels childish, like he did when he was too little to control his quirk. But he’d learned since then, hadn’t he?

Hadn’t he?

“It’s all just hormones!” he overhears Ashido say to Uraraka one night, the girls all clustered together on a single long sofa, limbs against limbs, cheeks pillowed on shoulders, a careless sort of closeness threading them all together. Todoroki’s never thought himself a jealous person, but watching them now, he wonders what it might be like to be able to touch a person with little to no thought at all, for it all to be second nature.

Uraraka blushes something furious, crinkling her nose.

“I — I don’t know…”

“I’m pretty sure whatever Mineta-chan is feeling can’t just be explained by hormones,” Asui says, her eyes huge and dark even as Ashido rolls her eyes.

“Maybe not just hormones, but that’s a large part of it!” Ashido insists.

Dangling on the side of the sofa, one foot tapping to music only she can hear, Jiro glances over and shrugs.

“Boys are weird.”

The girls all make varying sounds of agreement, and Todoroki forces his feet to move, thankful for the thick slab of shadow that had kept him from view of the general common area. He stares ahead as he walks down the long length of hallway, wondering if hormones really are the culprit behind whatever the hell this is.

The grueling days bleed into sweat-slick weeks, and somehow, he finds himself seeking you out more and more often. Sometimes after a particularly hard training session, under the guise of needing some “help” recovering (it had come out that Recovery Girl couldn’t make it so the Pussycats had volunteered you as the next best thing), sometimes without any reason at all, other than the simple want of your company.

He finds himself laughing, finds himself reaching for you — and he blames it on the weather, blames it on the tiredness now eternally sunk into his muscles, the soreness that won’t ever quite go away. He tells himself that it’s just a summer thing, to feel so hot that he gets lightheaded, to laugh until his stomach hurts, to feel the inexplicable itch to graze your hand with his when you’re sitting too close and not nearly close enough.

Thinking back, he’d known it would never last. You’d told him early on that you don’t live in the city. But that it’s not too far, if ever he wanted to visit.

“Camp’ll be over in a few weeks,” you say, lying back on a patch of sun-dried grass, beneath a swirling canopy of stars, Todoroki sitting beside you, his arms propping up his torso as he stares up at the sky alongside you.

“Yeah. I’m surprised it’s been so peaceful,” he says.

You laugh, shooting him a curious look.

“Used to getting in trouble?”

“There… seem to be a few of my classmates that attract trouble. Of all kinds.”

“I don’t mind a bit of trouble.”

“Don’t you?”

You grin up at him as he glances down at you.

“Not one bit.”

You feel him shifting as he lies down next to you, your elbows brushing in the grass. He feels a jolt of electricity snake up his arm, coiling in the base of his belly. For a second, he wonders if its a him-feeling, or a you-feeling. And then, he realizes that it doesn’t really matter — and before he knows it, he’s twisting to his side, leaning over just far enough to press his lips to yours.

In the grand scheme of kisses, Todoroki thinks that it might not have been the most well-positioned kiss, or the most well thought-out. And for all everyone calls him genius, this is one thing he’s never really had the chance to practice. Still, by the time he realizes that he’s kissing you, he barely has the chance to reconcile with the fact that you’re kissing him too. You, pressing up against him and pulling him down all at once.

His lips on yours, and yours on his — an endless echo of this kiss, and this kiss, and just this kiss. He feels his heartbeat like a reverberation, because he thinks he can feel yours too. He loses feeling in all his limbs, and wonders briefly if this is what free-falling might be like — to feel weightless, to be lifted outside of yourself.

You reach up to press a hand to his cheek, and he feels himself being shunted back into his body. He feels each of his limbs like discovering them for the very first time — his fingers tangled in your hair, his other arm wrapped tightly around your waist, pulling you in, holding you close. He does not remember pulling away. But he must have, because he remembers gasping for a breath he’s long since lost to the heave of your lungs.

He feels fire, and ice, and the spinning song of a million overhead stars.

“Is this — are you —” he struggles for words but you just smile.

“I don’t know — sometimes when I’m too —” you swallow, a bit breathless yourself, the head-thrumming heat of it all passing between the pair of you like a whisper, or a secret, “when I’m too excited I — I’ll accidentally make someone else feel it too but —”

You look back up to catch his eyes, and he finds himself smiling.

“It’s not just you,” he says, quiet and sure. Because this, whatever this is, is more than just a quirk — more than just the accidental bleeding of feelings from one body to another. More than simple empathy — it’s entropy.

A chaos of feelings.

Because he’d felt it bubbling inside him, alone at night, staring up at the moon-slatted ceiling. Wondering what it might be like to hold your hand.

And maybe this is what Ashido had been talking about — with hormones and urges and all the woes that come with being a teenage boy. But he doesn’t care; there’s time to worry about that later. For now, he thinks he’d just like to kiss you again.

And so, he does.

Time passes by strangely after that — and though neither of you had intended on it, the budding relationship between the pair of you had become a known secret. No one had ever called it out by name, but no one questions Todoroki either when he wanders off after dinner. No one blinks twice when you press a hand to the back of his neck after morning drills, smiling when he lets out a soft, pleased sigh.

Even years later, Todoroki can’t quite piece together the exact timeline of things. He remembers the late nights, staying up just to talk to you, wandering through the woods, you jumping at a rabbit or a squirrel, and him slipping his hand through yours with a silent reassurance. He remembers telling you about himself — even though he doesn’t remember you asking. About his father, his mother, his siblings, his scar.

He remembers how you’d reached out and held his anger and sorrow and resentment in your upturned palms, how you cradled them like bruised fruit, with delicate fingers and a smile that looked not one bit like pity. How you did not run.

He remembers you telling him about your childhood too, of your quirk being used and abused by careless adults and ruthless children alike. Of how your parents had used you as one might use a bad therapist, like a dumping ground for unwanted emotions. Of how you learnt to deal with the unbearable weight of all those feelings — things that a little girl should never have to learn how to deal with on her own.

He remembers how you held him and he held you, and how you both had allowed yourselves to hold and be held by each other.

But what he remembers most is the ending — the last night of camp, when he knew he’d be leaving the next morning. All the bags are packed, and they’d all come out stronger. It had been an uneventful, tiring sort of camp, where nothing happened except daily training, but for a class full of teens with super-human powers and the uncanny ability to attract life-threatening situations, it could be called a resounding success.

“Excited to be going back to school?” you ask.

He watches you drag a pale pink nail polish over your fingers, one by one, blowing on each finger as you smooth out the color with steady swipes.

“I guess so. We have provisional license exams coming up, so I doubt we’ll get much rest after this.”

“Aww… but I guess no one ever said becoming a hero was an easy thing, right?” you laugh, tossing him a good-natured wink.

He sighs, leaning back against the wall of your camp room.

“Nothing worth having is ever easy.”

“Hm…” you hum, finishing off your manicure and carefully screwing the brush back into the nail polish bottle.

Todoroki turns to find you frowning slightly at your nails.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just…” you press your hands carefully into your lap, “it got me thinking — this was… easy, wasn’t it?”

And he doesn’t have to ask what you’d meant by this. Because he knows. And with a jolt, he realizes that yes. This was easy. It was so easy, being with you, in this secluded place. So easy to laugh without worrying about the outside world, to forget, if only for a while.

Easy to kiss you, to hold you, to push away the thoughts of tomorrows and endings until — well.

“Yeah…” Todoroki breathes, “I guess… I guess it was.”

Silence blooms between you like a plume of smoke.

“But… I mean,” you say, waving your hands through the air to help your nails along, before slumping back into your pillows, “it was never going to be forever, right?”

And this time, Todoroki can’t quite tell if you’re talking about this or perhaps — he can’t help the tiny bead of hope coalescing in his chest — a future where your goodbye is the thing that doesn’t last forever.

“No,” he answers, allowing himself a small smile as he looks down at his own hands, “nothing really ever is.”

You giggle, rolling over to peer at him from your stomach, “You’re so serious.”

But by the time he lifts his head, you’d already crawled over to press your lips to his. It’s a sweet kiss, a simple kiss, and Todoroki feels his chest seize inside him, his arms going heavy with a liquid weight. When you pull away, he notices your eyes are fractured with tears. You wipe them away with a laugh.

“Look at me — I’m so silly.”

Todoroki shakes his head, reaching out to cup your cheeks gently between his hands, the way you’d taught him to with his own jagged emotions. And he feels it then, your sadness, your uncertainty, the stomach-twisting knowledge of endings.

“The beginning might’ve been easy but… this isn’t.”

You hiccup, going still as he holds you.

“So… I guess we were worth it after all, huh,” you say, looking down at the space between you.

Todoroki nods, leaning forward just enough to press his forehead to yours, nudging your nose with his for a second before bringing you in for yet another kiss. He pulls away and tastes salt on his lips.

“That’s how we know — because the ending is hard. That’s how we know it was worth it.”

When the next morning comes, you don’t cry when you wave them all off, though many of the girls are. You catch his gaze and hold it for just a second longer than you’d done with anyone else. Beside him on the bus, Aoyama makes a soft, knowing kind of noise.

“Ah… first love is always such sweet despair,” he says, twinkling in his usual way.

Todoroki clears his throat, leaning back in his seat, a strange stillness settling over him as he thinks about the days ahead.

“Yeah, I suppose it is,” Todoroki says, to Aoyama’s dramatic surprise. But he recovers quickly and begins a soliloquy about something or other that carries them all the way back into the city, and to their assigned dorms.

He never forgets you, though there are moments when he’d wonder if that summer had really happened. Years later, when the memories have all gone watercolor-pale, and the edges blurred with time, he’ll still find himself reaching into the part of his mind that feels like the soft, steady weight of your hand on the back of his neck to calm him down, the smooth of your skin as you’d pressed against him and held him close.

And then, the year that he turns 24, it happens — he’d been called out into a small town just outside Shizuoka, for some kind of event that Fuyumi swears would be good for his publicity (as if he needed any more). Even after all these years, it still unsettles him to travel alone to these places, and he subconsciously reaches for the feeling of your palm pressing to his skin.

“Shouto?”

He turns at the sound of his name, and though a part of him assumes it’s yet another adoring fan, the deepest, most honest part of him whispers that it isn’t — that he knows this voice.

“Oh… its you,” the words slip from him like pebbles into a thawing stream.

And there you are, standing feet from him, your arms full of groceries, a red and white muffler strung around your shoulders, looking every bit as brilliant as the you from his memories.

The smile that splits your face is beautiful as heartbreak.

“Well, someone very wise once did tell me that nothing lasts forever… not even goodbyes.”

Todoroki takes half a step closer to you, a smile spreading across his own lips as he reaches out to help you with your groceries, taking the bags into his arms. The movement as natural as coming home.

“Yes but… I was thinking about it the other day and —”

“Oh? Just the other day?” you tease, bumping him slightly with your elbow was you set off down the half-empty street. It’s almost sundown, and the days are getting shorter again. Your breath fogs up the air before you and Todoroki suddenly thinks that winter looks good on you.

Even better than summer had.

“Yeah, but I realized…” he says, casting his eyes up at the cloud-strewn sky, the colors fading fast, the thick velvet of night inching up across the world like a curtain being drawn.

He turns his eyes back towards you, only to find you watching him with an indulgent smile on your face.

Todoroki blushes, feeling suddenly bashful, like the teenage boy he was when you two first met.

“I realized,” he says again, determined to finish his thought this time, “that when we first met… we never really said hello.”

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[thehighpriestexx420]

Their True Self's Feelings VS. Their Ego's Feelings About You

General Collective Pick-A-Gif Tarot Reading

Our True Self is the version of us WITHOUT the programming society has instilled in us and/or the programming our physical body came with. It's your soul, your spirit, your higher self. My experience with my true self can only be described as what feels right.

The Ego can be used as a tool for your true self to use or you can fall under the automatic habits it provides. It's our mind. The brain filter that allows us to perceive reality - more commonly the reality that's physical.

My intention was to pull cards into 2 columns. One to represent their true feelings and the other to represent their ego's. I've found that the message worked when I looked at all of the cards together. If you can discern the cards can be read the way I intended with your specific situation, feel free to let me know!

Take a moment to yourself. Step back from any distractions on the outside & within your mind. Take a clearing breath. Focus your attention within yourself & what you sense. Which gif calls out to you? If it's more than one, than there are multiple messages for you.

Take what resonates and leave the rest. Be aware that the future is malleable - you can choose to follow your true self or any toxic programming you've picked up. The results will follow.

💖 New followers & those who reblog the linked post below 👇 get a FREE one question tarot reading & reiki healing session. Paid services are same hour, first come first serve, & guaranteed between 8 am - 9pm 💖

✌️ Tips are also always appreciated! Help me continue helping you by providing me with funds to purchase new decks & stuff that keeps me alive 😊 Cashapp: $coltonicholas ✌️

Pile One :

Their soul is calling them to approach you & express their romantic interest. However, there's something that happened between you that's caused them to stop & truly think about this decision.

They're trying to discern how they can balance their self-love & their love for others. They don't want to get hurt again but they also don't want to miss out on their desired connection with you.

The Universe is telling them the time to approach you is now & that they're extremely supported in this. In fact, this is a part of both of your life's purpose. It's destiny. Every aspect of existence is weaving the path to make this happen.

But they're currently being held back and stalling due to doubt & the fear of hoping just to be hurt & disappointed again. As in, they feel this desire of theirs is too good to be true. Their non-action is out of fear & self-preservation.

Pile Two :

They're not seeing the results they're looking for in this connection. There's impatience. They're looking for answers outside themself rather than within.

You may be dating & haven't made things official yet. They're questioning if you're as invested in this connection as they are because of this. They could be feeling the strong desire to marry you, and yet, aren't seeing these results.

They may be overly focused on the material/physical & not enough on what their soul is saying. They want a successful home life with you while not feeling at home within themself. They cope with this feeling by indulging in distractions. Propping their ego up, shopping, bragging, etc.

They need to be more calm, nurturing, & patient. They feel the need to rush ahead while not considering others enough.

They're overly concerned with others' opinions. They want to be able to say that you're theirs & not fear people questioning the validity of your connection. It's the vibe where people have been in years long engagements. There's often doubt from others and within the connection. "Are they not sure if they want to get married, is it going to happen, etc."

Pile Three :

They're being held back by confusion, the pressure to conform, & structure. It's like they're lost in a land of illusion. They're unable to move on due to this belief they must uphold these rigid rules.

"If it's not broke, don't fix it" is a saying that comes to mind when describing this person's mindset.

They don't want to adventure outside of these old habitual ways of thinking. The unknown is unstable & unpredictable.

Despite this, their soul is desiring a union with you & they feel it - the urge to reach out. Their ego is blocking them from seeing a way forward with you.

For some of you, they want to propose but something is leading them to believe it's not possible. There's a clashing - 2 opposing forces that "shouldn't" go together. So this can look like having a religion where you're "supposed" to be with a member of the same religion, a family disapproving of same sex marriage, or some other value/belief that doesn't approve of your marriage/union.

They've had unhealthy examples of relationships growing up so this also distorts how relationships are "supposed" to look like to them. There's some kind of codependency between you two. Like you're both chained to these toxic belief systems. Change your mentor/who you look up to & set yourself free.

Pile Four :

There's this idea - this hidden gem in their heart. I'm seeing that they need some time away from the distractions of the world so that they can look inside themselves to see what this bright, burning, blossoming passion really is before they offer it to you.

They're scared of things not working out because they haven't seen any indicators it would. Their heart is closed off & as a consequence it blocks them from receiving what they desire. That includes the positive interactions from you that they're looking for.

But I'm seeing that this beginning between you is bright, beautiful, & promising. You both can try to hide what you're feeling, but it's too powerful to be ignored anyway.

I'm seeing that you both share a heart/the same feelings. This connection is within your core. It's designed to free you, reveal your true self, heal you, & to assist you with growth. For some of you, this is your divine counterpart/twin flame. For others, it's a strong soulmate connection.

[icycoldninja]

If requests are still open, could you please write Dante x male emotional empath?

Yes, of course. Hope you don't mind if I do headcannons.

Dante x Male!Empath!Reader headcannons

-So, what is an empath? An empath is one who has a deep understanding of people and emotions, and usually naturally has a nurturing nature.

-Dante hasn't been in a nurturing environment since he was a little boy, so having you around is both new and familiar all at the same time.

-He loves how you just seem to know what he needs without him having to say anything.

-You kind of remind him of his mother (even though you're a dude) in that regard, always knowing what to do or say, whenever he needed comfort or just someone to sit with.

-One downside of being an empath is that you're sensitive, which means Dante's witty jokes, if taken too far, can make you cry.

-Dante never wants to see you cry, ever; he hates watching you sit there all ruddy cheeked and teary eyed. It made him feel like a big stupid jerk and for making you sad like that, he kinda was.

-To keep this from happening ever again, Dante's mindful of what he says to you; what might be a meaningless joke to him could be a hurtful insult to you.

-Dante will be there whenever you're feeling down, regardless of whether he caused your sadness or not.

-He'll scoop you into his arms and cradle you, shushing you, assuring you he loves you, and trying to get you to talk your feelings out.

-You help him heal from his trauma, and in return, he protects you from anyone or anything that might try to hurt you. What a duo.

[lov3notts]

Hear me out: Theo actually has the hits for Cedric too and that’s why he teases him, so he likes the both of us 💋 and Cedric is so kind and submissive he would let him be part of the relationship.

Ngl you created a need in me, Poly!Cedric x reader x Theo

you know what… hell yeah.

but this has to be a completely different universe. Bf’s Enemy!Theo absolutely hates Cedric, he‘s to “perfect”. Everyone loves Cedric, parents- teachers- probably even the bloody portraits. He’s Everything Theo isn’t trying to be, but is constantly compared too. But i can totally see this in a different universe& will probably write about it in the future. just an excuse to write them both in smut with reader. 🫦

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

in the refrigerator light

summary: you are somehow unprepared to run into Logan while on the quest for a midnight snack... in the house you both live in. wc: 1.9 k a/n: to be fair I did warn you that this would happen. I have a few more ideas kicking around in my head, but feel free to send requests if you have any! this doesn't take place during any particular movie, fyi, but you and Logan are both teaching at the school warnings: fluffy fluff, mutant!reader, empathic powers!reader, soft!Logan

You should have been asleep. Even after choosing to stay on at the school past your education, you’d had a hard time shaking habits of the past. It still felt strange to walk freely into professor only areas, and you were always in bed by 11:00 pm every night. Sneaking down to the kitchen to steal one of the chocolate bars you knew Scott had stashed deep in the back of a cabinet felt wrong, but the siren song was too strong to resist. 

You’d been quiet, making sure to avoid the creaky stair (third from the bottom on the right) before shuffling into the kitchen. You rubbed at your eyes as you made your way to the proper cabinet. The only problem being that it was much higher up than you remember. It was times like these that made you wish for a more helpful mutation, like telekinesis or at least a few extra inches of height. You struggled for a few moments, on your tippy toes, stretching your arm as far as you could reach before you gave up. You sighed, raking your hands through your hair and making your peace with the fact that chocolate was not in your future tonight. 

“Scoot over, bub.” You jumped and let out a small shriek, before clasping a hand over your mouth. It was rare that anyone got the drop on you these days, your power more finely tuned and emotions tending to be strong around the manor, but your guard was decidedly down in the place you’d called home for so many years. But Logan was an exception to many rules. HIs hand gently gripped your wrist, pulling you against his chest for a brief moment before moving to stand in front of the cabinet. He reached up into the cabinet, the zip up hoodie he wore pulling up to expose a few inches of his stomach before pulling down a few bars of chocolate with ease. He smiled, the crinkles by his eyes more prominent in the low light of the kitchen. You did your best to appear like you hadn’t just been ogling him. 

“How did you know-”

“Scott’s shit at secrets.” He huffed, rolling his eyes. “You think he’d learn by now to not be such a loud mouth in a house full of people with enhanced hearing”. 

Your laugh was quiet, muffled by your hand in the interest of not waking the others. “Well, in that case, I hope one of those is for me.” 

Logan shrugged, eyes full of mirth. “What’ll you give me for it?” 

You blinked, unsure of yourself. You weren’t used to this Logan, yet. He was usually gruff and reserved, always reluctant to give into the kids in his history class that were trying to derail the lesson with a joke or two. He’d been playful a few times in your presence, and it almost always made you worried that the other shoe was about to drop. Seeing him in pajama pants and a soft grey sweatshirt only added to the strangeness situation. 

For the briefest moment, you considered using your powers. A single touch and you would know exactly how he was feeling. It was a blessing and a curse, to be able to be sure of how others were feeling with a single touch. A god-send on intel gathering or stealthy missions, a terrible temptation at midnight alone in the kitchen of the manor with the man you had harbored a crush on for as long as you’d known him. You make to grab one of the bars out of his hand, but he is too fast for you, quickly lifting them over his head. Your eyes narrowed. 

Fine, two can play at this game. You roll your shoulders back, drawing up your courage. “Depends what you want for it.” 

Logan grinned, dropping his arms and holding the bars behind his back. “Well, what I don’t want is to be an accomplice in your quest for cavities. Chuck’d have my head if he found out I had a part to play.”  

“I’m a big girl, Logan. I can take care of myself” You grab for the chocolate, but he’s too quick for you. For a brief moment, the two of you stare at each other, the moment charged. You lunged for the chocolate again, but Logan is already halfway across the kitchen, waving the chocolate around teasingly. 

“Logan, please” you laugh, following around the island. He cocked his head to the side, smirk playing at the corner of his lips. You were seconds away from stomping your foot and demanding he hand the chocolate over, when his smirk grew into a grin. 

“Alright bub,” he made his way around the island, depositing one of the chocolate bars in your hand. “You know I can’t say no to you.” 

You did your best to tamp down the butterflies that suddenly made a home in your stomach, but his smile was so gentle and he looked so soft, it was hard not to feel a little lovestruck. You snapped a piece of the bar off, and held it out to him. You dutifully busied yourself with breaking off a piece for yourself, ignoring the way that his affectionate gaze seemed to never leave you. 

“You’re not usually up this late,” he says, holding his hand out for another piece. You shrug, dropping another section into his hand. 

“Couldn’t sleep.” 

“Welcome to the club.” You knew that Logan had trouble sleeping, he was usually the first one hunched over a cup of coffee in the mornings, steadfastly ignoring inquiries into how he slept. 

“I, um” You hesitated. Usually offers of using your powers didn’t go well. You took a breath, steadying yourself. The worst he could say was no, right? “I could help with that, if you want.” 

Logan reached out, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. You could tell your eyes were the size of saucers, but you couldn’t find words. After a few moments, Logan took a step back, shaking his head slightly. You blinked owlishly, taking a breath to steady yourself. 

“That’s sweet of you, bub. But I wouldn’t want to tucker you out.” It was no secret around the house that although you had a less physical mutation, it still took some of your energy. Sensing emotions was as natural as breathing, but influencing them was newer, and took much more focus. 

You pointedly glanced at the clock over the stove, noting that it was well past any reasonable bedtime, before facing Logan once more. “That actually sounds really nice.” He mumbled something about not wanting to take advantage of you, but the words died in his throat when your hand found his own. You looked up at him through your lashes, hoping that he would be able to see how earnest you were being. “I don’t want to force you, but I want to be asleep more than anything, and I can tell that you are too wound up about something to even begin to fall asleep.” 

His thumb stroked over the back of your hand a few times, before he stepped around you and led you out of the kitchen. You expected him to turn towards the living room, where you’d caught him ‘resting his eyes’ a few times in the middle of the day. Instead, he turned right making sure to skip the creaky stair (third from the bottom on the right) and right up to the door of your room. 

“A bit presumptuous, no?” You asked, before opening the door and walking through. 

Logan rolled his eyes, leaning against your doorframe. “I was there the first time you tried this. Figured it was best that no one has to pick you up off the floor.” 

You felt your face grow hot, remembering the unmitigated disaster that had occurred the first time Charles suggested that this application of your powers was a possibility. Your chin tilted up, doing your best to project confidence. “Well, it’s been a while since then, I’ve gotten better.” 

If the lighting had been better, you would have seen the faintest pink blush coloring his cheeks. “Rogue’s in my room.” You couldn’t help it, your eyebrows shot up near your hairline. “She and Bobby got into a fight, she wanted somewhere she would be left alone.” His hands were twisting in the pockets of his sweatshirt as he ducked his head down low. 

“Is that why you were prowling around the kitchen?” He rolled his eyes, but nodded all the same. “Well, do you wanna stay here tonight?” He looked like he was about to object, but you held your hand up, effectively silencing him. “You’re doing a favor for Rogue, let me do one for you.” 

“Thought you were already doin’ me a favor, sweetheart.” He protested, all while moving towards your bed. 

You perched on the edge of your bed, consciously doing your best to keep your heart rate in check. The students always joked that between Charles and Jean’s mind reading and Logan being able to hear cheaters hearts speeding up, it wasn’t even worth it to try and cheat in class. It hadn’t occurred to you that if he could hear your heart fluttering, he could definitely hear the measured deep breaths you were taking to mitigate the issue. 

You reached for his hand, and he accepted it readily. His palm was shockingly smooth under yours, it must be from his regenerative powers. Your thumb gently ran across his knuckles, still slightly red from the training session he’d had with some of the students earlier in the day. You tugged on his arm slightly, and he lowered himself down onto the bed beside you. “I thought that it’s important to work as a team, sometimes.” 

“You spyin’ on me, bub?” You sheepishly meet his eyes, but find nothing but tenderness waiting for you. “I’ll try to forgive you.” He drops a kiss on your knuckles, before motioning for you to lay down. “I’ll take the floor.” 

You tightened your grip on his hand. If he really wanted to, he could have broken away easily. Instead, he paused, eyebrows raised and waiting for an explanation. “Not much of a favor if your back hurts in the morning from sleeping on the floor” you shrugged. 

“Only if you’re sure-”

“Just get in the damn bed Logan.” He grinned, pulling back the covers and slipping into the bed. You followed shortly after, and slipped your hand back into his. The both of you laid in silence for a few moments, adjusting to your new arrangement. You were nice and toasty warm, able to feel the heat radiating off him under the covers. You were in the middle of working up the courage to actually use your powers, when soft snores began to emanate from the other side of the bed. You chanced a glance towards him only to find his lashes gently fanned out over his cheeks, and his chest rising and falling with his steady breathing. 

After a few moments, you followed him into dreamland. In the morning, you woke up with his arm firmly around your waist, feeling fully rested for one of the first times in your life. Again, you waited for the awkwardness to come, for your face to flush and your stammer to pick back up, but you were left waiting.

feedback is very much appreciated, as I’ve never written for Logan before! let me know what you think <3

next part

[cynicalmusings]

so, this is technically a spoiler, but by the time this fic is written up and posted (if ever comes the day), i’m sure everyone will have forgotten about it. hopefully.

[anonymousewrites]

Logos and Pathos (Book 4) Chapter Seven

TOS! Spock x Empath! Spouse! Reader

Chapter Seven: Cruising Test

Summary: It seems like a routine test, but a distress signal calls the Enterprise into a mystery.

            “Permission to come aboard, Captain?” teased Kirk as he stepped from the shuttle and airlock onto the Enterprise.

            As (Y/N) had said, Kirk had decided to come aboard for “inspections.” Sulu, Bones, and Uhura were with him (which was a pleasant surprise for (Y/N) and Spock). In their red, pressed uniforms, (Y/N) and Spock nodded (and (Y/N) smiled). (Y/N) in particular was glad he was there since Kirk was, undoubtedly, holding himself back to act as an admiral instead of being himself and doing what he was good at—leading.

            “Welcome, Admiral,” said Spock. “I think you know my training crew.” Saavik stood beside them. “Certainly, they have come to know you.”

            “Yes, we’ve been through death and life together,” said Kirk, smiling in amusement. He walked forward, and the rest of his former crewmates followed. Saavik trailed after them. “Mr. Scott, you old dog. You’re well?”

            “I had a wee bout, sir, but Dr. McCoy pulled me through,” said Scotty.

            “A wee bout of what?” asked Kirk.

            “Shore leave, Admiral,” said Bones. Scotty despised leaving the Enterprise.

            “Oh, yes.” Kirk smiled. He went down the line of trainees and paused. “Who do we have here?”

            “Midshipman, first class, Peter Preston, engineer’s mate, sir,” said Preston.

            “First training voyage, Mr. Preston?” asked Kirk.

            “Yes, sir,” said Preston.

            “I see,” said Kirk. He walked farther forward. “Well, shall we start with the Engine Room?”

            “We’ll see you there, sir,” said Scotty. “And everything is in order.”

            “That’ll be a pleasant surprise, Scotty,” said Kirk, smiling and leaving the entryway.

            “We’ll see you on the Bridge, Admiral,” said Spock.

            “Company dismissed,” said (Y/N) to the trainees.

            The younger officers quickly walked to their posts. (Y/N) felt their apprehension with amusement. They were still awed by higher officers. They’d come to learn that having a higher rank didn’t mean people needed to be respected or were capable. Of course, (Y/N)’s crewmates were respectable and capable, but the principle still counted.

            “He’s never what I expect, sir.” Saavik spoke up, using Vulcan to disguise her meaning.

            (Y/N) smiled. They understood. They weren’t perfect at Vulcan yet, but they were adept with languages, and they practiced with Spock.

            “What surprises you, Lieutenant?” said Spock, again in Vulcan.

            “He’s so…human,” said Saavik.

            “Nobody’s perfect, Saavik,” said Spock.

            “Do you understand them? The humans and beings with emotions?” Saavik glanced at (Y/N).

            “Logic and empathy are both tools that can be used effectively,” said Spock. “My T’hy’la is a capable and efficient officer, better than most, with their empathy.”

            “Hm,” said Saavik.

            “Thank you for the compliment, husband,” said (Y/N).

            Saavik stood straighter, realizing (Y/N) could understand the whole time. (Y/N) chuckled.

            “I apologize, Commander,” said Saavik. “It was not my intention to judge—”

            “Don’t worry, Saavik,” said (Y/N), raising a hand. “You’re hardly in trouble for asking questions, especially since my culture is different from your own. You’re going to meet all types of people as a Starfleet officer. Asking questions to understand is better than making assumptions.” They turned around. “Now, let’s get to the Bridge. The Admiral will be announcing our training flight soon.”

            “There is none scheduled,” said Saavik.

            “Not yet,” said (Y/N), smiling.

l

            “This is Starfleet Operations.” The announcement played over the Bridge, and (Y/N) smiled. “Enterprise is cleared for departure.”

            Saavik furrowed her brow slightly. “How did you know?” She had heard the decision to do a training flight, but she was still unused to these illogical proceedings.

            “I know my Admiral’s emotions and how he acts.” (Y/N) smiled. “I made a logical conclusion.”

            “Admiral on Bridge,” said Sulu as the doors slid open. Kirk walked in with Bones sullenly at his side.

            “Running lights on,” said Saavik, getting to work.

            “Very well, Mr. Saavik, you may clear all moorings,” said Spock, sitting in the Captain’s chair. (Y/N) leaned on the back of it.

            “Aye, sir.” Saavik ensured it was done. “All moorings are clear, Captain.”

            “Thank you,” said Spock.

            “Lieutenant,” said (Y/N). “Have you ever piloted a starship out of Spacedock?”

            “Never, sir,” said Saavik.

            “Take her out, then,” said (Y/N). Spock rose from the chair.

            “Aye, sir,” said Saavik. She took Spock’s spot and sat back in the Captain’s chair. One day, she would be a captain, after proper experience.

            “For everything, there is a first time, Lieutenant,” said Spock. “Don’t you agree, (Y/N)?”

            “I do,” said (Y/N).

            “Aft thrusters, Mr. Sulu.” Saavik was intent to do her job as expected, with each decision precisely what was needed—a real Vulcan Captain.

            “Aft thrusters,” confirmed Sulu.

            “Ahead one-quarter impulse power,” instructed Saavik.

            “Ahead one-quarter impulse power,” echoed Sulu as he maneuver the Enterprise.

            The ship flew out of the Spacedock. The Enterprise was free in space once more. The former Enterprise crew smiled to themselves. This was their favorite place to be.

            “We are clear and free to navigate,” said Sulu.

            “Course heading, Captain?” Saavik looked to Spock for orders.

            Spock raised a brow and looked at Kirk.

            Kirk smiled. “Captain’s discretion.”

            “Advice, Commander (Y/N)?” said Spock, looking at (Y/N).

            “Mr. Sulu?” said (Y/N). “Indulge yourself.”

            Sulu grinned. “Aye, sir.”

l

            (Y/N) and Spock sat quietly in their quarters. Their trainees were working under their respective trainers—currently Scotty, Sulu, Uhura, and Bones ((Y/N) hoped he wouldn’t scare away the medical officers-to-be). They were in capable hands. So, as the hours passed without incident, (Y/N) and Spock got a moment to relax before any more work had to be done. Spock was playing a game of 3D chess against himself, and (Y/N) was laying across his lap with a book on their holopad.

            Knock. “Spock? (L/N)?”

            (Y/N) sat up and frowned. They felt Kirk’s worry like a cloud through the door. “Come in, Kirk.” Spock saw their expression and set aside his chess set.

            The door opened, and Kirk stepped inside. “We have a problem. Something may be wrong with Regular I. We’ve been ordered to investigate.”

            “If memory serves, Regular I is a scientific research laboratory,” said Spock.

            “I believe so,” confirmed (Y/N).

            “I told Starfleet all we have is a boatload of children, but we’re the only ship in the quadrant,” said Kirk.

            “But there may be a problem, and you want to find out.” His emotions made that clear.

            Kirk nodded. “Spock, (L/N), these cadets of yours, how good are they? How will they respond under real pressure?”

            “As with all living things, each according to their own gifts,” said Spock.

            “They’re skilled and eager, but no one can predict how they’ll act in difficult circumstances,” said (Y/N).

            “Of course, this ship is yours,” said Spock.

            “No, that won’t be necessary.” Kirk waved a hand. “Just get me to Regula I.”

            Spock raised a brow. “As a teacher on a training mission, I’m content to command the Enterprise. If we are to go on actual duty, it is clear that the senior officer onboard must assume command.”

            “Besides, you’ll always been our captain,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            Kirk suppressed a smile, but (Y/N) felt his emotions warm at the idea. “It may be nothing. Garbled communications. You take the ship.”

            “Jim,” said Spock calmly. “You proceed from a false assumption. I’m a Vulcan. I have no ego to bruise.”

            “Neither of us want to be captains for the sake of power. We’re just doing our jobs. We’re ensuring the next generation is capable,” said (Y/N).

            “If we may be so bold…” began Spock “…it was a mistake for you to accept the promotion. Commanding a starship is your first, best destiny. Anything else is a waste of material.”

            “You’re happier as a captain of a starship, too,” said (Y/N). “You’re not…you behind a desk.”

            “I would not presume to debate you,” sighed Kirk. His friends could see him too well.

            “That is wise,” said Spock. “In any case, were I to invoke logic, logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

            “Or the one,” said Kirk and (Y/N) at the same time, familiar with the saying.

            “You are our superior officer,” said Spock.

            “You are also our friend,” said (Y/N).

            “We have been and shall always be yours,” said Spock.

            Kirk smiled, and his worry dampened as the warmth of friendship grew like a glow around him. He had his friends beside him.

l

            Kirk, Spock, and (Y/N) walked onto the Bridge of the Enterprise, expressions serious. Kirk stepped out in front of everyone.

            “Stop energizers,” said Kirk.

            Sulu obeyed. “Stop energizers.”

            “Prepare speakers,” said Kirk. Uhura clicked a button. “An emergency situation has arisen. By order of Starfleet Command, as of now, 1800 hours, I am assuming command of this vessel. Duty officer, note so in ship’s log. Plot new course, for Space Laboratory Regula I.” The announcement ended, and Kirk pressed a comms button. “Engine Room. Scotty.”

            “Aye, sir,” replied Scotty over the intercom.

            “We’ll be going to warp speed,” said Kirk.

            “Aye, sir,” said Scotty.

            “Course plotted for Regula I, Admiral,” reported Sulu.

            “Engage warp engines,” said Kirk. He wasn’t wasting any time.

            “Prepare for warp speed,” said Saavik from the captain’s chair.

            “Ready, sir,” said Sulu.

            Kirk paused and faced all the trainees, the young cadets all gazing at him. “I know that none of you were expecting this. I’m sorry. I’m gonna have to ask you to grow up a little sooner than you expected.” He turned away to Sulu. “Warp five.”

            Sulu quirked a smile. “So much for a little training cruise.”

l

A few hours later…

            “Approaching Regula I, Admiral,” said Sulu.

            “(L/N), status on communications?” said Kirk.

            “No response from Dr. Marcus,” reported (Y/N). “The signal is going through, so the jamming reported earlier is gone. However, there is still no response.” That was more worrisome.

            “There are two possibilities,” said Spock. “They are unable to respond. They are unwilling to respond.”

            (Y/N) nodded grimly.

            “How far?” asked Kirk.

            “Twelve hours and forty-three minutes, present speed,” said Spock.

            Kirk frowned and paced. “ ‘Give up Genesis,’ she said.” Dr. Marcus had spoken vaguely of strange instructions and plans that left Kirk with many questions and no answers. Not only was there the communications mystery, but Regula I’s scientific inquiries were their own mystery. “What in God’s name does that mean? Give it up to whom?”

            “It might help our analysis of the situation if we knew what Genesis was beyond the biblical reference,” said Spock.

            Kirk nodded. “Uhura, have Bones join us in my quarters.”

            “Aye, sir,” said Uhura, buzzing him.

            “Mr. Saavik, you have the conn,” said Kirk. “Spock, (L/N), with me.” They were going to start putting together this mystery so that they faced whatever situation was waiting at Regula I with a proper plan.

l

            “Well, I’ve got the Sickbay ready,” said Bones, strolling into Kirk’s quarters. “Now will someone please tell me what’s going on?” He waved a hand.

            “We’re going to find out ourselves,” said Spock.

            “Kirk got a call from a Dr. Marcus. The communications were being jammed, but she mentioned him—and Starfleet—taking ‘Genesis’ from her and Regula I,” said (Y/N).

            “I hate the science missions. We always end up subjects of some test,” grumbled Bones.

            Gem the Empath, Spock’s brain being taken…Bones might be right, thought (Y/N). Still, when had danger ever stopped them from trying to help people?

            “Computer,” said Kirk. “Request security procedure and access to Project Genesis Summary.”

            “Identify for retina scan,” said the computer.

            Kirk leaned in so that it could scan in. “Kirk, Admiral James T.”

            “Security scan approved,” said the computer.

            “Summary, please,” said Kirk.

            On the viewscreen, Dr. Carol Marcus appeared. “Project Genesis. A proposal to the Federation.”

            “Carol Marcus,” observed Spock.

            “Yes,” said Kirk.

            (Y/N) glanced at him. His emotions grew brighter, especially those of fondness, as he saw her. Huh.

            “What exactly is Genesis?” said Carol. “Well, put simply, Genesis is life from lifelessness. It is a process whereby molecular structure is reorganized at the subatomic level into life-generating matter of equal mass. Stage One of our experiments was conducted in the laboratory. Stage Two of the series will be attempted in a lifeless underground. Stage Three will involve the process on a planetary scale. It is our intention to introduce the Genesis device into the pre-selected area of a lifeless space body, such a moon or other dead form.” Onscreen, a simulation moon appeared, and as her explanation continued, the video demonstrated what the desired result of the experiment would be. “The device is delivered, instantaneously causing what we call the Genesis Effect. Matter is reorganized with life-generating results. Instead of a dead moon, a living, breathing planet, capable of sustaining whatever lifeforms we see fit to deposit on it.”

            (Y/N) blinked in surprise. This would be a technological marvel if it succeeded. The possibilities were endless. Creating life? It would change the course of history.

            “Fascinating!” remarked Spock.

            Onscreen, Carol continued. “The reformed moon simulated here represents the merest fraction of the Genesis potential, should the Federation wish to fund these experiments to their logical conclusion. When we consider the cosmic problems of population and food supply, the usefulness of this process becomes clear. This concludes our proposal. Thank you for your attention.” The recording finished.

            “It literally is Genesis,” said Spock.

            “It’s no biblical allusion; it’s an aspiration,” said (Y/N).

            “The power of creation,” said Kirk in awe.

            “Have they proceeded with their experiment?” said Spock.

            “Well, the tape was made a year ago. I can only assume they’ve reached Stage Two by now,” said Kirk.

            “But, dear Lord, do you think we’re intelligent enough to…” Bones frowned, rightfully concerned about people having such power. In the wrong hands, it could be dangerous. All inventions had good and bad uses. Even generating life could become damaging if the wrong person was allowed to take control of it. “Suppose, what if this thing were used where life already exists?”

            “It would destroy such life in favor of its new matrix,” said Spock, straightforward.

            “It’s new matrix? Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” said Bones, incredulous.

            “I was not attempting to evaluate its moral implications,” said Spock. “As a matter of cosmic history, it has always been easier to destroy than to create.”

            “And any technological advancement can be used for harm if the wrong person got ahold of it,” said (Y/N), nodding. It was a terrible truth that some people would always exist to cause harm, but as long as they were around—and people like them—then they could stand up to those who would hurt others.

            “Fantastic,” said Bones sarcastically. “Now we can destroy and create life in a whole six minutes instead of six days!”

            “Really, Doctor McCoy,” sighed Spock. “You must learn to govern your passions. They will be your undoing.”

            “Logic?” said Bones incredulously. “My God! The man’s talking about logic! We’re talking about universal Armageddon, you green-blooded—”

            “I think that if Regula I has gone offline and someone was worried about Genesis being taken, then we need to worry about all the implications of the use of Genesis,” said (Y/N). “Bad and good. If we don’t know what’s happening, it’s too easy for something to go wrong. It already could be.”

            “Indeed,” said Spock.

            “Of course he’s listening to them,” groaned Bones.

            “Bridge to Admiral Kirk,” said Saavik over the comms.

            Everyone paused in their discussion to listen.

            “Admiral, sensors indicate a vessel in our area, closing fast,” said Saavik.

            “What do you make of her?” asked Kirk.

            “It’s one of ours, Captain. It’s Reliant,” said Saavik.

            “Reliant!” said Kirk.

            “Isn’t that the starship Chekov is stationed on?” said (Y/N).

            “I believe so,” said Spock.

            “Let’s find out what’s going on, then,” said Kirk.

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[theetherealbloom]

THE SILVER LINING - CH. 6

Chapter Six: Show Me Where To Find The Silver Lining

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

Paring: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive!FemReader (Empath)

Warnings: Violence, Age–Gap Romance, Angst, FLUFF, Eventual SMUT, Swearing, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Crying, Suggestive content, Flirting, People pleasing, Flattery, Blood, Blasters, War, Religion References, Aliens, Sith, Character Deaths, Awkward, Plot Holes, Flying, Lava, Character Death, Jetpacks, Canon-Typical violence,

Word Count: 11.3k

A/N: I know… I know… I took so long to update this PLS– I went through several revisions for this… idk this episode just gave me insane writers block for some reason??? Like help???

Song: Home by Good Neighbours

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NEVARRO CANTINA, 9ABY – NOON

You find yourself caught in a tense balance between desperation and determination, surrounded by stormtroopers. Gripping your lightsaber hilt tightly, you stand ready to ignite it at a moment's notice. However, with no backup in sight, the odds of fighting your way out seem insurmountable.

"Is there another way out?" Cara queries Greef Karga, her eyes scanning the perimeter for any possible escape routes.

Greef gestures toward the outside, where stormtroopers are closing in. "No, that's it," he replies grimly.

Din interjects with a suggestion. "What about the sewers?"

Greef Karga's brows knit in confusion. "Sewers?"

"The Mandalorians have a covert down in the sewers. If we can get down there, they can help us escape," Din explains, seeking a potential exit strategy.

"Yeah, sewers are good," Cara agrees, nodding in approval.

You observe as Din manipulates a few buttons on his left armor bracer, causing it to emit a low hum as his visor begins scanning for access points. After a moment, he announces, "Checking for access points."

"What the hell are they waiting for?" Cara mutters, peering outside once more. Through the broken windows, you catch sight of stormtroopers assembling a heavy repeating blaster. Cara's breath catches, "Hold up. They're setting up an E-Web."

"It's over," Greef Karga remarks, a hint of fear evident in his voice.

Din's visor chimes, and he declares, "I found the sewer vent."

"Let's get the hell out of here," Cara urges, moving swiftly. You follow closely behind as she and Din begin tearing apart the furniture, revealing the sewer vent hidden beneath a seat.

The three of you struggle to pry open the sewer vent's panel, emitting frustrated groans as each attempt proves futile.

"It's assembled! How long until that thing's cleared?" Greef Karga's urgency fills the air.

"Blow it," Cara directs Din, her tone commanding.

"I'm out of charges," Din responds, prompting Cara to gesture towards him while she retrieves her heavy blaster. "Get out of the way!" she orders, attempting to blast open the sewer vent without success. Frustration mounts as she hits the unyielding metal gate.

"Your astute panic suggests that you understand your situation," the voice from outside remarks ominously. "I would prefer to avoid any further violence and encourage a moment of consideration."

"Members of my escort have completed assembly of an E-Web heavy repeating blaster. If you are unfamiliar with this weapon, I am sure that Republican Shock Trooper Carasynthia Dune of Alderaan will advise you that she has witnessed many of her ranks vaporize mid-descent facing the predecessor of this particular model," the Imperial Officer adds with malice.

"Or perhaps the decommissioned Mandalorian hunter, Din Djarin," the Imperial Officer's voice resonates with a tone of menace as he utters Din's name. Din takes a subtle step closer to you, his presence offering a silent reassurance amidst the tension. The officer continues, recounting the horrors of the Siege of Mandalore, where gunships armed with devastating ordnance wreaked havoc upon fields of Mandalorian recruits during the Night of a Thousand Tears.

"Or your Force-sensitive medic who wields a lightsaber," the officer's voice takes on a sinister edge as he delves into your past, revealing the painful truth of your master's abandonment. "Her Master had abandoned her, deeming her too dangerous for her own good. Betrayed by false promises of danger, she was cast aside, left to navigate the galaxy alone, while her Master chose another apprentice." The words cut deep, stirring a whirlwind of emotions within you, shame mingling with the ache of betrayal.

You avert your gaze from Din, Cara, and Greef Karga, unable to bear the heaviness of their curious stares. Shame grips your heart, its tendrils clawing at your soul, as the truth of your past is laid bare for all to see.

"I advise disgraced Magistrate Greef Karga to heed the wisdom of his years," the officer's voice echoes through the tense silence, urging surrender. "Lay down your arms and come outside. The structure you are trapped in will be razed shortly, and your storied lives will meet an unceremonious end."

"What do you propose?" Greef Karga's voice holds a hint of skepticism as he humors the Imperial Officer.

"Reasonable negotiation," the officer replies, his tone dripping with calculated confidence. Greef scoffs loudly at the notion, prompting him to question, "What assurance do you offer?"

The officer's response is chillingly blunt. "If you're asking if you can trust me, you cannot. Just as you betrayed our business arrangement, I would gladly break any promise and watch you die at my hand. The assurance I give is this: I will act in my own self-interest, which at this time involves your cooperation and benefit. I will give you until nightfall, and then I will have the E-Web cannon open fire." With those words, he turns and departs, leaving behind a tense silence.

You release a small sigh of relief, though you know it won't last long. There's the ominous menace of the E-Web cannon lingering over you, a constant reminder of how vulnerable you are.

"I say we hear him out," Greef Karga suggests, his tone cautious yet open to the possibility. Cara, meanwhile, shakes her head as she gathers blasters from the fallen stormtroopers scattered across the floor. "The minute we open that door, we're dead," she asserts firmly.

"We're dead if we don't. At least out there, we've got a shot," Greef counters, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of advantage.

Cara remains resolute. "That's easy for you to say. I'm a Rebel Shock Trooper. They'll upload me to a Mind Flayer."

Greef dismisses her concern with a hint of skepticism. "Those aren't real. That was just wartime propaganda."

"I don't care to find out. I'm shooting my way out of here," Cara declares, determination etched in her features.

Turning to you and Din, Greef seeks your input. "What about you two, Mando?"

"I know who he is. It's Moff Gideon," Din asserts, his voice carrying a sound of certainty. You furrow your brow in concern at the mention of the name. Cara freezes in disbelief. "No. Moff Gideon was executed for war crimes."

"It's him. He knew my name," Din explains, his expression grave.

"So? What does that prove?" Greef queries, searching for clarity amidst the confusion.

Your frown deepens as unsettling memories resurface. "I haven't heard that name spoken since I was a child," Din reflects, his tone distant as if retracing fragments of his past.

"On Mandalore?" Greef probes, seeking to understand.

"I was not born on Mandalore," Din reveals, his words tinged with a sense of identity and purpose.

"But you're a Mandalorian," Greef counters, puzzled by the revelation.

"Mandalorian isn't a race," you interject, offering clarification. Din echoes your sentiment. "It's a Creed."

You turn to Din, who stands motionless, his emotions noticeable even without words. Through the Force, you sense the silver streaks of his emotions deepening into a darker shade of grey. His sadness is tangible, a heavy burden weighing on his shoulders. Every ounce of anger and resentment he harbors towards the Empire, towards the droids that razed his village, his home, and his family, is laid bare. You feel the pressure of his baggage and brokenness, the scaffolding of his inner strength straining to support his weary frame.

Blinking, you find yourself immersed in his memories, transported to the horrors of Din's past. The air is thick with the acrid scent of blaster fire and the piercing screams of civilians. You witness the onslaught of battle droids affiliated with the Separatist Alliance during the Clone Wars, their relentless assault claiming innocent lives. Amidst the chaos, Din's parents shield him in a small bunker before succumbing to the explosion that engulfs them.

Tears stream down your face as you watch the young Din, his fear palpable as he braces for the end, only to be saved by a Mandalorian Clan.

"I was a foundling. They raised me in the Fighting Corps," Din's voice breaks through the haze of memories, bringing you back to the present. "I was treated as one of their own. When I came of age, I was sworn to the Creed. The only record of my family name was in the registers of Mandalore. Moff Gideon was an ISB Officer during the purge. That's how I know it's him. That's how he knows who we all are," Din explains.

Standing there, frozen in place, a myriad of questions race through your mind. How did you manage to delve into Din's memories? Every detail felt so vivid, so real. Tears continue to cascade down your face, overwhelmed by both his emotions and your own.

“Cyar’ika?” Din's voice breaks through the haze, distant yet urgent as your head throbs with pain.

A sob escapes your lips, tears welling in your eyes. "You were just a child,” you manage to choke out in your turmoil.

Din approaches, his hands gentle as they settle on your shoulders. You gasp for breath, hyperventilating as sobs wrack your body. "You were a child, scared and alone," you ramble, the words tumbling out incoherently. "I felt it all—your fear, your anger. It consumed you like wildfire, and—”

Din speaks your name softly, his gloved hand lifting your chin to meet his gaze through the visor. Tear-stained and with puffy eyes, you sob as your eyes meet his. He tenderly wipes away your tears, his touch comforting as you lean into it, placing your hand atop his.

"I'm sorry," you manage to choke out amidst the tears.

"It's not…" Din reassures you gently.

You sniffle, "I'm sorry you were alone. That you had to endure all of that by yourself."

His stomach tightens, a knot forming as he observes your distress. Underneath his helmet, his jaw clenches, a familiar frown settling on his face underneath his helmet. He's realized that he dislikes seeing you cry, feeling powerless to solve the problems that cause your tears.

Pulling you close, he envelops you in his arms as you tremble, offering a gentle shushing sound to soothe you. "It was like you were there in my mind and memories—" he begins, his voice soft.

You sniffle, attempting to regain your composure. "Yeah... I… I’m not sure what that was," you admit, shaking your head. "Never mind. We'll deal with that later. Right now, we should focus on getting out of here."

Din reluctantly releases you and takes a step back, addressing the group. "He says he needs us, which means the child got away safely," he informs them. "I was worried when the Ugnaught didn't respond, but if they'd captured the kid, we'd already be dead."

Cara nods and says to Din, “Hail them again.”

"Come in, Kuiil. Kuiil?" Din's voice echoes into the comlink, but there's no response. He shakes his head in frustration. "Nothing."

"They might have jammed the signal," Cara suggests, retrieving her heavy repeating blaster from across the room. Meanwhile, Greef Karga takes a swig from a blue drink.

Suddenly, the comlink beeps, and the sound of the Child cooing fills the room. Then, the mechanical voice of IG-11 follows. "Kuiil has been terminated."

Din's voice grows stern and accusing as he speaks into the comlink. "What did you do?"

"I am fulfilling my primary function," IG-11 responds calmly.

"And what is that?" Din demands.

"To nurse and protect," IG-11 declares with unwavering resoluteness.

A few moments later, the distant sounds of troopers screaming and blaster fire fill the air. "Look!" Cara exclaims, prompting you to peek out through the window. Outside, you witness IG-11 riding through the streets of the settlement, swiftly taking down stormtroopers with his twin blasters. Even a pair of troopers haggling with a local Jawa are not spared from his onslaught. With precision and speed, IG-11 fights his way through Gideon's troops, throwing a speeder bike at them and causing a massive explosion.

"Cover me," Din commands Cara, who responds by shooting through the broken window, taking out more stormtroopers with her repeating blaster. Chaos unfolds all around you, the cacophony of heavy blaster fire echoing throughout Nevarro.

Following Din out of the cantina's door as it hisses open, you find yourself amid the action. Din swiftly disarms a nearby stormtrooper, taking him down with a precise shot through the helmet. You trail closely behind him, activating your lightsaber. Its purple glow commands attention, causing some stormtroopers to hesitate in shock, which you seize upon.

You and Greef Karga join the fray, swiftly dispatching several death troopers. Despite sustaining a hit to his leg, IG-11 valiantly protects the Child and guides it to safety. Meanwhile, Din skillfully operates the E-web heavy repeater blaster cannon, eliminating multiple stormtroopers with deadly accuracy.

A death trooper detonates an explosive, blowing open the cantina's door. Swarms of death troopers flood in, but Cara skillfully guns them down, buying precious moments.

Your attention is drawn to Moff Gideon cornering the Mandalorian, firing a shot that grazes his shoulder. You cry out, "Din!"

Before you can reach him, Moff Gideon aims at a nearby box of ammunition, setting off a powerful explosion. The blast sends you flying backward, your ears ringing from the force. With a shriek, you scramble to your feet, dodging blaster fire with your lightsaber as you rush to the Mandalorian's side. He lies motionless, wounded and vulnerable.

Cara lends you a hand as you haul Din's injured form into the cantina, seeking refuge. With a determined tone, she reassures him, "Stay with me, buddy. We're getting you out of here."

Together, you carefully lay him down in a safe spot, your heart heavy with worry. "Din, please... Hang on," you plead softly, fighting back tears.

Din lets out a weak whimper, and you clutch his gloved hand tightly, offering what comfort you can. "We'll get you out of here, I promise," you vow, hearing Greef persuade IG-11 to aid in their escape by unsealing the grate.

Despite his pain, Din shifts his helmeted gaze to you, his voice strained as he says, "I won't make it. Go."

Tears blur your vision as you shake your head, refusing to accept the inevitable. "No, you'll be fine. We'll get through this," you sob out, your voice quivering with emotion.

Din's voice is strained as he insists, "Leave me." The warmth of his blood seeps through his helmet as you pull back your trembling hand, stained red. But you refuse to give up, determined to save him.

With shaky hands, you reach for the sides of his helmet. "I need to take your helmet off," you say, your voice heavy with urgency.

Din's grip tightens on your wrists as he protests, "No. Leave me. Keep the child safe, Cyar'ika."

Desperation fills your voice as you try to reason with him, "Din, I—" But he cuts you off, his tone firm and resolute.

"No. I don't… want this to be how you see me for the first time," he murmurs, his words strained with pain.

You don't care about appearances; all you want is to keep him alive. "I don't care. I just need you," you plead, tears streaming down your cheeks.

Din reaches for his mythosaur necklace and hands it to you. "Take this," he says weakly. "Show it to the Mandalorian covert. Tell them it's from Din Djarin. You and the foundling were under my protection. They'll help you."

"We can make it. We have to make it… you can't leave me too… please… Din… Let me heal you," you sobbed out, your voice choked with emotion as you held onto him, your frame trembling.

Suddenly, a red-striped incinerator trooper, armed with a flamethrower, approaches the cantina, setting the furniture ablaze through the broken window. With determination, you throw yourself atop Din, shielding him from the flames, before turning back to look at him.

"Oh, Ner cyar'ika," Din murmurs, cupping your face with his gloved hand. You lean into his touch, seeking comfort in his presence.

"I'm not gonna make it, and you know it," Din admits, his voice heavy with resignation. "You protect the child. I can hold them back long enough for you to escape. Let me have a warrior's death."

The finality of his words sends a pang of sorrow through you. "I won't leave you," you protest, your voice wavering.

"This is the Way," Din asserts, his gaze steady behind his visor. You meet his eyes, unable to find the right words to express your emotions. Pressing your forehead against his beskar helmet, you hold onto his gloved hand, which caresses the side of your cheek.

You kiss the small patch of exposed skin on his wrist, feeling the gravity of the moment. Din takes a shaky breath before saying, "Ner cyar'ika, ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."

Before you could even ask what he was saying, the incinerator trooper strides into the cantina, but the Child reacts swiftly, harnessing the Force to deflect the flames back at the trooper, forcing him to retreat. You witness the surge of power emanating from the Child, and instinctively extend your own hand, aiding in redirecting the flames away from your group.

As the trooper is driven back, the Child's tiny form slumps in exhaustion, overwhelmed by the effort. Just then, IG-11 kicks open the grate, signaling an opportunity for escape as the flames around you is all consuming and melting.

“Come on! It's open, let's go!” Greef Karga's urgent voice echoes through the chaos.

“Go. Cy’are, go,” Din insists, his tone heavy with resolve.

“We have to move! Now!” Greef Karga urges, as IG-11 helps clear the way, lifting the Child with care.

You remain rooted in place, torn between staying with Din and fleeing to safety. The metallic footsteps of IG-11 approach, and the droid's voice breaks through the turmoil. “Escape and protect this child. I will stay with the Mandalorian,” it declares, passing the sleeping Child into your arms.

Meeting the droid's gaze, you plead, “Promise me you'll bring him. Please.”

“You have my word,” IG-11 assures you, and you exchange a final glance with Din. With a heavy heart, you press your forehead to his helmet and whisper, “I need you. Maker, I want you, please… come back to me.”

Before he can respond, Cara pulls you away, guiding you into the tunnels below alongside Greef Karga, the force of uncertainty settling heavily upon you.

Din's mind drifts, overwhelmed by the scorching heat and his own exhaustion. In his haze, he sees IG-11 approaching, a stark reminder of his past and the deep-rooted trauma it carries. Through the chaos, thoughts of you, his beloved Cyar'ika, provide a fleeting sense of solace. Objects tumble in the inferno's blaze, a testament to the chaos engulfing them.

“Do it,” Din gruffly commands, his head throbbing from the impact, blood trickling down his neck.

“Do what?” IG-11 inquires, its mechanical voice cutting through the loud burning flames surrounding them.

“Just get it over with. I'd rather you kill me than some Imp,” Din asserts, his words tinged with bitter honesty. Once, he would have faced this without hesitation. But you changed everything, and now his only regret is not kissing you, not feeling the warmth of your lips against his.

“I told you. I am no longer a hunter. I am a nurse droid,” IG-11 states.

“IGs are all hunters,” Din grumbles, his frustration evident.

The droid pauses before responding, “Not this one. I was reprogrammed. I need to remove your helmet if I am to save you.”

Din's grip tightens on his blaster, his voice dripping with threat, “Try it and I'll end you.” He struggles to breathe, teeth clenched, “It is forbidden. No living thing has seen me without my helmet since I swore the Creed.”

"I am not a living thing," IG-11 states plainly, the truth evident in his words.

With a hiss and a click, the mechanical hands of the IG-11 droid lift Din's helmet. His heart beats heavily in his chest as he awaits what comes next.

"This is a bacta spray. It will heal you in a matter of hours," IG-11 explains as it sprays the upper part of Din's head. "You have suffered damage to your central processing unit."

"You mean my brain?" Din quips.

IG-11 tilts its head. "That was a joke. It is meant to put you at ease."

Din stifles a chuckle. In that moment, he realizes he still has hope. Despite his weariness and desire to depart, he closes his eyes briefly, thinking of you. The thought of needing you pushes him forward. Determined, he knows no grave can hold his body down; he'll find a way back to you, whatever it takes.

There is so much love in your body that you can't hold it in; it pours from your eyes and spills from your skin. As you cradle the Child closer to your chest, muffled explosions echo from above.

An ache settles between your ribs—a yearning for a different destiny and the resilience to keep hoping for a better outcome. You cling to the hope that Din will be alright.

A louder explosion echoes through the tunnels, causing you, Greef Karga, and Cara Dune to spin around. Cara’s flashlight cuts through the darkness, revealing the source of the noise. The heavy footsteps draw closer, and soon, you spot IG-11’s silhouette—along with the glimmer of silver beskar you’ve come to cherish so deeply.

Without thinking, you rush forward, your heart pounding as you reach Din. He’s still unsteady, clearly feeling the effects of his concussion, but he’s alive. Relief floods your chest as you pass the Child to IG-11, and you throw your arms around Din’s neck, tears streaming down your face. 

“Oh, thank the Maker,” you whisper, your voice trembling with emotion.

His arms wrap around your waist, his leather gloves squeezing you tightly as if grounding himself in your presence. You slide one arm over your shoulder, determined to help him walk.

“I got you,” you murmur, holding him close as you guide him through the dimly lit tunnels.

As you continue down the darkened tunnels, Din leans heavily against you, each step a struggle against the pain that wracks his body. Greef Karga glances around, uncertainty evident in his voice as he asks, "Do you know which way to go?"

Din grunts in response, his voice strained. "No. I don't know these tunnels. I've only entered from the bazaar." His words are clipped, every syllable laced with discomfort.

Greef Karga presses on, trying to find a solution. "Well, if we get the smell of sulfur and follow it, it'll lead us up to the plains where the river flows."

Din's voice cuts through the dark, gruff and insistent. "And the Imps will catch us before we make it to the ship. We need the Mandalorians to escort us to safety."

Your group presses on, delving deeper into the labyrinth of tunnels with each step. The air grows thicker, and the walls seem to close in as the tension between you mounts.

"Ugh, this place is a maze," Cara groans, her voice filled with frustration as she surveys the endless twists and turns.

"Stop. I can stand," Din says, his voice firm despite the strain. He removes his arm from your shoulder, and you give him a hopeful look, noticing the determination in his voice. IG-11 assesses his condition and confirms, "The bacta infusion is working."

Din nods, his determination solidifying. "I'll try to find tracks." He moves forward, the beam of light from his helmet cutting through the darkness. His gaze is focused, scanning the ground carefully. Then, he spots something and points to the left, leading the group as he says, "We're close. Turn here."

The group follows Din's lead, the tunnel narrowing as the beam of light from the flashlights dances across the walls. As you round the corner, a chilling dread settles deep in your bones. The covert lies ahead, but instead of the safety you hoped for, you’re greeted by a harrowing sight—helmets and armor, scattered and lifeless, marking the final resting place of countless fallen Mandalorians.

Din’s steps falter as he enters the covert, his helmet’s light switching off with a click. The darkness seems heavier here, pressing in on him from all sides. Slowly, warily, he moves forward, his exhaustion evident in every sluggish step. Kneeling beside the fallen, his head bows in silent mourning.

He reaches out, picking up one of the broken helmets, its once-proud beskar now marred and empty. You see it in waves of dark grey and sharp silver, a storm of anger and grief brews within him, coiling tightly in his stomach, a heavy silence hanging in the air around him.

You kneel beside him, your presence a tentative but necessary comfort. Din grasps your hand, holding on as if it’s the only thing keeping him from being swallowed by the void. His fingers tighten around yours, the touch grounding him, allowing him to feel something—anything—beyond the pain and loss.

Cara steps forward, her voice calm but insistent. "We should go."

Din's response is immediate, his voice low and gravelly, tinged with grief and fury. "You go. Take the ship. I can't leave it this way." His head snaps to the side, anger flaring as he locks eyes with Greef Karga through his vizor. "Did you know about this? Is this the work of your bounty hunters?"

Greef Karga scoffs, shaking his head. "No. When you left the system and took the prize, the fighting ended, and the hunters just melted away. You know how it is. They're mercenaries. They're not zealots."

Din grinds his teeth, his jaw clenched tight. The emotions rolling off him are palpable, a storm barely contained. He pulls away from you, the warmth of his touch replaced by the cold fury radiating from him as he steps forward, shoving a finger into Greef Karga’s chest. "Did you do this? Did you?"

Before Greef can respond, a new voice cuts through the tension, calm and authoritative. "No. It was not his fault."

All of you turn toward the source of the voice, a female Mandalorian stepping out from the shadows. She is clad in red armor, her gold helmet adorned with a series of horns that curve across the top. This must be the Armorer, the one who forged Din's beskar. The way she carries herself, with quiet strength and wisdom, leaves no doubt.

You rise to your feet, your eyes widening as you sense a powerful aura emanating from her, a blend of gold and red. Through the Force, you glimpse her true nature—patient, wise, and unwaveringly strong.

The Armorer surveys the fallen armor strewn across the covert, her voice measured and steady. "We revealed ourselves. We knew what could happen if we left the covert. The Imperials arrived shortly thereafter. This is what resulted." She lifts a piece of beskar armor from the pile, her tone resigned, as though she is stating a simple fact.

Din’s voice is strained as he asks, "Did any survive?"

The Armorer places the piece of armor onto a cart already laden with salvaged beskar. "I hope so. Some may have escaped off-world."

"Come with us," Din urges, but the Armorer shakes her head, picking up another helmet and adding it to her cart.

"No. I will not abandon this place until I have salvaged what remains," she replies firmly, her choice unshakable.

You watch as she begins to push the hovering cart away, and without hesitation, Din follows her, leaving the rest of you to trail behind. The path leads you to the heart of the covert—the Armorer's forge, a place of deep significance. The air here is thick with the importance of history and tradition, the forge itself a symbol of the Mandalorians' resilience and strength.

You take in your surroundings, noting the tools neatly arranged, the forge at the center, glowing faintly with embers, the table where beskar is shaped and molded, and the computer panel displaying holographic schematics of Mandalorian armor. Every detail speaks of the care and precision that goes into crafting the armor that defines a Mandalorian, a testament to their way of life.

The cryo-furnace burns brightly in the center of the forge, casting flickering shadows across the room. You watch as the Armorer, with practiced precision, uses a pair of magnetic tongs to lift a beskar chest plate. The metal sizzles and hisses as she dips it into the molten pool of the furnace, transforming solid beskar into liquid. Her voice is calm, yet it carries the tone of command. “Show me the one whose safety deemed such destruction.”

IG-11 steps forward, the Child sitting quietly in the brown backpack strapped to the droid’s chest. Din speaks, his voice steady, though tinged with reverence. “This is the one.”

The Armorer steps closer, her gaze fixed on the small creature. “This is the one that you hunted, then saved?”

Din nods, his response curt but sincere. “Yes. The one that saved me as well.”

The Armorer tilts her helmet slightly as she continues, “From the mudhorn?”

“Yes,” Din confirms, his voice clipped as he remembers the near-fatal encounter.

“It looks helpless,” she observes, her tone more curious than judgmental.

The Child coos softly in response, its large ears folding back as if understanding the conversation. Din shifts slightly, protective instincts kicking in as he explains, “It's injured, but it is not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind.”

The Armorer nods thoughtfully, her tone reverent as she recalls ancient lore. “I know of such things. The songs of eons past tell of battles between Mandalore the Great and an order of sorcerers called Jedi, who wielded such powers.”

You stiffen at the mention of the Jedi, memories of old texts and scrolls you once studied flashing through your mind. Din instinctively steps forward, positioning himself slightly in front of you, a subtle yet protective gesture. You can't help but ask, your voice shaky with uncertainty, “Is it an enemy?”

The Armorer regards the Child, then turns her attention to you, her gaze thoughtful beneath the gold helmet. “No. Its kind were enemies, but this individual is not.” She pauses, her head tilting slightly as she studies you with a depth that makes your heart race. “Including her.”

“I… How…” you stammer, the words tangled in your throat as you struggle to comprehend her meaning.

The Armorer’s voice is patient, her words measured. “You are different. The Force flows through you as well, though not as it does through the Child. But you are not our enemy.”

Din glances at you, his expression unreadable behind his helmet, but you can feel his concern and confusion.  The importance of this information is nearly too much for you to take, even while you strain to find your words. Even while you know that everything has shifted in this instant, the armorer carries on with her task, undisturbed, as if she has spoken nothing unusual.

Din watches as the Armorer opens a cabinet, her movements precise and deliberate. The flickering light from the cryo-furnace casts long shadows on the walls, the heat radiating from the molten beskar filling the room. "What is it?" Din asks, his voice low and gravelly, filled with the sudden push of responsibility he’s not yet ready to accept.

The Armorer doesn’t look up from her work as she replies, her tone measured and authoritative. "It is a foundling. By Creed, it is in your care."

The Child, nestled safely in the brown backpack, gurgles softly, its wide eyes shifting between you and Din, as if sensing the gravity of the moment.

Din glances down at the Child, confusion and uncertainty lacing his words as he gestures towards the small creature. "You wish me to train this thing?"

The Armorer continues her work, her focus unbroken as she dips the simmering ladle with the liquid beskar, pouring it with precision onto her workbench. "It is too weak," she states plainly. "It would die. You have no choice. You must reunite it with its own kind."

Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, his mind racing with the implications of her words. You stand beside him, feeling the sudden new responsibility settle over both of you. The Child stares up at you both with innocent eyes, unaware of the storm brewing within the Mandalorian’s heart.

"Where?" Din asks, his voice strained with the weariness of the unknown.

The Armorer hums thoughtfully, her focus never wavering from her task. "This, you must determine."

Din feels frustration bubbling up inside him. He gestures helplessly at the Child. "You expect me to search the galaxy for the home of this creature and deliver it to a race of enemy sorcerers?" His words rush out, sharp and biting, and you can’t help but wince, though you know the remark wasn’t directed at you.

The Armorer remains unfazed, her hammer striking the beskar with rhythmic precision. "This is the Way," she remarks, her tone calm and resolute, as if the creed alone should be enough to calm his doubts.

Din’s eyes soften under his helmet, realizing the harshness of his words. He turns to you, taking your hand gently in his. "I apologize, Cy’are," he mumbles, his voice laden with regret.

You offer him a reassuring smile, squeezing his hand lightly. "I know," you reply softly, understanding his distress. He didn’t mean to hurt you.

The Armorer, ever observant, takes note of your interaction as she continues her work. The clang of metal against metal fills the silence until Cara speaks up, her tone practical and urgent. "Hey. These tunnels will be lousy with Imps in a matter of minutes. We should at least discuss an escape plan."

The Armorer pauses her hammering, then turns slightly toward the group. "If you follow the descending tunnel, it will lead you to the underground river. It flows downstream toward the lava flats."

Greef Karga looks to Din, concern creasing his brow. "I think we should go," he suggests, the tension evident in his voice.

Din, however, remains resolute. "I'm staying. I need to help her, and I need to heal," he replies firmly, his gaze locking with yours.

You meet his determination with your own. "I’m not leaving you," you state with unwavering conviction. 

The Armorer picks up her magnetic tongs and a circular pan, her voice steady as she addresses you both. "You must go. Your Riduur and the foundling are in your care. By Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father."

The Child coos softly, sensing the affection and bond between you, Din, and itself. The Armorer, acknowledging this bond, turns to Din with a quiet reverence. "This is the Way."

The Armorer steps forward with quiet precision, affixing a signet to Din's pauldron. The emblem gleams in the dim light of the forge, its magnitude both physical and symbolic as it signifies the new identity bestowed upon him. She pauses for a moment, allowing the significance to settle in before she speaks, her voice steady and authoritative.

"You have earned your Signet. For now… you are a clan of two," she declares, her tone interim, as though the value of the galaxy itself rests on this moment.

The words barely register in your mind, their meaning lost as you stand beside Din. Your gaze is fixed on him, watching the way his posture straightens slightly, the way his head dips just a fraction in acknowledgment.

"Thank you," Din says, his voice rough with emotion but steady. "I will wear this with honor."

The forge's flames flicker, casting warm, wavering light on the scene, as Din steps back, the signet glinting on his pauldron—a mark of pride, responsibility, and the bond that ties the two of you together in this perilous galaxy.

The rumble of muffled explosions grows louder, each one sending vibrations through the walls of the covert. Instinctively, your group turns toward the source of the sound, tension tightening in your chest. Greef Karga’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp with urgency. “We should go,” he insists, his eyes darting between the shadows of the tunnel.

The Armorer, however, remains unflinching. She turns to IG-11 and then to you, her voice calm but commanding. “IG and the Jedi,” she begins, and before you can correct her misunderstanding, she continues, “please guard the outer hallway. A scouting party draws near.”

Without hesitation, the IG unit steps forward. It moves to Cara, gently handing the Child over to her. The soldier, caught off guard, stammers, “Hang on. I don't do the baby thing.”

The Child coos softly, and you exchange a quick, knowing glance with Cara, a slight shrug of your shoulders conveying that there’s little choice in the matter. Without another word, you follow the IG unit as it strides purposefully towards the outer hallway. The air grows colder, and the sound of your footsteps echoes against the narrow walls as you leave the others behind.

Just before you’re out of earshot, you hear the Armorer's voice, calm and steady as ever. “I have a few more gifts for your journey. Have you trained in the Rising Phoenix?”

Din looks down at the gleaming silver beskar Z-6 Jetpack in his hands, his breath catching slightly in his throat. “When I was a boy,” he says, his voice thick with the load of memories. “Yes.”

The Armorer’s voice is calm, almost reverent as she holds the jetpack. “Then this will make you complete,” she declares, a solemnity in her tone that acknowledges the significance of the moment.

Din’s voice wavers as he accepts the gift. “Thank you.”

She steps behind him, carefully attaching the Z-6 Jetpack to his back, her movements precise and steady. “When you have healed,” she instructs, “you will begin your drills. Until you know it, it will not listen to your commands.”

Din feels the weight of the jetpack settle onto his shoulders, its presence both reassuring and daunting. He nods, his determination hardening, his voice steady as he replies, "I understand." The words are a quiet promise, a vow to honor the gift he has been given.

The Armorer pauses for a moment, her gaze steady on him. "One other thing," she begins, her tone shifting slightly, "your Riduur… I assume you’re courting her."

The question hits Din like a bolt, and he feels a flush rise beneath his helmet, heat spreading across his skin. He’s never been one for public confrontations, especially not about something so deeply personal. The silence stretches, thick with unspoken emotions, as he struggles for a response.

But the Armorer doesn’t need words to understand. She reads the tension in his posture, the hesitation in his voice, and she nods, accepting his silence as confirmation. Without another word, she turns to her cabinet, her movements measured and precise. From within, she retrieves a smaller version of the Mudhorn signet, its surface polished to a gleaming finish. She hands it to him with the same solemnity that she had with the jetpack.

"You are aware of the customs?" she asks, her voice carrying the value of tradition.

Din takes the signet, its cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth flooding his chest. He slips it into his pocket, the significance of the gesture not lost on him. 

"Yes," he replies, his voice firm, yet laced with an undercurrent of emotion he rarely lets slip.

The Armorer inclines her head, satisfied with his answer. "This is the Way," she intones, her words both a reminder and a benediction.

Din nods, the phrase echoing in his mind. "This is the Way," he repeats, the words a binding promise, not just to himself, but to you as well. 

Meanwhile, in the outer hallway, you and the IG-11 unit stand alert. The sound of approaching stormtroopers reverberates through the tunnels, a familiar and unwelcome echo. Your hand instinctively reaches for the hilt of your lightsaber, and with a flick, it ignites, casting a purple glow across the darkened corridor. The Force flows through you, heightening your senses as you prepare for the oncoming assault.

Blaster fire erupts, red bolts streaking toward you, but you remain calm, centered. Your lightsaber hums as you deflect each shot with precision, the bolts ricocheting back at the stormtroopers, sending them sprawling—some injured, others unconscious.

Beside you, IG-11 methodically takes down those that remain standing. The droid’s movements are efficient, calculated. As the last of the stormtroopers fall, you and IG-11 exchange a glance. The droid peers around the corner, scanning for further threats, then turns to you and states matter-of-factly, “You are protected.”

"More will come. You must go," the Armorer states with quiet authority as you and IG-11 reenter the forge. The heat from the cryo-furnace pulses through the room, a stark contrast to the cold dread gnawing at the edges of your thoughts.

Din turns to her, his voice firm with concern. “Come with us.”

The Armorer shakes her head with a firm tenacity. “My place is here. Restock your munitions,” she instructs, her voice steady as she gestures toward the scattered supplies.

She turns to the IG unit, handing Din’s newly earned jetpack into its mechanical grasp. “IG, carry this for Din Djarin until he is well enough to wear it.”

The droid nods in silent compliance, securing the jetpack carefully within its arms. Din methodically restocks his ammunition, his focus sharp despite the tension humming through the air.

“Now, go. Down to the river and across the plains. Be safe on your journey,” the Armorer commands, her voice carrying the weight of finality.

Din takes your hand in his, the leather of his glove warm against your skin. There’s a moment of unspoken understanding between you, the bond you share more palpable than ever in the face of the unknown. He turns to the tunnels, not dropping your hand, and with a quiet nod to the Armorer, he says, “Thank you.”

The two of you head into the darkness, leaving the forge and its fierce protector behind, every step forward a testament to the resilience that binds you.

You emerge from one of the tunnels and are immediately greeted by the sight of a large, bubbling river of hot lava, its fiery surface sending waves of heat toward you. The glow casts an eerie, red light on everyone’s faces, highlighting the tension in the air.

“This is the lava river,” Greef Karga announces, his voice filled with a mix of awe and urgency.

You and Din move closer to the boat docked on the riverbank, its hull crewed by a battered and seemingly inoperative ferry droid. Din assesses the damage, his gaze narrowing as he comments, “The ferry droid is fried.”

Greef Karga steps forward, his practical mind already formulating a plan. “Yeah, but if we push the boat out, we can get it to float downstream. Come on,” he says, placing his hands on the boat’s edge and beginning to shove.

Din continues his inspection of the boat, noticing its age and the wear that time has inflicted. “Looks old. Will it take the heat?” he asks, skepticism lacing his tone.

“You got a better idea?” Greef Karga shoots back, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

Din shrugs, resigning himself to the situation. “Guess not.”

With a shared grunt of effort, the two men push against the boat, muscles straining as they try to dislodge it from the platform. But the boat stubbornly remains stuck, the dried lava around it acting as an anchor. Frustration mounts as Din groans and gives the boat a frustrated kick, before grabbing a metal paddle to try and pry it free—still to no avail.

Cara Dune watches their struggle with a growing sense of impatience, finally rolling her eyes before stepping forward. “You guys mind getting out of the way?” she says, her tone dripping with exasperation.

Din and Greef Karga step aside as Cara levels her blaster at the boat. With a few well-aimed shots, she blasts away the dried lava, freeing the boat from its fiery mooring. 

“Oh! Good job,” Greef Karga praises, a hint of relief in his voice as the boat begins to shift and move.

Without hesitation, the group clambers aboard the small ferry, the heat of the molten lava almost unbearable as IG-11 issues a warning, “Watch your feet. It's molten lava.”

“No kidding,” Cara mutters, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she settles into the boat.

A tense silence falls over the group, broken only by the sudden electrical humming coming from the droid. Instinctively, Din, Cara, and Greef Karga draw their blasters, aiming them at the ferry droid as it begins to come to life. You stand back, watching as the droid chirps at you, its mechanical sounds echoing in the small space.

Din breaks the silence, his voice wary. “I don't suppose anybody here speaks droid?”

IG-11 steps in, his tone calm as he translates, “I believe he is asking where we would like to go.”

Greef Karga, still eyeing the droid with skepticism, eventually responds, “Downriver. To the lava flat.”

The ferry droid chirps rhythmically, as if in agreement, and with a mechanical whir, it begins to row the boat down the river. Your group holsters their blasters as the ferry glides smoothly over the molten surface, the droid content to fulfill its purpose, and the group can’t help but share a moment of quiet relief as they continue their journey downstream.

You quietly move next to Din, the tension in the air thick enough to feel, but neither of you speaks. Your eyes are fixed on the faint light at the end of the tunnel, the only sign of hope in this dark, foreboding place. You can feel the weight of everything that has happened pressing down on you, yet you hold on to the flicker of hope that you’ll find a way out of this.

Out of the corner of your eye, you glance at Din. The Force gently tugs at your senses, and you’re drawn to the swirl of emotions radiating from him in a kaleidoscope of colors. Where once there were dark, muted grays of pain and uncertainty, you now see lighter tones beginning to emerge, a sign that he’s slowly regaining his center after the injury that had shaken him so deeply.

Din turns his head to look at you, and you meet his gaze, staring back at him through the dark visor of his helmet. Though his face is hidden, you’ve always had a way of seeing through that thick, impenetrable black visor, straight to the heart of the man underneath. It’s a connection that runs deeper than words, a silent understanding that passes between you. 

A shiver runs up Din’s spine, the feeling of being so deeply understood and seen by you, even through the beskar, is both grounding and unsettling in its intimacy. He’s never quite sure how you do it, how you manage to see him so clearly despite the layers of armor he wears.

Neither of you speaks, the silence stretching on as the moment lingers between you. Eventually, you’re the first to break the gaze, taking a small step closer to him. You rest your head gently on his shoulder, the cool metal of his beskar pauldron pressing against your forehead. It’s a simple gesture, but one filled with a depth of comfort and connection that words could never convey.

Maker. The thought flickers through Din’s mind, almost as a prayer. He wonders what he ever did to deserve you, to be within your orbit. He’s lived his life in the shadows, never expecting to find someone who could see him so completely. And yet, here you are. He holds out a silent prayer to the universe, hoping for the strength to keep you with him, to protect you, to not let this fragile connection slip through his fingers.

The light at the end of the tunnel grows closer, but for now, you both find solace in this small, shared moment.

As the droid methodically rows the hoverboat down the molten lava river, the rhythmic sound of metal scraping against stone echoes softly through the tunnel. The eerie glow of the lava illuminates the cavernous space, casting flickering shadows on the walls. Occasionally, small, skittish mammals dart along the riverbanks, their eyes glowing in the dim light before they disappear into the darkness.

The boat glides steadily toward the mouth of the tunnel, where a faint light shines like a beacon of hope. The group remains tense, but as you approach the entrance, Greef Karga’s voice breaks through the tension with a burst of optimism. He points eagerly at the light, his voice filled with relief. “That’s it! We’re free!”

But Din doesn’t share Karga’s optimism. His instincts prickling, he taps a button on the side of his helmet, switching to thermal imaging. The world around him shifts into shades of red and blue, revealing what the naked eye cannot see.

“No,” Din’s voice cuts through the brief moment of hope, a grim tone to his words. “No, we’re not.” His gaze remains fixed on the entrance, his thermal vision picking up the heat signatures of countless figures lying in wait. “Stormtroopers. They’re flanking the mouth of the tunnel.”

You glance at Din, the unease in his voice sending a chill down your spine. He continues, his voice a low, measured tone as he counts the figures. “It looks like an entire platoon. They must know we’re coming.”

The tension in the air thickens as the boat continues to drift closer to the tunnel’s exit, the light growing brighter but more ominous with every passing second.

“Stop the boat,” Cara orders sharply, turning toward the ferry droid. “Hey, Droid, I said stop the boat.”

The droid only responds with a series of unintelligible chirps, its programming unable to process the urgency in her voice. Frustration tightens Cara’s expression, and without hesitation, she unholsters her blaster, her voice rising with authority. “Hey! I'm talking to you. I said stop!”

A single shot rings out, and the droid’s head is blasted clean off, leaving it a lifeless hunk of metal. The boat continues to drift forward, unaffected by the loss of its pilot. The Child whimpers at the sudden noise, and Cara immediately softens, trying to soothe him with a gentle, “Shh, it’s okay.”

Greef Karga eyes the boat as it glides along the river, still propelled by the momentum it had before the droid was destroyed. “We’re still moving,” he notes grimly.

Cara scans the tunnel ahead, her face hardening as she realizes there’s no stopping now. “Looks like we fight,” she declares, steeling herself for the confrontation.

But Din shakes his head, his voice low and steady. “There are too many.”

Cara’s eyes flash with defiance as she snaps back, “Then what do you suggest? 'Cause I can't surrender.”

Before anyone else can speak, IG-11 interjects, its voice calm and resolute. “They will not be satisfied with anything less than the Child. This is unacceptable. I will eliminate the enemy and you will escape.”

Din scoffs, unable to hide his skepticism. “You don’t have that kind of firepower, pal. You wouldn’t even get to daylight.”

But IG-11’s response is cold and matter-of-fact. “That is not my objective.”

A heavy silence follows as everyone processes the meaning behind the droid’s words. Din’s jaw clenches beneath his helmet, understanding dawning painfully in his mind.

Cara quickly hands you the Child, her eyes flicking to the tunnel ahead. “We’re getting close. Saddle up,” she says, her tone brisk and focused as she readies her blaster, preparing for the inevitable fight.

The tension is palpable as IG-11’s voice cuts through the air with a calm finality. “I still have the security protocols from my manufacturer. If my designs are compromised, I must self-destruct.”

Din takes a step forward, disbelief and frustration tightening his voice. “What are you talking about?”

The droid remains composed, its mechanical tone unyielding. “I am not permitted to be captured. I must be destroyed.”

Greef Karga’s voice slices through the conversation, sharp and urgent. “Are we gonna keep talking, or get out of here?”

Ignoring the interruption, IG-11 turns and hands the jetpack to Din. “I can no longer carry this for you. Nor can I watch over the Child.”

Din’s emotions churn beneath his helmet, a mixture of confusion and reluctant attachment rising to the surface. For someone who’s always hated droids for what they did to his planet, this particular one has proven itself different. The words tumble out, almost desperate. “Wait. You can’t self-destruct. Your base command is to protect the Child.”

Din’s voice softens, a note of pleading seeping in. “That supersedes your manufacturer’s protocol, right? Right?”

There’s a brief pause, as if the droid is processing his question. “This is correct.”

Relief flickers across Din’s features, even if hidden beneath the beskar. “Good. Now grab a blaster and help us shoot our way out.”

But IG-11 remains resolute, its next words heavy with certainty. “Victory through combat is impossible. We will be captured. The Child will be lost. Sadly, there is no scenario where the Child is saved, in which I survive.”

Din’s frustration mounts, his mind racing for another solution, any solution. “Listen, you’re not going anywhere. We need you. Let’s just… come up with a—”

But the droid cuts him off, its tone firm yet gentle. “Please tell me the Child will be safe in your care. If you do so, I can default to my secondary command.”

Din looks up at the droid, his voice low, almost anguished. “But you’ll be destroyed.”

IG-11 responds without hesitation. “And you will live, and I will have served my purpose.”

“No. We need you,” Din insists, his voice growing tighter, a rare crack in his stoic exterior. The droid’s next words hit him harder than any blaster shot. “There is nothing to be sad about. I have never been alive.”

Din, ever defensive, tries to mask his emotions. “I’m not sad.”

But the droid sees through him, as it was programmed to do. “Yes, you are. I’m a nurse droid. I’ve analyzed your voice.”

You watch the exchange, your heart heavy with the truth of what’s about to happen. Tears well up in your eyes, the reality sinking in that this droid, one that had grown to mean something to you all, is about to sacrifice itself. It’s a loss none of you are truly ready for, but deep down, you know it’s the only way.

The Child coos softly in your arms, its large eyes full of trust as it peers up at you. IG-11 pauses, glancing at the small creature, and then gently pats its ears in a gesture that almost feels… affectionate. A farewell, perhaps. You feel the sting of sorrow as the droid steps away, its purpose clear. 

Without another word, IG-11 hops off the boat and into the bubbling lava, the searing heat beginning to eat away at its metal frame. Greef Karga’s voice breaks the silence, tinged with confusion and a hint of alarm. “IG? What are you doing?”

The droid doesn’t respond, just continues its slow, deliberate march through the molten river, its body gradually melting, limbs faltering as it nears the mouth of the tunnel. Beyond, the light filters through, revealing the stormtroopers waiting, their blasters raised, ready to fire. But they hesitate, unsure of the droid’s intent.

Reaching the river’s end, IG-11 speaks, its voice unwavering, almost serene. “Manufacturer’s protocol dictates I cannot be captured.”

The sound of a pulse begins, low and rhythmic, a countdown to the inevitable. “I must be destroyed,” IG-11 states, its words a final goodbye.

And then, with a blinding flash, the droid detonates, the explosion erupting like a fiery inferno. The stormtroopers don’t even have time to react before they’re consumed by the blast. Their screams echo briefly before being snuffed out, leaving only silence in its wake. The fiery eruption floods the tunnel’s entrance, scattering debris and molten rock, neutralizing the entire platoon in an instant.

As the dust and flames settle, the path ahead clears. The way to the plains is open, and for a moment, all is still. The sacrifice of IG-11 rings heavy in the air, its selflessness ensuring the Child’s safety, and allowing you, Din, and the others to move forward—alive, but forever changed.

You finally emerge from the tunnels, the cool air of the open plains a sharp contrast to the oppressive heat of the lava river. For a fleeting moment, there's a sense of relief—until you hear the ominous roar of an engine in the distance. Your gaze snaps upward, just as Cara shouts, “Moff Gideon!”

Above, the silhouette of the Outland TIE fighter cuts across the sky, its distinct scream echoing through the air. Gideon’s fighter dives down, strafing your group with blaster fire. Instinctively, you ignite your lightsaber, the purple blade humming to life as you deflect the incoming shots, sending them harmlessly into the dirt. Din, Cara, and Greef Karga return fire with their blasters, but the bolts ricochet off the TIE fighter’s armored hull, doing little to slow its assault.

As the TIE fighter pulls up for another pass, Greef Karga shouts, “He missed!”

Din doesn’t look away from the sky, his voice grim. “He won't next time.”

Cara lowers her blaster, frustration etched on her face. “Our blasters are useless against him.”

Greef Karga, desperation creeping into his tone, glances at the Child in your arms. “Let's make the baby do the magic hand thing!” He turns to the Child, wiggling his fingers as if trying to coax a response. “Come on, baby! Do the magic hand thing!”

The Child stares up at him with wide, innocent eyes, cooing softly, clearly not understanding what Greef Karga is asking. The moment hangs in the air, the absurdity of the situation clashing with the deadly reality of the threat above.

Greef Karga sighs, “I'm out of ideas.”

Din's chest rises and falls as he takes a deep breath, his thoughts racing for a solution. There isn’t much time—Gideon’s TIE fighter is already banking around, preparing for another attack run. The fighter’s engines scream through the air as it turns, ready to strike.

“I’m not,” Din mutters, almost to himself, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. His voice is quiet but filled with purposefulness.

“Here he comes!” Cara shouts, urgency clear in her voice.

Without another word, Din moves with purpose, strapping the jetpack firmly onto his back. You can see the determination in his movements, each one precise, no hesitation. He checks the pack one last time, then ignites it, the blue flames roaring to life with a sharp hiss. The blast from the jetpack propels him skyward, and you watch as he rockets toward the incoming TIE fighter, becoming a streak of silver against the dusky sky.

The TIE fighter roars closer, and in a daring move, Din launches his grappling cable, the wire streaking through the air with a sharp whizz. The hook latches onto the wing of the TIE, yanking Din with it as it surges forward.

Your heart skips a beat as you watch him hold tight to the cable, the wind whipping around him, the ground a blur beneath. The TIE fighter dips and rolls, trying to shake him loose, but Din’s grip is ironclad. With each twist and turn, he inches closer to the cockpit, his movements precise, driven by sheer will.

Unable to force his way into the cockpit with his blaster, Din quickly tries to plant a detonator on the hull of the TIE fighter. But Moff Gideon sees the attempt and executes a sharp maneuver, causing the detonator to slip from its intended position and tumble away. Din barely manages to keep his grip as the ship veers wildly, but he’s not done yet. He moves with quick precision, planting a second detonator on the left wing joint. 

You watch from below, heart pounding, as Din releases his hold on the fighter. For a moment, he’s just a speck in the sky, free-falling as the detonator flashes red. Then, with a brilliant explosion, the TIE’s wing disintegrates, sending the ship spiraling out of control. The wreckage hurtles toward the ground, crashing in a fiery plume on the plains beyond.

Din activates his jetpack just in time, the blue thrusters flaring as he regains control of his descent. He lands hard, stumbling slightly as he adjusts to the new weight on his back. But he’s safe, standing tall, smoke rising in the distance where Gideon’s ship went down.

You disengage your lightsaber, the purple blade retracting with a sharp hiss, and holster it at your side. As you pass the Child to Cara, she cradles him protectively, her expression softening for a brief moment before returning to her usual stout-heartedness.

Without hesitation, you sprint toward Din, your heart racing with relief and something deeper. He sees you coming and barely has time to brace himself before you collide with him, throwing your arms around his neck. He catches you with steady arms, pulling you close, the firm grip of his gauntlets grounding you both. For a long moment, the world around you fades, and it’s just the two of you—alive, together, and safe.

You pull back slightly, standing on your tiptoes as your hands find the sides of his helmet. Gently, you press your forehead against the cool beskar, closing your eyes and letting out a shuddering breath. It’s a silent gesture, a keldabe kiss that speaks of everything you both feel but can’t yet put into words.

Greef Karga steps forward, a broad grin on his face. "That was impressive, Mando. Very impressive." He pauses, his gaze flicking between Din and you. "Looks like your Guild rates just went up."

You and Din step back from each other, but his hand finds yours, holding on tightly as if to anchor himself. He nods to Greef’s comment, then asks, "Any more stormtroopers?"

Greef shakes his head. "I think we cleaned up the town. I'm thinking of sticking around just to be sure." Cara nods in agreement, her expression firm. She sets the Child down, and it squeals with delight, waddling unsteadily toward you and Din.

Din watches the Child for a moment, then tilts his head toward Cara. "You’re staying here?"

Greef interjects, puffing his chest slightly as he looks around at the scorched streets of Nevarro. "Why not? Nevarro’s a fine planet. And now that the scum and villainy have been washed away, it’s quite respectable."

Din’s voice carries a note of skepticism even through the modulator as he replies, "As a bounty hunter hive?"

Greef chuckles, tapping Din on the shoulder. "Some of my favorite people are bounty hunters." He then shifts his attention to Cara, placing a hand on her shoulder. "And maybe this fine specimen of a soldier would consider joining our ranks."

Cara snorts, shaking her head. "I’ve got some clerical concerns regarding my chain code."

Greef grins, offering, "And if you’d agree to become my enforcer, clerical concerns would be the least of your worries."

The Child finally reaches Din, gripping his leg with both hands, gazing up with wide, trusting eyes. Din glances down, and even behind the visor, you can sense his heart soften. Greef notices too, then turns his focus back to Din. "But you, my friend—you’ll be welcome back into the Guild with open arms. Go off, enjoy yourself. And when you’re ready to return, you’ll have your pick of all the quarries."

Greef then shifts his gaze to you, his eyes warm. "And you, my dear, will always have a place at the med center. It’ll be there when you’re ready to come back."

Din adjusts the Child in his arms, his tone steady but resolute. "I’m afraid I have more pressing matters."

Cara reaches out, rubbing one of the Child’s large ears affectionately. The Child gurgles in response, and Cara smiles, looking at Din. "Take care of this little one." She then turns to you, her expression softening. "And her too."

Greef adds with a knowing twinkle in his eye, "Or maybe they’ll be the ones taking care of you."

You smile, warmth spreading through your chest as Din nods. He gently passes the Child to you, and as you cradle him, Din wraps an arm securely around your waist. His voice is low, almost tender, as he asks, "You ready?"

Your heart skips a beat, and you glance up at him through your lashes. "I’m terrified. Please don’t drop me."

He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through the beskar. "Never."

With that, the two of you take off into the sky, the jetpack lifting you both. The wind rushes past, tugging at your clothes as your stomach flips. You squeeze your eyes shut, clinging to the Child close to your chest and Din as the ground falls away beneath you. Despite the dizzying height and the roaring wind, you feel a sense of peace—a quiet certainty that, no matter what happens, you’re safe in his arms.

The journey back to the Razor Crest is somber, the weight of loss hanging heavily in the air. Together, you and Din wordlessly bury Kuiil beneath the scorched sands of Nevarro. The burial is simple, just the two of you under the vast sky, the only sound the wind whispering through the rocks. Din kneels for a moment, his hand resting on the mound of earth, before rising slowly. Neither of you speak, the silence saying all there is to say.

With the burial complete, Din takes your hand, and together you walk back to the Razor Crest. His grip is firm, grounding you as the reality of the past few days settles in. As you step aboard the ship, the familiar hum of the engines provides a small comfort—a reminder that, despite everything, you’re still moving forward.

In the cockpit, you strap in beside Din, watching as he straps the Child into his seat. The little one’s eyes are wide, curious, and full of wonder. Din gently moves a bit of the Child’s shirt as he looks at the mythosaur necklace around the Child’s neck, allowing it to stay with him. The Child coos softly, fingers grasping the pendant as if it holds some great significance.

Din settles into the pilot’s seat, and with a few swift motions, the Razor Crest rumbles to life. The ship lifts off, the ground falling away beneath you as the stars come into view. The vastness of space opens up before you, dark and endless.

You lean back in your seat, trying to shake off the lingering unease. But as the stars streak past, that sinking feeling in your chest refuses to leave. It gnaws at you, a quiet but insistent reminder that this isn’t the end. This is just the beginning—of something larger, something more dangerous than you could ever have imagined.

The Razor Crest sails deeper into the galaxy, leaving the ashes of Nevarro behind, but the weight of the journey ahead presses down on you. Whatever awaits, you know one thing for certain: it’s far from over.

TAGLIST:

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

[dazais-guardian-angel]

With today's entry, I was rather surprised and confused that Johnathan seemed to turn around so quickly from the absolute pit of despair he was in yesterday, having newfound determination and energy when he's seemingly been completely hopeless and inactive for weeks now (and for good reason). Not that I ever thought he'd completely given up, but there's definitely been a slow decline in how descriptive his journal entries have been to reflect his declining mental state (more robotic, less of his actual feelings about things), and today was a sharp contrast; it feels more like the early entries again. I thought, well, his mind is probably just so cracked at this point that he's looped all the way back around to being bold and energetic again, because by now he's desperate enough to throw caution to the wind: he either succeeds doing something extremely reckless to escape, or he fails and meets his end in a far better way than if he just waits for his fate by Dracula's hands.

...But having thought about it and reading other posts, I realized (probably stupidly obvious as it is) that his sudden change in mood probably has to do with what happened to the baby. Despite how scared he's been all this time, yesterday he didn't hesitate for a single second to try to save the baby once he realized from the previous incident what was happening, not thinking about his own life at all. And then he despaired when he couldn't save the child, the first time he's mentioned crying in the book at all, and then he had to witness the mother blaming him for her baby's death, and being killed herself for trying to rescue it. Now, the day after that horrific and heartbreaking failure, he's suddenly more determined than he's been in ages to escape. Maybe that was a turning point for Johnathan, and lit a fire under him... maybe he's clinging to the need to escape not just for himself and the people he loves anymore, but for the vain hope that he can put a stop to Dracula's schemes somehow once he gets out, because he doesn't want to let any more children die :' )

[camelspit]

ok but like faking being an empath would be so easy. catch me going "i sense youre... sad" when my girl gets broken up with. no one would ever know.

[clubeso]

Empath Tarot Spread

Spiritual & Occult PDF guides available for download.

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

desperate people find faith

summary: your first mission ends with you in Jean's lab and a very worried Logan who's had trouble leaving your side wc: 2.0k a/n: thank you thank you so much for all of your very positive feedback on the previous fics with these two!!! I am really looking forward to writing more for them, so please feel free to send any requests for them my way, or Logan requests in general! And yes, the title is from a Taylor Swift song again. Lots of hurt/comfort in this one, talks of mushy gushy feelings, very worried Logan find the previous part here! all empath!reader fics here!

You took the cold table underneath you as a sign that something had gone wrong. You peaked one eye open before quickly squeezing it closed, the bright florescent lights too much to handle. You took a beat, trying to make sense of your surroundings. 

You remembered the jet landing in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, you and Jean searching an abandoned building looking for the young mutant that Charles had promised would be there and coming up empty. The two of you had made your way back to the jet and.. shit. The kid had freaked, and you distinctly remember taking enough damage to warrant a swift retreat back to the school. You must be downstairs, in Jean’s lab. It’s probably a bad sign that the first thing you worry about how much shit Logan is going to give you for this. 

You reached out with your power, too cautious of the lights (and the judgment of the rest of the team) to look with your eyes. A few people were mildly worried just across the room, but it was hard not to be distracted by the huge amounts of anger and exhaustion on your left. You debated facing him head on, being a grown up about it and fessing up to the fact that you were wrong. Thankfully, you could be immature when the situation called for it. You attempted to even out your breathing and smooth out the crease between your eyebrows, anything that could give you away. 

“Sweetheart?” Logan’s voice is so much softer than you were expecting, based on the waves of pure fury currently radiating off of him. 

You shush him, blinking one eye open. “I’m sleeping.” You whisper, letting your eye fall shut again. 

You felt his hand gently brush over the top of your head. His voice is closer, air tickling your ear as he leans down beside you. “Been sleeping for three days, bub. Need you to wake up now.” 

You turn your head to the side and are treated to Logan dropping a small kiss on your forehead. You can’t help but smile at the affection, eyes half open against the bright lights. After a few moments, they dim. Jean takes her place on the other side of the table, lab coat on and stethoscope in hand. You expected her to shoo Logan away in the name of a more thorough analysis but she doesn’t even attempt it. 

Logan’s hand finds your own, gripping tight enough to be just short of uncomfortable. Jean makes quick work of taking your diagnostics, and gently informs you that besides feeling fatigued, you are just fine. 

That can’t be right. 

You know that you caught the brunt of the impact, it was beginning to come back to you. The young mutant had lashed out, and before you’d had the chance to get close, he’d sent a car flying towards you and Jean. She’d managed to counteract it with her own mutation, firmly shoving you out of the way. But she hadn’t been fast enough to catch the small metal spikes he’d also thrown. There was no way you should be ‘just fine’ by now. 

Either Jean was in your head or the confusion was showing clearly on your face. She gave you a tight smile, eyes darting between you and the door. She took a few steps back, clearly intent of making her exit. “Jean, wait, there’s no way-”

She gave you her please stop talking smile. “I think it’s best if this comes from him,” she nodded at Logan, placing her stethoscope and clipboard on the side table. “I’ll be back in a bit to do one final check before we clear you.” She gives you another smile that didn’t meet her eyes, and then she was gone. 

You began to sit up slowly, still in shock that there was little to no pain, only stiffness from being immobile for too long. “What is she talking about?” Logan huffed, supporting you with a hand on your back. “What’s going on?” 

One hand made long, slow strokes up and down your spine, while the other had not loosened it’s grip on your own since you’d woken up. His eyebrows were scrunched together, the tell tale sign of his thinking face. You tried your best not to rush him, but everything about the situation was so confusing and your mind was racing. You were far too healed, and he was being far too calm for the anger that was rolling off go him, still. 

“Didn’t expect me to just sit around when you came back one foot in the grave, did ya?” 

“I’m sorry if me coming back banged up gave you extra work, I just don’t understand why you’re so upset with me.” 

His eyes went wide, the hand on your back stilling. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart.” The tremble in his voice almost had you convinced. 

“Don’t lie to me about it,” you help up your hand, still firmly entwined with his. “I can tell.” 

“I’m notmad at you, bub.” He brought the back of your hand to his lips, peppering it with kisses. “I’m mad at the little fuck who did this to you, I’m mad that they let this happen, and I’m furious with myself that I wasn’t there.” 

“He’s just a kid, Logan.” 

His shoulders shook with silent laughter, a stark white dancing at the edge of his emotions now. Shock. “You almost died, and your first instinct is to defend the little asshole responsible.” 

You leaned forward, bumping your shoulder against his chest in warning. “I feel fine.” He nodded, taking a deep breath in through his nose while his hand not currently locked with yours resumed it’s path up and down your back. You let it go on for a few moments, appreciating the silence and the grounding effect of his touch. “Do you… wanna fill me in on why exactly that is?” 

He sucked in a breath, shoulders visibly tense. “We were lucky that Hank was stopping by for a visit.” He played with your fingers, distracting himself. You tilted your head to the side, wondering why that information was important at a time like this. “When they brought you in, god there was so much blood. Jean managed to take care of a lot of it, but she didn’t know when, or uh, if you were going to wake up.” He blew out a breath, steadying himself. “You know that Hank has been asking for a long time-”

Both of your hands gripped his tightly. “Tell me you didn’t.” 

Hank had been asking for ages to use some of Logan’s blood to synthesize a more advanced healing serum for the X-Men. It was rare they came back with more than bumps and bruises, but he was a worrier and felt that Logan was the key to making something truly effective. The only problem? Logan hated needles. You’d only gotten bits and pieces from him about why, but you had a hunch that when you were alive for as long as he had been, people were willing to poke and prod for some answers. He’d never admit it, but you had felt how terrified he was the last time he’d been down hard after a mission, and Jean had tried to give him an IV of fluids to speed up the regeneration. It hadn’t ended well, to say the least. 

“I should’ve done it sooner. Seeing you like this, knowing I could have done something about it.” He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. 

Cautiously, you fit yourself against him, arms tight around his neck and your chest flush with his own. You half expected him to reprimand you, to remind you that you should be careful, not to move too much. Instead, he held you tightly, the side of his face pressed against the top of your head. The two of you stayed like that for a good long while, reveling in the comfort of the other. 

“I know you think that you only did it because,” you paused, steeling yourself. “Because it was me.” You can feel him trying to pull away, but you mold yourself to him even more tightly, knowing that if he really wanted to he could break away from you like it was nothing. “You’re wrong. You would have done this for anyone.” 

“Except for-”

“Even for Scott.” You were quick to cut him off, unwilling to hear him being so harsh on himself.

You pulled back, just enough so that you were able to meet his eyes. You needed him to know that you are being earnest. “You are a good man, Logan. And before you even try to deny it or say I’m lying I know you can hear my heart beat. And I know you can tell when people are lying. And besides, I’ve never ever lied to you, have I?” He shakes his head slowly, one tear falling, and a few more after that. You reached up, brushing them away. He grabbed your hand, gently placing a kiss on your wrist, and then your palm. 

“Y’scared me, sweetheart.” He murmured, voice muffled by your palm still against his lips. “Don’t ever do that again.” 

You slide your hand to cup the side of his face, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You know I can’t guarantee that.” His eyes closed for a moment, and you knew he was doing his best not to shout. “I will always be careful, but I can’t stay back and leave the work to everyone else. If I can help, I’m gonna help.” 

His eyes narrowed, the tiniest hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Fine. But we’re getting you trained up and you aren’t going out there without me again for a good long while.” 

You rolled your eyes, the both of you well aware there was no ill will behind it. “If you insist.” 

“I absolutely do.” He pulled you back into his chest, keeping you there until Jean peaked her head in through the door. 

“If you two are done being mushy, there are a few people who have been dying to see you.” 

Ororo rushed into the room, playfully shoving Logan away to scoop you into her arms. She gently checked you over, ignoring the fact that you’d already had several medical professionals on the case. Scott clasped you on the shoulder, reassuring you that for a first mission, this was a success. You laughed before shooting Logan a look that begged him to let it pass. He huffed, but nodded all the same. 

“Shocked we didn't have to keep him from trying to tear the kid apart, but he refused to leave the lab.” Scott nodded his head at Logan, who was continuing to shuffle closer to the table where you sat. 

Well, you would be dutifully ignoring the latter half of Scott's quip, instead choosing to focus on the young mutant. “You mean he's?” 

Scott smiled, nodding. “He’s settling in upstairs.” 

You grinned, glad to know that it hadn’t all been for nothing. You fixed your gaze on Logan, narrowing your eyes at him. “Don’t even think about failing him out of history as some kind of weird revenge, I’ll know and I will find a way to get back at you for it.” 

Your friends laughed around you, let you know that Charles has ordered in your favorite take out for dinner and started to filter out of the room. Eventually, you and Logan are left alone again, sitting side by side on the metal table. 

“You still owe me an important conversation, ya know.” You bump your shoulder against his. You stay there, pressed against his side with your head leaning on his shoulders. His hand rests on your shoulder, holding you close. 

“Maybe wait until you aren’t in a hospital gown, sweetheart.” You rolled your eyes, clearly aware that he was deflecting, but still content to take in his warmth and quiet support. You were safe, and you were home. Not just at school, but with him.