#he needs a new pulse rifle guys

[mando-din-lorian]

Day 5 of drawing Mando everyday.

That new Lego Mando short was super cute, but I did notice that Din didn’t get a present :( so I decided everybody pitched in and bought him in a pulse rifle.

[familyvideostevie]

you have me, you have me only

joel miller x reader you get (minorly) injured on patrol. joel does his best to patch you up and not worry too much. | jackson!joel, hurt/comfort, wound-patching, some blood, a jesse cameo, joel being joel, all that good stuff. | 4.2k a/n: part of the just and just as verse. not too soft but not too angsty, either. just another day after the end of the world, you know? thank you @mrsmando for your eyes on this! <3

___

"Almost there," you mutter. "Fuck."

The icy winter wind dulls the stinging in your palms to a numbness. The leather gloves you've had for half a decade stay tucked in your pockets. You don't want to ruin their lining with dirt and blood.

"How's the head?" 

Jesse pulls up alongside you in a trot. The adrenaline from your patrol-gone-wrong pulses heavy at the top of your spine, your vision sharp and the whole world a little too loud around you as Jackson comes into view at the bottom of the hill. Your head, like the rest of you, throbs.

"I'll live."

He scoffs and his horse snorts as if agreeing with him. In truth, you're more pissed than injured, though it certainly looks like you lost a fight. Jesse's cheekbone will no doubt bloom purple tomorrow and his lip is still bleeding sluggishly. His jeans are splattered with gore, same as yours.

"Thanks for back there," he says.

You shrug and wince when it pulls at the skin of your side where you fell. 

"You, too," you tell him with a grimace. "That was quick thinking with the brick."

You like him -- he's good at his job and he's a good friend to Ellie. You know Tommy and Maria are not-so-subtly training him to run this place someday if he wants to. As a patrol partner, you can't ask for much better. He knows all the routes and he's a good shot and his mom knows everything there is to know about everyone in town and sometimes he passes tidbits on to you.

But knowing your shit doesn't mean a damn thing in this world, sometimes. You can still get ambushed by infected on patrol and it can still fuck up your day.

He waves you off. "I just can't believe an elk chose our station to fucking die in."

"Tommy is going to shit himself when you tell him," you laugh. It pulls at your ribs. God, is there any part of you that didn't take a beating?

"He'll just be pissed he wasn't here."

Your horses reach the bottom of the hill and Jesse hesitates, the green scrap of cloth in his hand. The red one indicating an injured party peeks out from his pocket.

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the clinic?"

"I'm fine," you say firmly. "I can patch up at home."

He eyes the cut on your forehead and your scraped palms but caves under your glare and waves the green flag.

"Joel makes the same face," he mutters. "Ellie does, too. Freaky."

The gates open and you grunt when you get off your horse, palms back to stinging.

"Joel's two expressions are pissed and annoyed," you say. “Not hard to pick one up.” You press the back of your hand to your forehead and it comes back tacky with blood. "Fuck."

"I don't think you'll need a stitch." Jesse holds his hand out for your patrol rifle and pats the neck of your horse. "I'll debrief and get these guys settled. You go home."

Normally, you'd protest. But you really just want to take a hot shower and sleep for twelve hours, so you nod and shoulder your pack carefully.

"Make sure you tell Tommy about beating a stalker to death with a brick," you call over your shoulder. "He'll be impressed."

Jesse laughs.

Snow crunches under your boots on the way home. Fuck, you're exhausted. The adrenaline fades with each step and the aches become sharp pains. There aren't too many people out today on account of the cold but you nod and wave, ignoring the double takes at the blood on your clothes.

It'll be a pain in the ass if you can't patch the ruined knees of your jeans. Maybe you can convince Joel to carve something for the woman down the street who can sew better than anyone in town. Finding new pants is damn near impossible.

You’re practically dragging your feet by the time you reach your house. The mailbox labeled Miller, the wind chimes gently swaying on the porch, all of it puts you at ease. You made it home.

The porch steps groan as you climb them and the front door opens from the inside as you reach the top. Joel steps out, hand still on the knob when he looks up and sees you. His eyes widen.

He was on patrol today, too. You left at the same time but he had a shorter route and must have gotten back a while ago.

"Are you coming to meet me?" you say with a grin that's genuine despite the way your body pulses with pain. He does this sometimes -- milling around the gate, chatting with people on the wall as he waits for you to return. You never really feel like you're home until you see his face.

Joel does not smile back. His eyes rake over you the same way he surveys a room, cataloging all of the important things. The gash on your temple, the rips in your jeans, the way you're favoring your left side. The blood, too -- it's everywhere, you're sure. Palms, knees, collar. Jesse helped you wipe your face before you rode back so that you could see without blood in your eyes, but you must look pretty fucking rough.

"Jesus," he says. His hand twitches like he's going to reach for you. "You okay?"

"I'll be better when I'm not standing out in the cold."

His nostrils flare and he heads back into the house, you on his heels. You dump your pack and sit down heavily on the bench to take off your boots. Joel beats you to it, lowering to one knee with a slight groan, fingers working at your laces.

Normally he'd ask how patrol was, how Jesse did, if you saw anything interesting. Instead, his cheek twitches like he's clenching his jaw so hard it hurts. He unties your double knots with practiced ease and his silence fills the entryway of your house.

In another life, the sight of him on one knee would set your heart aflutter. As it is, you want to run a hand through his hair and smooth the worry lines on his forehead. You know him and this is how he handles it -- he chews on blame that doesn't belong on his shoulders until he can fix it.

"I'm fine," you say softly. You open and close your hands, resting them on your knees. You got most of the gravel out but there's dirt and god knows what else embedded in the tender flesh. Joel pulls off one boot with a firm hand on your calf and then the other before finally looking up at you.

"You wanna explain...this, then?"

His hand waves up in your general direction. There's no tremble in his palm but his brows are furrowed, his shoulders set in that way of his, like he's bracing for bad news. You have a rule about not lying to each other. So if you say you're fine, you're fine. Achey, bloody, and gross, sure. But you made it home in one piece and now you'll let him take care of you and he has to be okay with that.

But you don't mind reassuring him. He worries, and you know the feeling.

You shrug and fail to hide your wince. Joel wraps a hand around your ankle and squeezes lightly.

"I've had worse," you say. "I'll tell you about it if you patch me up."

He softens a little and sighs. It won't do anything to remind him that he can't go back in time and stop you from getting hurt. Joel knows he can't fix everything, can't keep everyone he loves away from harm, can't save the world. Won't, if it comes at the expense of the people in his heart.

But you can give him something to do -- a way to make it better. You could probably bandage your hands and your forehead and the rest on your own but it'll help him just as much as you if he does it.

Life in this world is a constant give and take. You have to be okay with some things, with cuts and bruises and ruined clothes if it means you survived. There's no safety, not anymore.

"Alright, c'mon," he says, standing with a groan. "Upstairs, 'fore you bleed on the furniture."

He holds out a hand for you to stand but you show him your mangled palm. Joel clicks his tongue and grips your forearm gently instead as you rise.

"Gotta clean that," he says.

"That's the plan." You leave your coat and pack behind in a heap and head for the stairs. "A hot shower sounds so fucking good right now."

Joel stops you with a hand on your elbow and you turn on the bottom step. He traces the cut on your forehead with light fingers and you try not to wince.

"Shower," he says.  "I'll patch you up after." His tone leaves no room for argument.

You ghost your fingertips along his jaw and smile at him.

"Yes sir, Mr. Miller, sir."

More tension melts from his shoulders and he rolls his eyes at you. You laugh all the way to the bathroom, even though it hurts a little.

It's been a while since one of you returned from patrol with any sort of injury. Winter means the hoards are sluggish and easy to track and tends to keep groups of people from coming to the valley and making trouble. Today was bad luck and could have been much worse.

You both know how quickly all of the good in your lives can be snatched away. Everyone does.

But you just can't dwell on it. Joel knows it, too, and letting him fuss over you in that way of his will remind him. You're home. You're okay.

You leave the bathroom door cracked as you shower under the gentle spray. Your various injuries sting but you manage to clean the scrapes on your knees and hands and wash the blood from your skin and hair, the water rusty brown as it swirls around the drain. 

Joel knocks when you're almost done and the hinges groan when he steps into the bathroom.

"Leavin' you clothes," he says, voice raised so you hear over the spray. "You okay?"

"Still alive," you call back. "Almost done."

The water starts to turn lukewarm so you switch off the stream and drag back the curtain. Joel is nowhere to be found but he's left you loose shorts so your knees are exposed and a big, faded graphic t-shirt that you brought home for him as a joke last year as well as fresh underwear and warm socks. You gently pat your skin dry with an old and scratchy towel and do your best with your hair before sliding them on. 

Joel knocks again and this time he has the bag with all of your first aid stuff in his hands. The steam from your shower rushes out into your bedroom and you shiver.

He jerks his chin at the counter. "Wanna get up there?"

You haul yourself up with a groan and he stands between your knees, arms crossed and head cocked.

"What're we dealin' with, here?"

You look down at your messy palms and rattle off what hurts.

"Cut on my forehead, bruised rib, probably, fucked up hands and knees, and..." You look up and find Joel running a hand down his face. "That's it."

"You sure?"

You glare at him. He glares back. His eyes drift to your forehead gash.

"Cut could use a stitch." 

He's still tense, you can tell, probably will be until he wakes up tomorrow and you're still next to him in bed. Until the wounds turn to scabs turn to scars. Maybe not even then.

"I think I've had enough cuts over the years to know what needs a stitch."

His eyebrows rise just a little bit, turning his expression from interrogative to exasperated, but he knows better than to tell you to do something when you’ve set your mind against it.

"They're offerin' medical degrees on the Creek Trails, now?"

"Joel."

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Fine," he says. "Let me feel your ribs."

You raise your arms a little and he slides his palms under your shirt and up your torso, pressing gently as he goes. Braless as you are, he brushes the underside of your breast, and your breath hitches. His eyes are soft with quiet amusement but he doesn't tease you.

"Your hands are warm," you murmur. He reaches the place on your side that took the brunt of the impact and you hiss.

"Sorry," he says. "Doin' real good. Deep breath for me." You obey and he withdraws, satisfied.

"Nothin' broken," he says.

"Told you."

He hums and pulls out the precious few disinfectant wipes from your first aid kid. You can get Joel to do a lot of things just by asking, but arguing with him about wasting supplies on you never works. He washes his hands in the sink and glares are you like he knows what you’re thinking.

"Forehead first, then hands, then knees," he says. "Okay?'

You nod, eyes fluttering shut. He grips your face with gentle fingertips to keep you still.

"How was your patrol?" you ask him.

He makes a noise low in his throat that's halfway to being a laugh.

"C'mon," he says. "You don't want to hear about mine. I know you're dyin' to tell me what happened."

The alcohol wipe stings as he swabs at your forehead and you tense. Joel's thumb rubs slow circles at the corner of your mouth and you press your knees into his hips.

Funny how you've had broken bones, been stabbed, shot, pretty much everything over the last twenty years but it's the small stuff that hurts the most. Stubbed toes, sliced fingers, alcohol wipes on shallow wounds. Some things just don't change.

"Okay," you say. "Well, you'll never believe it, but a damn elk decided to die in the station where the logbook is."

You tell him how you and Jesse rode up and saw the blood trail immediately and heard the moans and groans. You kept the horses on the other side of the fence and checked the first floor and the overlook, but the elk had weaseled its way under the collapsed staircase.

It smelled like death, rust and decay heavy in the air. The animal must have died just after the last patrol.

But it wasn't the problem. It was the group of Infected it attracted -- two runners and four stalkers. You have no idea where they came from but, since you were on patrol, the priority was eliminating them. The runners were easier, although one of them was responsible for the gash on your forehead when it managed to push you into the wall. You and Jesse cleared them quickly, one bullet each.

You thought you got all of the stalkers. One of them was munching on the carcass and went down fairly easily with your good aim. Jesse helped you clean your forehead so you both could clear the passage to get to the upper level and sign the logbook. The corpses went over the side of the station into the forest below. The Infected had eaten so much of the elk that it wasn't too heavy, though you both were sweating and dirty by the time you finished.

"Lemme guess," Joel says. You open your eyes as he carefully pulls the wound closed with two butterfly bandages before he gestures for your hand. He holds your wrist gently and tilts your palm side to side, looking for dirt. "There were infected inside the station, too."

"Look at you," you tease. His eyes flick to yours for just a second, intense as always. "It's like you were there."

"Smartass," he grumbles. The disinfectant stings on your palm, too, but you keep talking and keep your gaze on his face.

"Jesse climbed the rope up to the control room first but had to fend off a stalker at the top so he didn't see when another one grabbed my ankle and pulled me down mid-climb, which fucked my hands. The fall is how my rib got bruised and I tore up my knees fending it off."

Joel's cheek twitches. He wraps one of your palms in gauze and turns his attention to the other.

"Fuckin' hate those things."

"Me, too. When I got to the top, finally, Jesse was tugging a pipe from the head of a corpse. There was one more -- it jumped out of that supply room on the side, the one where Ellie found a bong, once, I think. I dodged it but my gun jammed and my hands were bleeding."

"Should've been wearing gloves."

You tap his leg with your foot and ignore him. Not taking your bait about the bong means he’s still pissed. "And then Jesse killed it with a brick."

"I taught him that," Joel grumbles.

He ties off your other palm and as soon as he's done you frame his face. Joel allows it, allows you to stare at him for a few seconds like you're memorizing him. You're telling the story like it was a fun adventure -- and it was. You're plenty capable and he knows it, too.

But you were scared. You don't tell him that right now, instead grounding yourself in the man in front of you. His hands are rough and dangerous to most, but tender and careful to you. The broad, firm line of his shoulders, always braced for the next hit.

The gash on the bridge of his nose, the lines at the corners of his eyes. His beard, greyer every year. You swipe your thumbs along his cheekbones and he sighs.

"Lucky me," you say softly.

You lean in to kiss him, just a light press of your lips to his. His wide palms rest on your bare thighs and he kisses back with a kind of desperate firmness, as if he's proving to himself that you're real. That you're here in front of him, under his hands, in his care.

Joel drags his lips along your cheek.

"Knees," he says.

He steps back and releases your thighs with a squeeze. He treats more of your torn skin, a frown back on his face.

"I do want to hear about your patrol, by the way."

He shrugs. "Not much to tell," he says. "Didn't even get to shoot anythin’.”

You swing your foot back and forth, tapping the side of his thigh with every pass.

"But you had the nice route," you whine. "Tell me what the lake looked like."

"Quit distracting me," he grumbles.

"Like you don't have the steadiest hands in all of Jackson," you say softly.

He snorts. "Are you flirtin' with me?"

"I'm always flirting with you, Joel Miller."

You lied to Jesse earlier -- Joel has hundreds of expressions. He just keeps most of them for you. For Ellie, and Tommy, too. You know every one of them by now.

The look on his face now says he's thinking about kissing you again, maybe just to shut you up.

You grin at him. "Tell me about your patrol, now, seriously. Unless talking and using your hands at the same time is too much for you."

He smirks back. "Think we both know that ain't true."

"Now who's flirting?"

Lazy heat curls in your belly but fatigue stops it from turning into anything. Joel must see that in your eyes because he simply taps your chin with a knuckle and starts talking.

You start to slump as his Texas drawl wraps around you. He tells you how the lake was still, how he and Astrid saw bear tracks but no bear. How he found a tape for Ellie that he's going to give her tomorrow, how he wore his gloves today like you've been telling him to.

Some people might say that Joel is a man of few words. You thought he was the quiet type when you first met him, another stoic survivor in a world that demands hardness of everyone. But not shy, never shy. Just...waiting. Watching.

He and Ellie can shoot the shit for hours -- a dynamic they've fallen back into easily enough since they started spending time together again. He's funny, he's clever, he's annoying as shit when he wants to be.

And Joel is quite the storyteller. If you had to guess you'd say it comes from having to entertain Tommy when they were kids, from getting Sarah into bed on his own over and over. Keeping Ellie occupied, keeping her talking when things were scary and hard and fucking awful.

It's just another way he takes care of people.

"Still with me?" he says. You realize your eyes have closed. When you open them you find Joel looking at you with tenderness and a spark of amusement. The tense line of his shoulders is nowhere to be seen. "All done. Tired?"

"And hungry."

He washes his hands and throws away the various wrappers and blood-stained wipes.

"Sure you're awake enough to eat?" he teases.

You roll your eyes at him. He laughs.

"Joel," you say, catching his elbow. "Thank you."

"C'mon, now."

He looks like he wants to argue with you for saying it but reaches for you instead. He traces the cut on your forehead just like he did at the bottom of the stairs, brow drawn again. You can't tell what he's thinking as he drags his thumb down and around your eye, cupping your cheek fully for just a breath before releasing you and stepping towards the door.

"I'll heat some soup."

Dinner is quick and quiet, your energy sapped from you to the point of exhaustion. Everything aches, despite Joel's thorough care. When he suggests turning in early you don't protest.

He takes longer than you to get ready for bed. You slide under the worn duvet and wait, trying very hard to keep your eyes open. Your bruised ribs throb in time with your heartbeat and when Joel finally turns off the light and gets in bed next to you in his threadbare sleep pants he practically hauls you into his embrace.

You go willingly, tangling your legs and laying your head on the juncture of his neck and shoulder. You press your palm to his chest, fingers threading in the coarse hair. His heart thuds and it grounds you.

"I didn't get any good gossip off Jesse," you whisper. "On account of the whole surprise-infected thing."

He yawns. "S'pose it's a good excuse."

"Can I tell you something else?" you whisper. "A secret?"

Joel hums, lips brushing your temple as his hand snakes up your sleep shirt to press against your lower back.

Even though you know each other down to the bones, some things remain inexplicable. Parts of your pasts that linger in the darkest parts of you, the parts that stay shrouded until the moments like this. You don't have to be brave in the quiet hours of the night, entwined with him as you are. It's the safest place you'll ever be. Safe enough that you can crack open and let Joel in, let those steady and worn hands keep you together.

"I was scared today," you say into his neck. "When the stalker dragged me off the rope. I panicked, I --"

You don't tell him how your initial thought when you hit the ground was of him, how you closed your eyes tight and thought of your name from his mouth, of his smile when you come through the door. The stalker had its bony fingers digging into your ankle and you wondered if you'd ever feel Joel's hands on you again.

Death will come for you sooner or later and when it does it'll be Joel's face that you hold in your mind before it all ends.

But today, you kicked death until its stupid fucking mushroom skull caved in.

Joel presses his lips to your temple. You can feel his heart beating faster, as fast as yours. It's the only thing that betrays his own fear.

Wounds in this life often go deeper than the skin. When Joel comes home with bloody knuckles and shuttered eyes it's one thing to stop the bleeding, to bandage him and get him to eat something. It's another to hold him, to coax out the story, the fear. To follow him downstairs when he has a nightmare, to look for him in every room. It's all part of what you do as partners, as lovers, as people in this world. You take care of each other.

Neither of you can fix a lot of things. But you can ensure the scars heal into something light, something you can barely see.

You can hold each other in the dark.

"Scared me, too," he rasps. A secret for a secret. "Lotta damn blood."

You kiss the underside of his jaw. "Can't get rid of me that easy."

Joel pulls you closer, somehow, mindful of your side.

"Rest, now," he says. "You ain’t goin' anywhere."

It's a command, a promise. You hum your agreement and let sleep drag you under.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[jgmartin]

SUBJECT 21

I watch the sunset bleed.

Its outer edges drip like molten gold. In the distance, I hear the hiss of steam before I ever see the clouds rising from the arctic snow.

“Told you,” Raens says. He stops short of me, slings his rifle over his shoulder and folds his arms. He surveys the sunset like it’s a regular occurrence. An everyday thing. “There’s a reason this place is under lockdown.”

“So it’s true,” I say. “They haven’t let anybody leave for the past three years.”

“Not a soul.”

I look back at the sunset. A pit of unease grows in my stomach. The shape of it is all wrong. It’s pulsing, throbbing like a living thing– like a monster from science fiction. “What about the guy I replaced?”

“Lently?"

"Yeah."

"Dead and gone."

I stare at Raens waiting for him to crack a smile, to tell me he’s fucking with me, that this is all a joke. A little hazing for the new guy. But instead he sighs, looks away– wipes the back of his glove against his eyes. “Look on the bright side, kid. The isolation pay is fantastic, ain’t it?”

The pay was good. Three times my yearly salary, in fact. "Nevermind the money, three years is a long time to vanish off the face of the earth. How does the military explain that?"

“You got a sweetheart back home? Couple of rugrats, maybe?”

“Not yet.”

He nods. There's the hint of a grin on his lips. “That’s what I thought. They don’t pick people with loose ends for this kind of thing. They want shadows. People like you and me who can fade away without anybody giving a damn.”

"I mean, I got family."

"Sure, kid. We all got family. Question is, do they give a shit about you?"

The question stings. It stings because I know the answer, but I can't bring myself to say it out loud, so I change gears. "What's the deal with the bunker?"

Raens follows my gaze to the little hill of snow rising from the earth. It's about a hundred yards away, and its heavy steel doors are lit up crimson in the setting sun. "You mean why aren't we allowed inside?"

I nod.

“Official answer is it’s classified. Unofficial answer is they’re building weapons down there and don’t need you getting into things you shouldn’t be.”

I watch the sun drip molten gold and I ask the obvious question. “You’re telling me that this is us?”

“I’m telling you it’s him. Dr Thales. Head of research and engineering."

I’d heard the name before. The man was supposedly a genius, a real marvel with a resume to rival Einstein and the ego to match. “How the fuck did he manage to get our sun to bleed on Earth from all the way across the solar system?”

“Who says that’s the real sun?” He slips a pack of cigarettes from his parka and slides one between his lips. “Smoke?”

“Not for six years.”

“Suit yourself.” He lights it up and takes a drag. For the first time, I notice the dark bags beneath his eyes, the deep lines infesting his cheeks, his forehead. Raens looks like a man at the end of his rope. Exhausted.

“Never used to smoke,” he tells me, pocketing his lighter. “Bad habit with no real upsides, but then I got posted here and it was like I needed something, anything to look forward to.” He breathes out a plume, shaking his head. “Cigarettes became my breath of fresh air. Ain’t that funny?”

“So, that’s it then? You and I are stuck out here guarding some… mad scientist?”

“We’re not here to guard anybody. We’re contingencies.”

“For what?”

“Subject 21. If it escapes, we do our best to slow it down and buy time."

"Then what?"

Raens shrugs. "Reckon we just die."

I open my mouth, but the words are still trying to catch up to the conversation. “Hold on. What's Subject 21?”

“One of Thales’ experiments. We call it the Boogey Man because nobody’s seen the thing outside of Thales and his team. But we know that it’s powerful. Powerful enough that you and I, plus the rest of humanity, are nothing but ants.”

“If this thing’s that powerful, then why doesn’t it just break itself out?”

Raens takes another drag. Closes his eyes. Savours it. “Figure it doesn’t want to.”

“You're joking.”

“Best we've pieced together is that S21 is in some kind of catatonic state. Doesn’t speak. Barely moves. Mostly it just stands in its cell and stares holes in the wall, sometimes literally, if you trust the radio chatter.”

"It has to eat, doesn’t it?”

Raens looks at me like I’m four years old, like he almost envies my ignorance. “It doesn’t have to do a damn thing. That’s what makes it special, kid. It doesn’t have any rules because it makes the fucking rules, and that’s exactly why Thales is trying to kill it.”

Behind us, the pulsating sun is dipping below the horizon. A chill creeps under my skin, and it’s got nothing to do with the plummeting temperature. “Why? Why kill this thing if it’s just keeping to itself? Isn’t that kind of… Immoral?”

“Might be. Not really my place to say one way or the other, but Thales seems to think S21 is just dormant. Hibernating. That it’s liable to wake up any day now and then… well, all hell breaks loose. And I don’t mean that metaphorically.”

“What does this thing do, shit nuclear warheads?”

“That’d be nice. Easier to deal with, I’d wager.”

“What’s worse than nukes?”

“Just told you, didn’t I? Hell on earth.”

I laugh. It’s the only reaction I can think of because the implication is so absurd that nothing else makes sense. “So what, Thales has Satan locked up in his bunker?”

Raens ashes his cigarette, stomps it into the snow. “Worse.”

I keep my laughter alive, but Raens looks deadly serious. He's quiet. Pensive. He watches the shadows creep over the bunker doors, watches them creep across the entire landscape and he says, “You ever wonder what happened to God?”

“God?”

“Sure. Jesus takes one for the team, then God just ups and vanishes, doesn’t he? There’s no sequel to the Bible. Some fanfiction, maybe. But no sequel, not even after a few thousand years.”

“Haven’t given it much thought. I’m agnostic myself.”

Raens cracks a smile. “Keeping your options open, eh? Smarter than you look.”

“No. It's not that. I just… never really knew enough to make a decision one way or the other. I couldn’t be certain if there was a higher power out there.”

“Well, now you know.” Raens steps off, making his way back toward the hill for shift change. I waddle to catch up to him. I'm still getting used to moving under six layers of kit.

“You’re telling me that this thing– Subject 21, is God?”

He shrugs, his feet crunching against the snow. “That’s what the troops seem to think. And to be frank, there's been supporting evidence."

"What kind?"

"The kind that's damn near impossible to ignore." Raens pauses suddenly, raises a sleeve and checks the watch on his wrist. Then he looks up the sky. Frowns. Keeps walking. "I wouldn't worry too much, kid. This is your first day. You'll see what I mean soon enough, and by then you'll probably wish you could forget all about it."

"But I mean–"

"Trust me."

I let the question go and latch onto a new one. “So all these weapons, what's Thales using them for? I mean, if he doesn't think they'll work at killing S21?"

"That's something that–"

There's a low screech from high in the distance. I open my mouth. Raens cut me off.

"Shut it," he snaps. He pulls me down to the hill with him. Raises a finger. It's the sort of finger that tells me to keep quiet or else. We wait there for what feels like minutes while Raens scans the dark sky, as if he thinks we're about to be spotted by enemy aircraft.

“How’s your shooting, kid?” he whispers.

“Pretty good," I say, moving to unsling my rifle.

He puts a hand on mine as if to say don't you fucking dare. Then he adds, "Keep it on safe. I don't want you panicking and putting a bullet through me."

"Why?"

He chuckles. "I've lasted this long, and–" His voice is gone. My eardrums scream. A sound erupts with the low bass of infinity, and I fall to my stomach clutching my skull as pressure builds behind my ears like a kettle set to boil.

I try to say words. I try to ask if we've stumbled across another weapon and if it's going to kill us, but when I look at Raens he’s got tears in his eyes and his jaw is set. He’s got tears in his eyes and the sonuvabitch is smiling. Ear to ear. “Heads up, kid!” he shouts over the din.

I look skyward, and through the dark clouds bursts an explosion of light. Suddenly, the world is bright. I stare up in awe and horror as a battalion of winged creatures descends from the heavens, bellowing on trumpets whose sound could shatter mountains. On instinct I raise my rifle, but the creatures streak past us.

They streak toward the bunker.

“What's happening?” I holler into Raens' ear.

He thumbs over his shoulder, and I almost miss it in the creatures’ blinding light, but Thales' sun has risen again. It’s pulsing. Shuddering. It’s rising from the horizon and spinning as its molten rays tear away from it and hurtle toward the creatures.

They react, but not fast enough. Thales' weapon is gruesome in its efficiency, in its totality for destruction. The blazing arrows snap through the air like heat-seeking missiles, finding their marks and engulfing the creatures in flames. One by one they fall to the ground. One by one the trumpets that could shatter mountains are made silent.

Soon, the sky is clear. The arctic outpost at the end of the world is quiet again, and I’m left alone with Raens, trembling in a snowfall of ash. “Were those things…” The word is on my lips, but it almost feels blasphemous to say. Something floats onto my shoulder. It's white and smeared with soot, and I think it might be a feather.

“Angels,” Raens says, standing up. “At least, that’s our best guess. They’ve been making the rounds every couple weeks or so, ever since Thales got his hands on Subject 21. Tricky things. Never fall for the same weapon twice.”

Raens says the last bit as if he’s giving them some kind of begrudging respect, and all I can think about is the ringing in my ears. The fact that after this, we’re fucked. If angels are real, and if God is real, then that means Hell is real, and right now it's looking like the premiere destination for both of us. “We just murdered… " I breathe. "A hundred angels...”

“Murdered? I wouldn’t bet on it.” Almost on cue, fallen feathers begin to coalesce all across the ashen snow, vibrating violently. They hover for the space of a heartbeat, and then altogether they shoot upward, piercing the sky like gunshots and leaving glowing pillars in their wake.

The pulsating sun slows, then falls back beneath the horizon. Darkness finds us again.

"You okay, kid?"

My heart is beating so fast it hurts. My body is covered in goosebumps and I'm trying to tell myself that I'm dreaming. That this is some left-over Sunday school trauma working its way out of my system.

"This is not what I signed up," I sputter. "I mean holy shit, Raens. I’m not going to sentence myself to an eternity in damnation– because clearly that exists now–just to satisfy some government curiosity or one man’s vendetta or… or…”

I cast about for the words but there’s nothing there. I’m too scared. Too weighed down by the overwhelming immensity of the situation to properly formulate my thoughts.

“Thought you didn’t believe in God?” Raens says with a grin, pulling out a fresh smoke. "Agnostic, wasn't it?"

“That was before I saw an army of angels get picked out of the sky like birds.”

Raens lights his smoke, and then he sits down in the snow. "Look on the bright side, shift's almost over and our relief should be coming over the hill pretty quick. You hungry?"

It takes me a second to answer because I can't believe how relaxed he is. I want to grab him and scream that we're the bad guys, but before I can muster the rage he pats the ground beside him. "Take a seat, kid. I've been here a few years so there ain't much that surprises me. Not these days."

I stay where I am. My chest is heaving like a bellows, and I don't know if it’s what I just saw or the cigarette, but I feel light-headed and woozy. I'm afraid if I sit down I'll black out. "What's Thales' deal? I mean, is he like some kind of occult monster? Militant atheist?"

"Thales, an atheist?" Raens laughs, laughs hard enough that he starts coughing. "Far from it. Might be the most God-fearing Christian I've ever met, now that you mention it."

"I'm not tracking."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't be. Thales is a complicated man and not without his faults, but one thing you cannot deny is that the man is devout. Grew up in the Bible belt. Reads his book every night. Hell, rumor has it he used to moonlight as a preacher in days past."

“A preacher?" I mutter. "Why would a preacher want to murder God?"

"Same reason any good Christian does anything," Raens says, blowing smoke into the sky. "Cause' God told him to."

I open my mouth to reply but the words aren’t there. A thousand questions ricochet around my mind, but I can't seem to grab hold of a single one. Instead I stumble onto the snow next to Raens. I shake my head. Reach out a quivering hand.

“On second thought,” I tell him, “I will take that cigarette.”

[firstaidspray]

For the WIP Folder Game: Zero, pls?

This one is the story of Navy meeting Tim!!

Suddenly, the two hear gunshots in the distance. Navy readies her rifle, and Tim readies his handgun, and they move forward with caution. Though the gunfire has to be Alan, the fact that he’s firing at all means there are hostile shadows nearby. Navy’s pulse speeds up, both at the danger that surely awaits them and the thought of meeting up with Alan again.

It isn’t long before they approach each other, and Navy and Alan practically run to hug each other. Tim is almost jealous of the writer’s closeness with Navy, despite the fact that they only just met. He’s already feeling so protective over her, and he hardly knows any worthwhile information about her.

“Navy, it’s good to see you,” Alan greets her, holding her by the upper arms. “I hope you’ve been careful, I just– wait, who is this?”

Tim waves awkwardly. “Tim Breaker. Navy’s told me about you.”

Alan nods. “Nice to see another real person. I’m Alan Wake. How did you get here?”

“Says Mr Door brought him here,” Navy explains, reluctantly letting go of Alan’s arms and stepping back over to Tim. “He knows about our cases, he’s sheriff of Bright Falls.”

“Yeah,” Tim says, “we’ve actually been finding some of your manuscript pages washing up from the lake. I was about to hand one to this FBI agent, Saga Anderson, before Mr Door brought me here.”

“My manuscript pages?” Alan asks, a sudden worried tone to his voice. “I haven’t written…those aren’t my pages! Tell me, did they have anything scratched out on them?”

Tim feels like he’s being interrogated. “Um, I don’t know, I never really got a good look. Not even at the one I was handing Saga…”

“Saga…” Alan whispers to himself. “She really…I’m getting closer to a breakthrough! I need to find somewhere to inspire a new draft of my story. Are you guys okay on your own?”

“Yeah,” Navy answers, “But I just need a bit of help real fast. How do you get the Dark Place to shift to where Parliament Tower shows up?”

Alan sighs and shakes his head. “I’m not exactly sure if this works every time, but when I write a new draft, it pops up without question. You should try writing a little song, see if that works.”

She nods. “Okay, will do. Got any inspo for me?”

“Looks like you’ve got some new inspo right there,” Alan says semi-playfully, nodding at Tim. “Good luck, guys. Nice to meet you, Tim.”

“Same to you, Alan.”

“Be careful,” Navy says to Alan before he turns to go. “Hope everything goes well.”

He nods. “I will. You do the same, okay? I’ll see you around.”

[f1shbonez]

 “Pull that trigger, you’ll wish you hadn’t.” 

 A noxious cocktail of chems coursed through Jinx’s veins, baying for blood. The predatory intensity made the hunt even more thrilling. Hot and electric, it pulsed through Jinx whilst she moved from room to room, pouring bullets and switching weapons in a flurry of bloodlust. Fast. Fast. Fast. It amplified everything. Speed. Noise. Reaction time. Strength. She could fight anything like this. 

Raiders, raiders, raiders. They were simple. Loud. Easy to shoot at. Nobody liked raiders! The cacophony of gunfire must have been audible for miles around. Was it overkill? Yup! Was it fun and a great distraction from the mess in her head? Also yup! She could hardly hear the sound of people dropping, screaming and choking on their own blood over the heavy gun exploding deadly shots from her hip. The room stank of rotting wood, mould and gunpowder. Through the haze, Jinx took a breath and smiled. 

Maybe all the ruckus would draw out some new targets to shoot at. The furthest corner of The Commonwealth was void of most life. Sure, there’d been a Deathclaw to the North, but as Jinx ambled and weaved along the Western routes, everywhere was empty. Except for these raiders. 

They had nice digs too. A few rotting ghouls made clear that they’d only held the factory for a small amount of time. Maybe they’d have some cool stuff in their armoury. Oh! Or a safe to break into! If nothing else, it would help to stock up on ammo after such a long trip. After peppering the place with Pow-Pow’s bullets (and felling most of the raiders in the process), it was time to consider being a bit more thrifty with bullets. Just in case. 

It was dead quiet. That usually meant every raider in the place was dead. They weren’t the kind to shy from a fight when it came knocking, and that was exactly what Jinx had needed; a brief, exhilarating bloodbath. 

Strolling through her new digs (freshly painted in red!), Jinx began to hum, stooping to rifle through pockets and empty her still-warm opponents' weapons of their ammo. Why did nobody carry 5mm bullets? Rude. She wandered through the place, lifting bottles to inspect them, pocketing a couple of canisters of jet and psycho as she found them and–bingo! Terminal. With her back to the room, Jinx slumped forwards, beginning to coax the machine into unlocking. Would they have a light control system? Any juicy gossip? What about–

–What was that noise?

Feeling her expression snap back into a lethal snarl, Jinx spun around, firing blindly towards the noise. 

You’re dead!

There were more! How had she missed them?! After only a couple of rotations Pow-Pow slowed, releasing nothing but smoke. In the second it took Jinx to glance down at her gun, they were upon her. Swinging the barrels of the minigun forward to strike her attackers was cumbersome- slower than sinking bullets into people. She only managed one strike before she was tackled to the ground. A masked face was looming over her, it was pretty similar to her own if not for the colour…and the sweet paint job. She’d be taking that once he was dead- it was pretty cool. 

Writhing and doing her best to drive a knee into her attacker’s stomach, Jinx battled to pull a hand to her belt. All she needed was her pistol and this would be over as quickly as it started. 

“Pull that trigger, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”

A frustrated hiss slid through Jinx’s teeth as she wrestled with the weight atop of her. Maybe a pistol was a bit ambitious right now, but a loose right arm would offer the chance to bash this guy good ‘n hard over the head with her Pip-boy. …Pip-boy.

Was…was the guy on top of her wearing a Pip-boy? Adrenaline still spiking, Jinx paused only for a second. 

“Nice stuff.” She hissed, flopping back to the ground in a mock surrender. 

“After I kill ya, I’ll take good care of it.”

[fagenthusiast]

Romulus: Minute by Minute

Today I watched Aliens: Romulus, and recorded what I thought about the film when I felt something cool happened. I arrived at the theatre at 8:00PM, all of these notes are unedited and were recorded as the film happened

Start: 8:00 PM Oh nice! Neurodivergency rep! So far the sound effects are the high point for me.

8:02 Oh.

8:04 Tyler? They named this bitCh Tyler? Good to know the upper middle class survived to the future Not a big fan of drawing a comparison between autistic ppl and synths. Like, just make him a guy, and someone else the robot. Or, better yet, don’t insert harmful metaphors into your work.

8:11 I hate Tyler and his bitch brother. They’re the sort of people who are „progressive „ but just don’t want ppl to know what they are. This fucking guy Is talking death threats to the synth, and the other is baby talking him. And then they said the synth doesn’t actually feel anything, and the girl is portrayed as wrong and guilty for taking care of him.

8:21: bitch

8:39: If there’s anything I can compliment this film on, it’s lighting. The sickening yellows and clinical whites add a lot of character to each scene. Also, the lcd panels are hidden really poorly as crts, just some glass and an overlay. They aren’t even 4:3!

8:43: The use of practical effects where CGI would be more convenient warms my heart. It’s done so well too! That just makes me wonder about this abomination:

Just make his face really burned or something, plus, why is he on the Romulus? Callback points?

8:46 Some of this mild horror during scenes where the characters need to be quiet is stellar. This movie handles it’s jumpscares fantastically. Still don’t like that that guy is alive. (The British man)

8:49 I’m glad they didn’t keep the autism thing, this new use of Andy as a direct arm of corporate shittery is much more effective. He legit doesn’t care. I don’t like that British guy lived and the pilot didn’t. I hate British guy.

8:54 Callback!!! Why does Brit have to teach her tho? I get that it’s for the sake of callback, but it would be both more creepy and cooler if Andy said all of that instead, having a machine explain to you how something it’s never seen in fine detail!

8:57 Again, why must he be gun man? Is it to give his character an excuse to exist? I’m neutral about the gun redesign

8:59 I love Andy’s permanent slight concern face, even in death he keeps it up. Must’ve been hard for the actor, I cramp after minutes of that face

9:00 Yes!! The Brit died! Huzzah! Huzzah!

9:05 I think in a way, they handled Andy’s death well. She removes the chip because the OG Andy is the real one. He’s not defective, he’s just Andy.

9:07 By god. That pulse rifle sound fx is holy. I would pray to it. Maybe it’s the theatre speakers but Jesus Christ.

9:08: I think somewhere along the line Ridley realized how shit the og depictipn of Andy was, and this is an apology.

9:10 You just KNOW this pulse rifle sound is gonna be used in one of Those arcade on rails shootemups with the crazy recoil

9:11: boy howdy do these guys not know what a planets rings look like

9:13: these practical effects, omg! That right there is the face of death. ( the alien ofc)

9:20 I. Hate. Shock. Horror. It’s pointless and cheap and dulls the experience for ppl like me, with birth and pregnancy shit being a specific trigger.

9:22 The cinematography and tight camera angles is really well done. Alien man!!

9:26 Dude this movie is callback central! I don’t hate it at all, and it relieves tension where it matters, but in tense scenes I’d rather be immersed in the scene plus, ANDY DIED what the fuck this is so tragic

9:30 Hoopla shit she lives!!! Ohh my god holy shit THANK THE PULSE RIFLE SFX!

SUMMARY

7.5/10

The autism/robot parralel is unneeded and tacky. it bogs down the film and alienates people like me. other than that, this film maintains the alien vibe, and is a breath of fresh air when it comes to the slew of shite alien films. the human/human/alien hybrid at the end is pointless and confusing, and acts as an excuse to have a gross birth scene thats a little too much for me personally. its flawed, not as good as aliens, better than 3.

[rourhksapocolypse]

So, I got myself the Dead Space remake recently... And a new Xbox S, because it was on my list, partially for the RE4 Remake, which looked awesome, much like the DS1 remake.

And so far? Not disappointed :D

I mean, I'm really not much of a horror guy, but survival is something I'm good with, especially managing semi-plentiful resources. Like ammo and too much health.

And replacing Node-locked doors with fuse box circuits is honestly a good choice, since that means that if I were not so able to recognize a pattern and hold one in reserve, that'd be ten thousand credits wasted anytime I wanted to get in and get plentiful stuff. (I'm not that bad, though, so I always just accepted I'd need one spare at all times, but now I don't have to)

There's also the fact that Isaac is no longer a silent protagonist, and there's side missions too, so it's so far so good.

I'm just worried about the ADS mission; I mean, shooting asteroids is fun, but it was kinda hell to deal with in the original. The Asteroid Defense System was an intelligent system idea in the original and honestly the only actually difficult part for me no matter the difficulty setting.

I mean, yeah, I'm always going to be worried about everything else, given the atmosphere and music make this dark, forsaken storage ship a creepy place, as it should be, and let's not forget the Hunter (or Omega Necromorphs, as I think they're called in 2&3), which is basically unkillable (is that even the right word for a walking corpse?), but the ADS Canon is the big one.

Still, I'm liking the upgrades to the map design, the more cinematic accrual of weapons and removing lengthy wait times for loading - as well as removing that blind woman at the beginning of the Medical deck.

Not sure what happened to the guy that replaced her for getting the Kinesis mod, but... Yeah, I'm gonna leave that be, and not think too hard about how he got crushed.

But replacing her by making her capable of sight and changing her into security with the pulse rifle, like I said, that was a good idea, a cinematic chance to get the pulse rifle without buying it. And it gives you a good look at it and the changes - the reload is different, and instead of a frag grenade, it shoots prox mines. An excellent decision. And the cutter is exactly the same with better graphics, a more involved first impression than just picking it up (like in DS2) and the ammo icon in the inventory, which was given two extra slots, nice, was updated too, so overall I'm liking it. Can't wait for the flamethrower, although... I'm curious now, how they've changed the other weapons. I'm probably not going to use them outside testing, but it's still interesting to check.

[dycefic]

The Trolley Problem

Again, sorry about the slow updates, but long Covid aside, as followers of my main Tumblr will have heard, my laptop keyboard is on its way out and typing is getting increasingly difficult. I've ordered a new wireless keyboard, but it hasn't arrived yet. 🙄

Anyway, back to the superhero universe! warnings for death, police, attempted murder, supervillainy, and ethical dilemmas. Also swearing.

#

“Choose,” the villain purred. She didn’t know his name. She was new, she hadn’t learned them all yet. “Who lives? Who dies? Who will you save, little hero?”

Flitter trembled. “I’m not making a choice,” she said, and her voice wasn’t as firm as she wanted it to be, even through the voice-changer. You’re gonna let both those cages down, nice and easy.” One cage full of nurses. One cage full of juvenile offenders. He’d said so, and she could see the scrubs and the jumpsuits for herself. He really wanted this to be a dilemma, and she didn’t know what to do, aside from telling him not to do it, and when did that ever work?

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He laughed at her, hands caressing the controls that suspended the two cages over the street forty floors below. She couldn’t remember his name! She recognized the costume, the jagged streaks of green and white and vivid yellow. This was a dangerous villain, the same guy who’d cut off both of Player One’s legs with some machine just a month ago, and she’d only been a cape for a couple of weeks, she wasn’t up to this guy’s weight in any way even with powers, and she couldn’t remember his name -

And then the villain’s head exploded. She saw it burst before she heard the sound of the gunshots, so they’d come from some distance away. There was red… stuff… all over the wall behind him, and as the body toppled she jumped forward to grab at the handles he’d been toying with - but it wasn’t necessary. Neither cage had moved.

She moved closer and wondered if she should check the body, but… the whole top two-thirds of the head was gone. Trying to take a pulse at this point would just be creepy and weird.

She was still trying to figure out the controls - and trying not to throw up, which was a terrible idea in a full-face mask - when she heard footsteps approaching. Boots. Not trying to be sneaky. The little sounds of clothing, including a creak of leather. When she looked up, she saw an older woman - maybe forty-five, maybe fifty. Not a costume, she was wearing regular clothes.

And, when she stepped into the light, Flitter saw the rifle slung on her back. “Did you…” Her voice quavered, and she cleared her throat a couple of times. “Did you shoot him?”

“Yup.” The woman didn’t sound concerned about it. “Move over.” With casual expertise, the older woman started pressing buttons and moving handles. The two cranes swung out, and the people in them made some noise, but in a few seconds, the cages were over the next roof and being lowered carefully until they hit the gravel with a crunch. “Never bring them down on the same roof, if you can help it, and don’t let them out right away. Useful tip. They’re going to freak out and you don’t need to deal with that. That’s what emergency responders are for.”

Flitter was shaking. “You… you killed him.”

The woman paused, then gave her a sort of sympathetic look. “First time seeing someone die up close?”

Flitter nodded, swallowing hard.

“You’ll get used to it.” The woman sighed. “They all do.” Then her eyes shifted, looking past Flitter, and she raised her voice. “Day late and a dollar short, Box.”

The Boxer was an old, old-school hero. He’d been active for more than eighty years and still looked exactly the same. Right now, his customary faint scowl had become a lot more pronounced. “God fucking damnit, you’re supposed to be in Delaware!”

“I came back to visit some old friends.” It was strange - the woman looked like a civilian, but she was talking to the Boxer like she knew him. Usually only capes did that. “Just happened to be in the area.”

“Bullshit you happened to be in the area!” The Boxer’s fists were clenching and unclenching. “How the hell did you… no, forget it, I know you’re not gonna tell me. How the hell do you still have a fucking sniper rifle?!”

“I don’t. This is for hunting.”

“How do you still have an open carry permit!?”

“I haven’t committed any crimes.”

The Boxer made an incoherent angry noise kind of like a dog growling, and Flitter pointed a shaking hand at the body of the villain whose name she still didn’t know. “You have now!”

The woman looked down at the body, then back up at the two heroes, and shrugged. “No, I haven’t.”

Flitter stared at her. The Boxer turned away to put his fist through the nearest wall. It was a brick wall. That didn’t seem to worry him.

“But… murder?” It came out like a question, and Flitter’s face felt hot under her mask.

“Not here in Vermont it’s not. In Vermont, which has a robust approach to self-defence laws since Dilemma went active thirty years ago here in Burlington, as long as my use of deadly force ‘was reasonably necessary to repel the perceived threat’, to myself or to a person or persons unable to defend themselves, it qualifies as self-defence and is not criminal.” The woman shrugged, smiling in a way that was more rueful than smug, despite her words. “In addition, the statutes regarding capes, super-powered persons, etcetera, article three stipulates that when a known and identified villain is threatening civilian persons, no non-powered person can be held to have used excessive force.”

“Article three was meant to cover the actions of police and military, and you know it!” The Boxer had moved up beside Flitter, and though he still sounded angry, the hand he laid on her shoulder was very gentle. “You okay, kid?”

“Yeah, mostly.”

“Shock. You might wanna get her a hot drink or something.” The woman gestured at the cages on the next roof. “And let them out, since you’re such a good guy.” She unslung the gun, laid it on the ground, and sat down on the edge of the roof a few feet away from it. “I’ve already called the cops. They should be here soon.” Her eyes narrowed. “And you still don’t prepare them for the trolley problem.”

“She’s been active for two weeks, and I’ve been busy!” The Boxer sounded a little angry… and, under it, guilty. “Player One got… retired… last month.”

“I heard.”

His voice softened. “Is that why you’re here?”

Hers didn’t. “Maybe.”

Flitter cleared her throat, half-raising one hand. “Uh…. What’s the trolley problem?”

“It’s a philosophical thing.” The Boxer shrugged. “One of those ethics word problems.”

“It’s also a go-to for the bad guys,” the woman said grimly. “They love it. ‘Choose between saving the kid or saving the world’, or ‘let me kill you and I’ll let the civilians go’, or ‘choose who lives and who dies’ like this one. They just love the idea of forcing a cape to get blood on their hands.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “See, in the trolley problem, you’re on a trolley, and you’re coming up to a fork in the tracks. On one side, one person’s tied to the tracks, trapped in a car, or otherwise unable to escape, on the other, five people are likewise unable to avoid certain death. You have to decide who dies.”

Flitter swallowed a couple more times. She really wanted to throw up again. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah. Especially when it stops being a thought experiment and actually happens to you.” The woman jerked her thumb at the cages again, then reached into her pocket and pulled out something small and flat - a plastic card, it looked like. Maybe two together. She fiddled with them while she talked. “The idea is that the ethical thing to do is save the greatest number of lives, right? But the trolley problem is a con.”

The Boxer groaned. “Sometimes an ethical choice is an ethical fucking choice, R… Lou.”

“Not debating that. But the trolley problem, specifically, is a con. The person placed in the position of making the ‘choice’ is told that they have to choose who lives and who dies, and bear the moral consequences, but that’s not true. No matter what the kid had chosen, she wouldn’t have been responsible for any deaths.”

Flitter felt a little better. “I wouldn’t?”

“No. The trolley problem forces a false choice. If you’re trapped in a trolley and about to kill one or several people who are tied to train tracks, and no other options exist, you’re not actually being allowed a free choice. The trolley problem’s ostensible protagonist is actually one of its victims.” She gestured at the mostly-headless body. “The real culprit is the person who put all those people on the tracks and shoved you into the brakeless trolley.”

“That doesn’t mean that the ethical answer to the trolley problem is to kill the person who posed the problem!” The Boxer sounded like he’d said that a lot of times before.

“Of course it is. Shit like this doesn’t happen in a vacuum, Box. In any situation in which a villain is going to kill one of two groups of people, there’s almost zero probability that this is the first and last time they’ll attempt murder. Ergo, the answer that saves the greatest number of lives is always to kill the person who posited the problem.” The woman folded her arms. “You know it’s true.”

“But it’s not right,” the Boxer almost wailed. Flitter suddenly felt kind of sorry for him. He cared about people. Nobody could do this job for more than eighty years if they didn’t. The idea that shooting someone in the head without warning wasn’t a bad thing to do was an idea that was just the wrong shape for his brain.

“Maybe not. But ‘right’ and ‘necessary’ aren’t always the same thing.”

The door onto the roof opened, and several cops came through with their weapons up. Flitter tensed, and tried to pretend she hadn’t. They couldn’t tell she was black under the costume. This was fine. It was fine. Law and order was theoretically on her side in this situation.

The Boxer’s hand was on her shoulder again, and he squeezed slightly. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “They play by the rules when I’m around.”

“Drop your weapon!” one of them shouted, and even Flitter managed to look at him like he was insane.

“I’m sitting down three feet away from the weapon, which is on the ground,” the woman said very dryly. “It’s as dropped as it’s gonna get.”

The guy started to yell again, but the oldest one smacked him across the back of the head. “Don’t make a bigger fool of yourself, dumbass.” He holstered his gun, and glared at the woman. “Ms Harmer, you moved to Delaware. We checked. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Visiting old friends.” She held out the thing she’d been fiddling with. “Here’s my driver’s license and my open carry permit. There’s the gun, which is still loaded so be careful. There’s the body of the supervillain calling himself, if I recall correctly, Inferno. I killed him in defence of two groups of civilians who you’ll find on the roof over there, in accordance with -“

“With Vermont state law regarding self-defence and the statute exempting non-powered persons from excessive force against supervillains. I know, I know,” the cop said, frustration dripping off the words. He barely glanced at the cards before handing them back.

Flitter blinked. “She’s done this before!?”

“Nine times in the state of Vermont, to my knowledge, counting this one.” The cop glared at Ms Harmer. “It was four in Delaware last time I checked, but it’s been a while.”

“And not a single charge laid.” Ms Harmer stood up. “Do you want to take me in now, Phil, or would it be more convenient for me to stop by in the morning to make my statement?”

“You - “ the overenthusiastic cop said, pulling out his cuffs.

“Forget it!” the older one snapped at him. “Just… forget it. Harmer, be at the station at nine.”

“I know the drill.”

“Sir, you’re not just gonna let her walk away - “

“Flynn, she’s done this thirteen times, weren’t you listening? She shot a known supervillain while he was in the commission of a major crime! She was sitting here waiting for us with the gun on the ground and her ID out! She confessed! She’s not a flight risk!” ‘Phil’ glared at Ms Harmer, then at the two superheroes. “Next time, at least try to stop her… not that that’s easy,” he added grudgingly. “Just… get lost, all of you. We’ll take it from here.”

When Flitter tried to move, she nearly fell over. The Boxer grabbed her and held her steady until her knees stopped buckling. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“It’s okay, kid. First time you see a head explode shakes everyone.” He patted her back gently, and took her arm and guided her towards the stairs. “I’ll buy you a coffee.”

After a moment, an equally gentle hand gripped her other elbow. “You’ll be fine, kid.” Ms Harmer’s voice was still as calm and level as ever. “And if there’s no-one around to help next time, remember that nothing that happens is your fault. The only murderer in the trolley problem is the one who poses it.”

“Unless I kill him,” Flitter said quietly. “Then it’s me.”

“Well, yeah,” Ms Harmer admitted. “Self-defense laws don’t apply to capes. You probably wouldn’t serve time over something this clear-cut, but the other capes’d push you out if you crossed that line, even if the cops didn’t put you away.”

“There are rules.” The Boxer still sounded upset.

“Yup. There are rules for capes, and rules for cops, and rules for civilians, and the important thing to remember is that they’re not the same rules.” The woman’s hand was steady. “Sometimes you have to choose.”

The Boxer snorted. “Like you did, Ray?”

Ms Harmer stopped on the stairs, and turned to look at him. “Rachel Zimmerman is dead, old man,” she said, and her voice was very cold. “You know she is. She died on your watch. An idealistic young lawyer who moonlighted as a superhero called Scale, and died in one of Dilemma’s deathtraps more than twenty years ago. You attended the funeral. You attested to her death when the body couldn’t be identified.”

“And then you turned up,” the Boxer said, and Flitter saw what might be tears in the hard old eyes. “And I knew I was wrong.”

“You heard a voice that sounded like hers and got sentimental.”

“You know things only Ray could know.”

She leaned in close, and her whisper was as bitter as ice. “Prove it.” Then she turned away, hopping the railing to land with a thud on the next flight of stairs. Flitter heard her boots moving fast on the stairs.

The Boxer just stood there, his shoulders slumped. “I can’t prove it,” he muttered, so quiet that he might be talking to himself. “But I know.”

Tentatively, Flitter put her hand on the big, muscular shoulder, like he had for her. “It was a trolley problem?” she said quietly.

He nodded. “I always told her not to kill. Never to kill. Then we went up against Dilemma, and… they were kids. Little kids. Dilemma…”

“He made her choose?”

The Boxer’s head bowed lower. “No,” he said, even more quietly. “He made me choose.”

Flitter nodded slowly. No wonder he was so upset. “She said it wasn’t your fault,” she reminded him, knowing it probably wouldn’t help but not knowing what else to say. “She said that the person given the choice is another victim.”

“Yeah, I know. She always does.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “She was a good person, she never woulda wanted me to save her and let a bunch of little kids die. That she ain’t mad about. But she knows, and I know, that I coulda killed him. I coulda saved both, and I didn’t, because I wanted to be the good guy… and good guys don’t kill.”

Flitter felt the chill of that all down her spine. “I… hadn’t thought of that yet.” But now it was all she could think about. About this happening again, looking at some other monster playing with human lives, and realizing that even though the trolley problem wasn’t a real choice, she did have a choice… and what the consequences of that choice would be.

“Yeah. That’s why she does it. So kids like you don’t have to make either choice.” He sighed again, then shook his head. “But you don’t gotta deal with that right now. Come on, kid, let’s get that coffee. Maybe talk.”

Flitter nodded. “I’d… definitely like to talk.”

She didn’t look around for Ms Harmer when they left the building. But she wondered. Player One had been around for more than twenty years, she was pretty sure. Visiting friends, she’d said…

[powdermelonkeg]

Secrets in the Breeze

"What do you think it is?"

Several sets of eyes fell on the tablet Hyrule had unearthed, pondering its use. Legend studied the pattern critically. "Hmm..." He reached down and wiped away some dirt. "...It looks like song magic."

"Those aren't notes I recognize..." Sky said with a frown. “Are you sure?”

“No. But that’s my best guess until I can study it better.”

Hyrule reached for his recorder. “Well, we can find out pretty quickly, right?”

Time held out a hand to stop him. He gave the strange tablet a thoughtful look. "...Everyone, stand back."

The other four in the hunting party quickly gave him distance as he pulled out his indigo ocarina. The marks looked a little different, but...Drawing in a breath, he lifted the instrument to his lips.

The other heroes watched in anticipation.

...Silence.

Time frowned, glancing around the area. “...Did anyone notice anything happening?”

“I don’t think so.” Wild paused, peering at the sky outside the cavern. “Not unless you have a song for causing rain.”

“I do. This isn’t it.”

“Wait, really?”

Time offered a small smile. “A conversation for another time. Let’s get back before the others decide to come looking for us.”

“Do you think they decided to cook something themselves?” Hyrule asked, grabbing his game bag.

Sky scrunched up his nose. “Goddess, I hope not. I can still taste that...reekfish thing.”

Wild raised his hand. “I liked it.”

“You eat rocks. You don’t get to judge what tastes good.”

As the others went ahead, Legend glanced back at the strange tablet. After a moment’s consideration, he wrenched it free of the earth and tucked it under his arm.

It needed to be studied further.

“There you are!” Warriors exclaimed, halfway through putting up the oil tarp for the rain. “We were just about to get a search party ready.”

“He means he was about to go running off after you,” Twilight said, giving his well-polished counterpart a side-eye, then shook his head. “Anyways, we’re all hungry. What took you?”

Hyrule rubbed the back of his head. “Secret cave.” He gave a nod to Wild. “He spotted some fragile rocks and wanted to blow them up.”

“Find anything?”

“Yeah, actually.” Legend held out the tablet. “Song magic script. Do any of you guys recognize this?”

Twi, Four, and Wars all frowned as they looked at the markings, but Wind lit up instantly. He threw his hand in the air. “I do!” he exclaimed. “That’s 4/4 time; it’s conductors notes!”

Time raised an eyebrow. “Conductor’s notes?”

“Uh-huh. It’s how song magic works on the Great Sea.” Wind tilted his head to the side. “Though, I don’t know this song. What is it?”

“We were hoping you could tell us that.” Legend said, sitting down by the fire. “Think you can play a tune for us?”

Wind’s eye’s shone, and he pulled out his silver baton, looking to Time for confirmation. “Can I?”

The older hero frowned, considering. “...Not this close to the fire. Or to bad weather. For all we know, it’s a Lyric of Lightning or something equally as dangerous.”

Wind’s shoulders slumped, and Four patted his back. “Cheer up,” he said. “You can still try it out tomorrow. Besides,” he flashed the younger hero a smile, “we should eat before it rains, right? I’m hungry, aren’t you?”

“...Yeah,” Wind relented. He gave one last wistful look at the tempo pattern.

Soon, he told himself. Soon, I’ll learn your secrets.

Rain pattered outside the heroes’ shelter, the soothing sound and calm scent of petrichor letting even the most troubled of them sleep undisturbed, for once.

Well...almost all of them.

Wind managed the 2 AM watch at the edge of camp, eyeing Legends tools and trying to coax himself out of the temptation to try the new song. It had been so long since he’d run into a tablet like that; the thrill of new abilities or hidden passages was a siren’s call to the young adventurer.

Up, down, up, right. It was so simple.

What could it do?

Wind found himself fantasizing about the possibilities. Maybe it calls birds, he thought. Or summons fairies, or lets you talk to rocks. He glanced up at the stormclouds. Or maybe the old man’s right and it’s a lightning song. How cool would that be?

He pictured it; calling down lightning like one of the mages of legend, with just a swish of the Wind Waker. He could take out entire monster camps in one fell swoop!

His eyes drifted back to the tablet by Legend’s bag.

...If it’s really a lightning song, then it won’t work if we wait for the storm to clear, Wind thought to himself, pulling out his baton.

He needed to try it out.

Just to test it. Time would understand, right?

Stealthily, he crept over and grabbed the stone, carefully pulling it over to his post at the tarp’s edge, and stood in front of it. The Wind Waker sparkled with magic intent.

The stone shimmered, triangle carvings lighting up; orange, yellow, orange, blue. Light bled through the cracks, and—

—it crumbled to dust.

Wind’s jaw dropped.

...Legend was going to kill him.

He shoved the Wind Waker back into his bag hastily, trying to keep calm. This is fine, right? If he doesn’t say anything, then nobody can blame him, and Legend could chalk it up to age! Relics break all the time!

...Except Time’s disapproving frown would crack Wind for sure. There was no evading that; it was almost as bad as when his grandma gave him the look of disappointment. He was doomed.

Ping!

Wind’s ears twitched, momentarily distracted from his crisis by the sound. A soft purple glow caught his eye.

Ping!

The Master Sword gave another call, the sliver of visible blade pulsing with lavender light among Sky’s things.

Wind stared at the sacred sword, uncertain. “...What is it?” he whispered.

Ping!

He reached out to take it, then hesitated.

Sky was going to kill him too.

...No. He couldn’t, right? The Master Sword was just as much Wind’s as anyone else here; besides, he’d just borrow it. Sky could have it back. He reached out for the blade.

Ping!

Four shifted in his sleep, and Wind froze, staring at the shorter hero. If the sword woke anyone up before he could fix the tablet situation, he was toast.

Ping!

Panicking, Wind snatched the sword up and ran outside, trying to silence it before it could make any more noise. He would deal with the consequences later, when the others woke up at a normal time. Once he was safely in the white noise of rainfall, Wind drew the blade. “Alright, what is it?” he demanded, holding it level with his eyes as if he could scold it. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

Ping, ping, ping—

He frowned as it began to beep faster, lowering it. “Come on, I can’t deal with-”

Ping! Ping!

He paused, then lifted it up again.

Ping, ping, ping—

He lowered it.

Ping! Ping!

Back up.

Ping, ping, ping—

Wind tilted his head curiously. Experimentally, he spun in a slow circle.

Ping, ping, ping ping ping PINGPINGPING ping ping—

“Are you...trying to show me something?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. Watching it closely, he pointed the sword in the direction that caused the most noise and light.

Into the forest.

He glanced back at camp. If he stayed behind, they could all go after whatever this was together...after he got a scolding for breaking Legend’s stuff, and endangering the camp, and not listening to the old man...

Yeah, no. Forest it is.

Sky rolled over in his sleep, his dreams filled with endless skies and blue loftwings. Clouds rolled in over the picnic of pumpkin soup he was having with Zelda.

Fragrant, but suffocating clouds. He couldn’t breathe.

He bolted awake, fighting whatever was cutting off his air and defeating the tangled sailcloth in a heroic and not-at-all frantic wrestling match. His eyes fell on the white fabric as he caught his breath.

...He should stop wearing this thing to bed.

With a sigh, he unpinned it from his shoulders and went to wrap it around Fi. If he couldn’t have the comforts of home, at least she could. He reached for the blade—

—and grasped nothing but air.

With a frown, the hero fumbled for his tinderbox and lit a match, struggling a moment to make a spark in the damp storm air, then looked around for his trusty blade. The longer he searched, the more he could feel ice creep into his veins; he even rifled through the luggage of the usual borrowers of the Master Sword.

“Sky?”

His attention snapped over to the source of the voice. Time was looking at him with an eyebrow raised, bleary-eyed and confused. “What are you doing?”

Sky swallowed the panicked lump in his throat. “The Master Sword’s missing.”

Time sat up sharply, wide awake in an instant as adrenaline shot through him. He quickly did a headcount.

Eight. One short.

Kid-sized bootprints left the camp’s edge, pressed into the fresh mud in a perfect trail.

Wind ran through the woods, following wherever the sword led him. The faster he figured out what was going on, the faster he could get back. And if he found something, that would make things better, right? He’d even let Legend keep some of the treasure, as a peace offering.

The forest, though, seemed to have no end to it, stretching high above his head, with shadows reaching out from all directions. He remembered hearing about something like this from Hyrule—the Lost Woods, which spat you out the way you came from if you made a wrong turn in them. He’d never heard of such a thing on the Great Sea, but then again, the ocean wasn’t exactly known for its vast woodland.

Finally, he reached a clearing, the sword giving a continuous ringing noise to indicate that he’d hit his dowsing mark. And, standing in the middle of it, was a weathered stone wall, overgrown with vines. He could faintly see something scrawled behind the foliage.

Narrowing his eyes, Wind channeled all the magic power he could into the Master Sword’s spin attack.

“HYAH!”

“HYAH!”

The heroes stopped in their tracks at the noise. Hyrule sheltered his candle from the rain carefully. “Was that-”

“He’s here.” Time said, quickly breaking into a jog. “Come on, we can’t lose pace now. The Lost Woods can do awful things to you if you’re not careful.”

Wind shook his head, quickly getting rid of the stars in his vision. He’d forgotten how disorienting a Hurricane Spin could be.

It had done the job well, though. The vines were nothing but chopped salad now, and the carvings behind the stone were clear as day. Six conductor’s notes stared Wild in the face, begging to be played.

The hero’s fingers tingled; this felt like the start of an adventure, one that didn’t start with a kidnapping and cannonfire.

Drawing himself up, he pulled out his baton, and began to play the magic tune.

This one was different from the first. It felt...familiar, somehow. It wasn’t something he’d ever played before, and yet...

The music carried his thoughts away from him. He found himself conducting from his heart, like when he’d played with Medli and Makar, swept up in the energy the song game off. As he ran out of notes to orchestrate, he heard an earsplitting CRACK, and his eyes flew open.

The wall had crumbled to nothingness, like the tablet had. In its wake, however, a shining blueish pedestal sat, magic spiraling outwards from its center like a spring flower.

Ping!

Wind looked at the Master Sword, tucking the Wind Waker away. He smiled fondly. “Just like old times, huh?” Giving it a playful twirl, he walked over to the pedestal, holding the sword’s hilt in both hands. “I wonder what’s going to look like this time. Are you going to get more powerful?” His eyes shone, imagining the others’ faces at bringing an even stronger Master Sword back with him. Taking a deep breath, he stabbed the blade down into its newest resting place, confident that he could handle whatever boss or dungeon this unlocked.

“LINK!!!”

His head snapped up as the rest of the Chain rushed into the clearing, eyes wide. “Hey-” He tried to talk, but no sound came out; his mouth felt like it was full of cotton, and his head swam. Silver fog began to cloud his vision.

The last thing he was aware of before he felt himself fall was Time throwing his blade aside and running to catch him.

Then it all went white. The only noises he could hear were the whispers of watchers, and the chimes of tiny bells.

[dameronology]

to all the pilots i've loved before {poe dameron} - 2/4

part two: laughter lines on tired eyes

summary: you’re in love with poe dameron. it’s both the most complicated and most simple thing in the galaxy - and it’s all shoved into a shoe-box under your bed, in the form of a thousand love letters. here’s to hoping he never finds them. (series masterlist)

warnings: this one's pretty angsty - mentions of death + loss

enjoy :)

- jazz xx

Poe had always been terrified of losing you. It came with the territory of his job, but a lot of it stemmed from the fact you were person who he was closest with.

Dear Poe,

He tried not to think about it, really. Why would he? There was no point in pondering upon depressing scenarios when you brought enough excitement to his real life. He'd always known to some extent that there was a chance you could be lost in battle but that was a thought he shoved to the back of his head. It was locked away in a chest in a dark corner - another thing he didn't need to think about.

It occurred to me today that I'm probably in love with you. At first, I thought I was always just really happy to see you, but then I realised this morning, a MONDAY morning when I normally despise everyone including you, that I actually really wanted to see you.

But some things in life were unavoidable, and being dragged into a meeting room with a solemn looking Leia Organa was one of them. For Poe, it was an uncomfortably similar scenario to one he'd faced 25 years earlier. The General was more tired now, though - tired of fighting, tired of the war, tired of having these fucking conversations.

I'm never going to tell you, but as you know, I am famously bad at containing my emotions and I had to put this....somewhere.

They always started the same.

"I'm sorry."

Poe frowned. "What's happened?"

I'm sure it'll pass. I've had loads of random crushes in the past but they all went away. Do you remember Larry, the guy from the hangar, who I fancied for like a week last summer? And that very brief crush I had on Han Solo? Huh, maybe I have a time.

"(Name)'s squadron was flying back from Coruscant when the fleet took a hit," Leia's voice was shaky. Worlds away from her normal authoritative tone. "Three jets disappeared from our radars, including theirs."

"But you've found them, right?" He pushed. "You have to have found them-"

"- we've sent out several search parties," she cut him off. "They haven't found any wreckage on nearby planets, but that's good news, because it means they might have not been knocked down. It might be that they diverted to another planet to lay low for a few days."

I think it's the way you smile at me. You might not notice it, but you have these little creases by your eyes, and your lips always upturn even when you try to resist laughing. I really like your hugs too.

Poe sat up in his seat, heart rate suddenly picking up to a speed that almost beat that of his X-Wing. Clammy hands, sweaty palms, little black dots beginning to form at the edges of his peripheral vision. Suddenly, he was eight years old again, gripping the sides of his chair, throat as dry as the desert on a hot summer's day; brown eyes filled with sorrow and tears, feeling like a punch to her goddamn throat. She hadn't shaken that vision out of her head, not ever - and now, here it was all over again - the same face, the same creased brown, the same eyes. They were more tired now, with laughter lines etched around the sides, brown irises a little darker and more sunken. But Poe's eyes had never lost that spark - it had dimmed a little bit, but it was still there. Whether it would be after all this was hard to say.

And just...well it's you really, isn't it? It's the way you go out your way to make me smile when I'm sad and the way you'll fight anyone who makes me mad.

"Let me lead a search party," he begged. "Please, I'll find them in now time-"

"- Poe, you're too close to the matter," Leia replied. "You can help, though."

"Anything," Poe said. "I'll do anything."

"We've been trying to locate the back-up plans that (name) prepared for the mission - they should include a list of potential safe spots," she explained. "If you can find that list, we'll begin searching them."

"Have you tried their quarters?"

"I didn't want to invade their privacy," Leia said. "But if you happen to have a key, then-"

It's everything. It's your resilience and your humour and the way you see the best in everyone. The way you're never afraid to fight for what you believe in or stand up for what's right.

She was cut off by the sound of Poe's chair legs screeching against the floor. He was up in a split second, flying out the room without another word. His fists were balled up as he stormed down the corridor, nails digging into the palms of his hands - the pain of them piercing his skin was merely a reminder that all this was real. It wasn't a nightmare. He wasn't going to wake up and find you asleep in your room, safe and sound.

If Leia was right, and you were just laying low, would you not have said something to him? Found your own way to pass the message on? It wasn't like you to just disappear without a trace. You were always the organised one; the one who carried band-aids for when he inevitably burnt himself on a soldering iron, and the one who stitched him up every time he came staggering back from a mission, covered in minor scratches that he had heroically labelled battle scars.

You're amazing and I'm so lucky you're my best friend. This war is fucking awful but having you by my side makes everything a little less fucking awful.

Your room was just as you'd left it; tidy, but lived in. The jacket you'd stolen from him two years ago was strewn across your desk chair; the desk itself was piled high with random papers and forms, and there was a photo beside them of you, him, Finn and Rey. Some of your clothes were tossed on the bed, and your spare pair of boots was dumped in the middle of the floor.

Poe quickly scanned the room, before rifling around the sheets on your desk - but, to no avail. They were just random notes, and what looked like a letter from your father. He tried to recall any thing that might point to where you kept your mission plans - there had been the time you'd leant him your X-Wing maintenance guide, which was in a box under your bed.

This is probably something I'll take to my grave. Maybe I'll tell you about it in like 20 years when we're married to different people and meet up for Life Day. And I'll be all like 'hey, Poe! This one time when we younger, I was in love with you' and we'll laugh about it.

Falling to his knees onto the floor, Poe flipped your duvet up and began to peer underneath. Dust bunnies, a maintenance kit, your old blaster, the book he leant you nine months ago, and a box full of papers. After pawing about for a minute, he pulled the shoe box out and tore it open.

Now, it should be said that you had never considered the possibility that Poe would ever look under your bed without you knowing. Why would he? Unless he was creeping about, of course - but he'd never do anything like that. It wasn't in his nature, and you'd put the fear of god into him more than enough times for him to be clever enough not to do that. This was different, though; it was literally a matter of life and death.

I guess that means I think we'll still be friends in 20 years. And 40 and 50 and 60 and until we're old and wrinkly and too senile to fly a jet. I love you now and I'm sure I'll still love you then.

Tipping the papers out onto your floor, Poe crossed his legs and began to search through them.

He didn't see it at first.

All the letters that said dear Poe, I love you.

When he did, his heart stopped. Like, that full on, gut clenching, air-stealing, pulse pausing stomach drop. It only further added to his theory that this whole fucking terrible day was just a dream - but maybe, just maybe, this bit was a little less terrible.

Hands shaking (now for a different reason), Poe grabbed the first letter from the pile. It was dated to just over a year ago.

Love, (name)

There was a lot to unpack; firstly, you'd been in love with him for a fucking year. And you'd brought up the secret crush on Han Solo that you swore to never talk about - and did you really think he'd ever be too senile to fly a jet? Poe would have been insulted if that first revelation hadn't reduced his entire thinking capacity down to one, tiny brain cell.

Clutching the letter in his hands, Poe fell back against the bed. All this information - your disappearance and the declarations - was much too complicated for him to process all at once. The worst part was that you'd said you were going to take it to your grave and now...well now, you actually might have.

But there was still a chance - a chance that you were still out there, trying to find your way back to him. To your best friend.

You had to come back.

tags: @neverlandlibrarian @asphyzzz @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @ubri812 @taina-eny @dessinemoiunehistoire @fangirl-316 @princessxkenobi @brandyllyn

[silverwings22]

Caught in the Crosshairs: Chapter 21 I'm Jealous: Shania Twain

Series warnings: Smut, mind control, canon typical violence, childhood trauma, language, chronic illness

Chapter Warnings: alchohol, jealousy

Translations: cyar'ika: Sweetheart

Previous chapter:

Next chapter:

"How's it look?" Miria chuckled.  Wrecker had escorted her to get stone new clothes for their night out at 79s, and she was hoping she didn't look ridiculous.  

"Nice,  Gener-" he started. 

"Wrecker,  what did I say?"

He smiled sheepishly.  "You're not a general tonight.  Just our friend,  Miri."

She beamed.  "Very good.  Now,  how's it look?  Not too tight?"

She'd bought a black,  high collared and sleeveless dress that hugged her curves sleekly. Her leggings and a pair of arm bands were a rich ultraviolet shade,  and her new polished black boots even had a little heel to them.  She'd pulled her hair up into a bouncy little two tone ponytail and swapped her red lipstick for purple to match.  "You look real pretty.  Crosshairs gonna love it."

She grinned,  looking at the ring sitting pretty on her left hand. Their promise.  "I hope so."

"C'mon. The guys are waiting anyway." He chuckled.  

She followed him out to where the other four sat, comfortable in plain clothes mostly of shades of black.  Miria peeked around Wrecker's muscled frame.  "Ready,  boys?"

They looked up and everyone froze.  Hunter was the first one to break the silence.  "Holy shit, Miri. You been hiding under those robes and armor."

She giggled.  "Cross? What do you think?"

"I think everyone needs to get out,  we skip the bar, and I peel that off you." He said flatly.  "Damn."

She smiled.  "We'll have plenty of time after.  I've never been to a bar before. I'm excited. "

Echo just chuckled. He was never getting used to the open affection between those two when it was just them around.  "I kinda wanna hear that Coruscanti accent slur."

Tech nodded. "Let's go, then."

Miria nodded,  making sure her saber was tucked into Crosshair's locked rifle case before they left. "Not gonna carry it?" The sniper asked curiously.  

"Not tonight.  Alcohol and weaponry seem like a bad combination."

"Thought you said a saber was a Jedis life."

"Then it makes sense I'm putting it with your things." She chuckled.  

His expression softened a little.  "Yeah."

She reached for his hand and they walked out all together,  catching a cab to the bar since none of them planned on being capable of driving. 

79s was a bustling bar,  typically inhabited by clones but with an interesting sprinkling of other races. Mostly pretty young guys and girls looking to take a soldier home.  The group tucked into a back booth,  mostly content with each other's company.  Hunter and Wrecker were watching a couple twi'lek girls dancing, Tech flagging down a cute zabrak girl with short white hair and face tattoos.  She took their orders,  grinning as they all ordered an extra drink for Miria to try.  She was wedged happily between Crosshair and Echo,  looking in wide eyed delight at all the lights and dancers.  

When the drinks arrived, the guys lost their minds laughing at her curious trying of them.  She lost count of what they had her tasting. Echos beer and Crosshairs whiskey,  Tech's scotch, Hunters rum and soda,  Wrecker's spotchka,  whatever fruity concoctions they'd all picked for her,  something sweet and sour that was luminous green under the pulsing lights… and she dutifully took tries of all of them and finished at least four completely.  

Her brain felt fuzzy and warm in her head,  like it'd come loose of its moorings to rattle about in her skull.  "You're red in the face,  cyar'ika." Crosshair chuckled. 

"Everything's tingly…" she giggled.  "Feels funny."

"You are intoxicated,  Miri." Tech laughed.  "Have you ever been drunk before?"

She shook her head a little too exuberant. "Noooo. Didn't think it'd be so fun!"

"You're adorable." Wrecker snickered.  "Wanna come dance with me?"

"Okay!" She giggled,  and Echo let her up as she wobbled out of the booth.  The lights seemed brighter and the music louder, everything so much. But Wrecker grinned and led her off, and she knew she was safe.  Crosshair knew it too, so he didn't mind letting her out of his reach.  

"Not going to dance with your girl?" Echo chuckled.  

"I don't dance." Crosshair shrugged. 

"But you're okay with her dancing with someone else?" Echo looked surprised.  

Crosshair took a swallow of his whiskey.  "... I trust very few people with Miria." He finally said. "Not most of her Jedi friends,  anyway.  They left her alone for too long.  But… you guys? You'll look out for her.  If something happened to me,  I know you'd all protect her." 

It was the closest any of them ever heard him come to saying they were his best friends.  Hell, they were probably the grumpy marksman's only friends. But if he really trusted them with something as precious to him as Miria… Well,  they didn't need to hear the words. The message was recieved loud and clear. 

The waitress came back with a glass of whiskey and set it in front of him.  "This one's on the house."

He cocked an eyebrow.  "Thanks…"

She slid up behind his chair, a little too close.  "I'm Jaeni,  by the way."

Crosshair nodded, not really paying her much attention.  He was watching Miria from the corner of his eye,  her laugh swallowed by the music as she rocked her hips and shoulders in a sinfully cute and uncoordinated display.  He knew she could actually dance,  he'd seen her stretching in the morning in a way that looked a lot like Alderaani ballet. Sometimes on the ship,  when she thought no one was watching,  she'd even twirl around a little when she was doing chores with music in her earpiece…

Jaeni either didn't notice where his eyes drifted or didn't care,  ignoring the others to pointedly flirt with him.  Tech and Hunter exchanged glances.

Echo tapped the woman's shoulder.  "Excuse me,  miss,  but his girlfriend's right over there."

She smirked.  "Dancing with another guy." Her head swiveled back to Crosshair.  "You should come dance with me.  We'd make her good and jealous."

"She doesn't get jealous." He said automatically. It wasn't exactly true,  but she'd always been good at hiding it. The others wouldn't know the difference.  

"Then c'mon. No reason not to." She grinned.  "If she really doesn't care,  then you can take me home after my shift."

"I don't dance." He tried to scoot back from the exploratory hands moving towards him,  displeased when they met his chest.  "Get off." His voice sharpened a little.  

Out on the dance floor, the little bubble of contentment in the Force Miria had been basking in all night burst. She frowned,  turning away from Wrecker.  "Something's not right…"

No,  something was definitely not right.  Her eyes fell immediately on the tattooed waitress with her hands on Crosshair and…

Her blood screamed.  Who the hell was that woman?  Why was she touching her fiance? 

Wrecker blinked, noticing her sudden stiffness.  "Miri?"

"Who is that?" Miria growled. Her liquor-addled brain was boiling at this point,  the careful control she always kept splintering apart like wet flimsi in a gale. She couldn't think, swept under the rush of emotion she could normally control. But right now,  drunk,  only one thing shrieked sickly green out of her and into the Force. 

Jealous.  

She started to storm forward,  wobbly on her feet. 

Jealous.  Jealous.  Jealous.  

Hunter jumped when the light overhead flared suddenly viciously bright and covered his head just as it blew out and rained glass down mostly on Jaeni. The girl shrieked.  

Crosshair looked up in time to see his Jedis blazing expression,  and his gut twisted. 

He knew exactly what was going on in that pretty little head of hers.  There was about to be an ugly fight.  

He pushed the zebrak off him and got up to intercept his girl as she reached the table.  Another light blew,  just as loud as the first.  

"Miria."

"Who does she think-" Miria was seething,  and a third explosion had other bar patrons running out the door.  

"Easy, baby girl.  Easy. I'm right here." He wrapped her arms tight to her sides. 

"She-!"

"Doesn't matter.  C'mere, baby. Let's get out of here."

Miria glared daggers at the now terrified zebrak, but Crosshair picked her up off her feet and carried her out before she could actually strangle the life out of the other woman.  

Out in the chill of the night air,  with the object of her fury out of sight,  Miria went pliant and sweet again in his arms,  snuggling close. "I'm sorry.  I'm sorry, Cross. I…" she shuddered,  the aftershocks of her own emotion making her nauseated. "I didn't mean… I was… she was all over you…"

"I know.  It's okay.  I didn't like it either." He pulled her to his chest, rubbing her back as she shuddered and tried not to throw up. 

She'd lost her temper.  She hadn't lost her temper in years.  She'd almost… "I was going to hurt her." She whispered,  disgusted with herself. "Cross, I was…" she stumbled away from him, eyes huge.  "Force,  stay away from me…"

"Miria,  come here.  You're still drunk-"

"I might hurt you." She shook her head.  "I almost… oh Force…"

"You won't-" he started,  but she shook her head and he spotted tears shining on her cheeks in the streetlight glow.  Before he could grab her she was running down the alleyway as fast as her legs could carry her,  holding herself upright with the Force to overcome booze and her heels.  "Miria!"

The others walked out of the club,  startled.  "What the fuck just happened?" Hunter murmured, dusting broken glass off his jacket.  

"She got jealous." Crosshair growled, sticking a toothpick in his mouth.  

"I thought you said she didn't get jealous." Echo frowned. 

"I was wrong.  But she's still fucking drunk,  and alone.  We gotta find her before she gets hurt." The sniper hissed. 

Hunter nodded.  "On it."

Her head was pounding and she'd thrown up behind a trash can three different times after fleeing the bar.  But Miria was doggedly determined to keep running.  

She'd wanted to hurt someone.  A stranger she didn't even know,  because she'd put her hands on Crosshair.  She was furious with herself for such a sickening thought.  After all her preaching about trust and love,  she'd been jealous and lashed out in it.  Crosshair had every right to be furious with her hypocrisy.  She didn't deserve his forgiveness.  She didn't deserve to be a Jedi, or a general. She was…. Going to be sick again.  

Miria leaned against a wall and puked her guts up for the fourth time,  whimpering miserably.  Her eyes stung and chest burned from sobbing as she had run.  But she didn't know where she was going,  or even where she was.

She needed help.  

Her hands fumbled her comm up.  "A-anakin?" She croaked.

"Miri? You okay?"

"No.  I did something awful… I need help…" she whispered.  "I knew you wouldn't hate me…"

"Where are you?  I'll come get you."

She looked around.  "I think I'm in the lower levels now…. I was running. From 79s…"

"Turn your location on.  I'll come get you." He repeated.  "Tell me what happened."

"I blew up the lights… I almost hurt some girl.  I…" A fresh flood stormed down her cheeks.  "I was so angry,  Anakin.  Now everyone's going to hate me! I'll be all alone again!"

Anakin paused. "Miri, have you been drinking?"

She sniffled.  "Y-yes… I had a lot of stuff at the bar before…"

"Where's your guys?"

"I… ran away from them… they're mad at me."

"Did they say they were mad?"

She sniffed again. "I did exactly what I told Crosshair not to do… it was worse than what he said to Rex…."

"Just keep telling me about it.  I'm on the way.  But I'm calling him."

Miria yelped.  "Don't call him! I can't…. He's going to be so angry, Anakin.  I can't stand it.  Please…"

"I won't tell him where you are if he's mad at you.  But he's gotta be worried too. Okay? Keep talking."

Miria leaned against the brick wall behind her and sank down, head on her knees.  "There was a pretty girl… flirting with him."

"So you got upset?"

"Yes… she was really pretty…." She whispered.  "And touching him.  All over him…. I wanted to punch her face in so it wouldn't be so pretty…"

"We all get mad sometimes, Miri."

"But I almost did it. Crosshair stopped me… but I broke a bunch of lights…. I might hurt him, too." She was so tired now,  her floaty brain giving way to a bone deep exhaustion begging her to just lay down and give up on holding her scattered thoughts.  "I told him not to be jealous… and he's gonna hate me…"

Anakin,  in a skycar, pulled up another screen on his comm. "Crosshair?"

"Little busy,  Skywalker." The sniper indeed sounded pissed.  

"It's midnight, do you know where your Jedi is?" Anakin chuckled. 

"If I fucking knew where she was,  I wouldn't be-"

"I've got her location. Relax." Anakin couldn't help but smile. This was a dysfunctional family he was a part of. "How mad at her are you?"

"I'm not mad at her." The man's voice quieted a little.  Whatever background,  most likely the rest of the batch following Hunter tracking Miria,  quieted.  "I'm fucking confused,  Skywalker. She's never been like this."

"She's not a doll,  Crosshair.  She's got feelings,  including that one. I guess a little liquor just loosened the top she keeps on it."

"More than a little, for her." Crosshair finally sighed. "She's by herself. Where is she so I can go find her?"

"She thinks you're gonna hate her."

"That's stupid and she's drunk."

"I know.  I'm sending you the coordinates." Anakin chuckled again.  "I'll pick you up.  Call when you find her. "

"... will do." The clone hung up. "This way. She's twelve klicks from the fucking bar."

"How the fuck did she get that far that fast?" Echo blinked.

"Jedi bullshit.  She called Skywalker." Crosshair grumbled.  "She… thinks we're all pissed at her."

Wrecker shook his head.  "She's hammered." 

"Yeah.  We'll sort it out later.  Let's go get her."

It took them another half an hour hauling ass to find the alleyway Miria was huddled up in.  Crosshair pushed his way to the front of the pack and crouched in front of her. "Miria?"

Sleepy, tearful eyes peeked up from behind her hands. "I'm sorry…"

"Hey,  it's okay.  C'mere, we're gonna take you home." He murmured.  "You need a bath and a nap." She smelled strongly of booze and sweat,  and faintly of vomit and tears.  A mess if he'd ever seen one.  

"Please don't hate me…" she whimpered.  Great,  she was an emotional drunk.  

"Never could.  You trust me,  right?" He held a hand out. 

She nodded and hesitantly took it. Her skin was freezing against his.  "Trust you."

He carefully pulled her to his feet, flicking his comm up.  "Got her."

"Oh good,  I'm not late. " a skycar pulled up at the end of the alleyway,  Anakin grinning in the pilot's seat. "Need a lift?"

They piled in,  Miria a melted puddle of sadness in her sniper's lap in the back.  Hunter was glad it was an open top car, because she reeked of misery. 

Crosshair just rubbed her hands to warm them up, not saying much as Anakin chuckled and joked with Echo.  Everyone was relieved to find their wayward Jedi.  Even the usually more wayward one.  

He dropped them off at the hotel. "Get her to call when she's sober.  I'm making fun of her for this." he said fondly before taking back off to where he'd been interrupted from, Padme's apartment.  

The guys headed back to their rooms,  Crosshair taking Miria to his.  He sat her on the couch lightly. "Stay here. Don't run off again."

She nodded,  rubbing her wet cheeks on her fists pitifully.  Maker,  she looked so tiny right now. It was mostly the way she curled into herself,  like she was expecting a storm to break over her. 

He went to the fresher and ran a bath, rubbing his temples as he waited for the tub to fill. There was a proper way to handle this,  he knew there was,  but this was not his area of expertise.  She was the comforting one,  the one who put him back right when he was angry or guilty.  What would she tell him if she was sober and he'd fucked up? 

Once the water was run he went back for her. "Come on.  You'll feel better when you're clean." He scooped her under her hips and back,  carrying her back to the fresher.  He peeled off the dress she was wearing,  faintly wishing this was more fun. He'd wanted to get her naked tonight,  but not like this.  

Once she was bare,  he set her in the water. "Not too hot?"

"N-no…"

"Good. Let me take care of you a minute. You had a rough night."

Miria let him scrub her down and wash her hair,  closing her eyes when he rinsed the soap off her.  "I'm sorry,  Crosshair."

"Don't be.  You're okay." He sighed.  "I… let it get that bad."

"I blew out the lights and tried to get in a fight with a stranger.'

"I took your patience for granted,  Miria.  I should have told that girl off." He ran his thumb, damp with soapy water,  across her cheek.  "I was trying not to be an asshole to her, and put you in a bad spot."

"I'm a hypocrite. I did what I asked you not to do…" she hugged her arms around herself. "You must think I'm terrible…"

He huffed. "You think that about me when I got in that fight with Rex?"

"Of course not…"

He chuckled.  "You see my point. Come on,  you need to brush your teeth." He pulled her from the water and wrapped her in a towel.  

After he gently bullied her to the sink and she'd gotten rid of the evidence of her back alley nausea,  he carried her back to the bed. "Feel better,  cyar'ika?"

"I messed everything up…." She hiccupped weakly as he climbed in behind her and pulled her to his chest,  ignoring her wet hair.  "Jedi aren't supposed to be jealous."

"Ever consider that's part of the problem? You're allowed to feel stuff. I hope you do, otherwise why the fuck do you like me?" He pressed his lips against the back of her neck.  "Yeah, you lost your temper for a minute.  Probably not your best look.  But… considering all the times you could have and didn't,  I'd say the odds are in your favor. Maybe we don't let you drink quite that much again.  Just one or two."

"Are you honestly going to chalk this… mess up to a learning experience?" She flushed. 

"Yeah. And it's a little fucked up,  but it was kinda hot watching you get worked up. At least until the crying started. Makes me feel special." She could feel the smirk on her skin.  "I'm the one Miss Perfect loses it for."

"I'm far from perfect,  Cross."

"You wouldn't like me if you were.  And I don't want perfect,  anyway.  I want you,  temper and all." He chuckled quietly.  "Go to sleep,  cyare. I'll be here in the morning.  When you're feeling better,  we're all gonna give you so much shit."

"Oh noooooooo." Miria groaned,  pulling her blanket over her head.  

[oonajaeadira]

The Mandalorian Tarot: Major Arcana

If you’re following me, you know this is a Mandalorian obsessive account. I love the man, I love the show, I write a Mando-fando that is all about pining and touch. I tend to go all in when I have an interest. 

Another one of my interests? Tarot. A friend challenged me to Mandalorify the major arcana. And because Jon and Dave know their stuff and are good with archetypes (which is all tarot really is), it was an easy fit.

YOU GOT MANDO IN MY TAROT. YOU GOT TAROT IN MY MANDO. TWO GREAT TASTES THAT TASTE GREAT TOGETHER.

But. I can’t draw, so I’ve dreamed them in words and included the Rider-Waite-Smith deck illustrations that I would riff on if I could.

READY? LET’S PLAY.

(All tarot illustrations by Pamela Colman Smith. All Mandalorian images property of Star Wars/Disney.)

UPDATE! @heathenashtattoos​ has taken up where I cannot and is making these cards a reality! I will post them individually and come back to link them to this post as we go.

0 THE FOOL = THE MANDALORIAN / IT IS MADE! --->

The story of the tarot is the Fool’s journey, the arc of becoming. So it makes sense to me that Din would be the fool. Fits even better, since he has tremendous Fool energy in his himbo tendencies, just rushing forward into situations without a lot of planning--he’ll deal with it when he’s in it--ready to rely on others to show him the way or guide/help him to the next step.

If I could draw: Din on the cliff, with his jetpack on, meaning he has no fear of falling. Instead of the bindle-stick the Fool carries, he’d have his pulse rifle slung over his shoulder. Instead of the dog nipping at his heels, Grogu. And, of course, the landscape would be Tatooine/Navaro-esque.

~~~

1 THE MAGICIAN = LUKE SKYWALKER , IT IS MADE! --->

The Magician is someone who is still learning to bend the laws of magic/the Universe, but very adept with their tools. Since Luke is only a few years into his Jedi training at this time, he makes a pretty good Magician.

If I could draw: Luke in his blacks, holding up his lightsaber. The Jedi symbol would replace the infinity sign. 

***

2 THE HIGH PRIESTESS = AHSOKA TANO / IT IS MADE! -->

High Priestess is further along the path of her magic than Magician, and her knowledge is more intuitive, her skills more effortless. Where the Magician is still learning the balance of light and dark, the High Priestess knows the value and pitfalls of both. It was always going to be Ahsoka.

If I could draw: Ahsoka sitting cross-legged in meditation mode, but with eyes open and a knowing smile. Instead of two pillars, she holds her lightsabers up and parallel to each other.

***

3 THE EMPRESS = PELI MOTTO / IT IS MADE! -->

The Empress is the mother figure, the energy in the universe that provides all that is needed and embodies the energy of creation. I can see the argument for Omera being the Empress--mostly because she is a mom and she’s soft and a lot of people see the Empress as a soft female figure, I get it. (And if I were to do a minor arcana, girl would show up as one of the Queens for sure.) But in the end, I gave it to Peli because she’s a recurring character, more relevant in his story, and if Din is the Fool, Peli is more an Empress to him. She’s able to be the provider of his particular needs; services to his ship to get him up flying, contact and location information, and she’s always willing to care for Grogu whenever she gets the chance.

If I could draw: Peli sitting in the dock, against the R4 unit, holding aloft a spanner and surrounded by her pit droids.

***

4 THE EMPEROR = BOBA FETT / IT IS MADE! -->

The Emperor is all about authority. And all I gotta say about Boba is BIG DICK ENERGY.

If I could draw: Just put him on the Jabba throne and let him lounge like a badass.

~~~

5 THE HIEROPHANT = THE ARMORER / IT IS MADE! -->

The Hierophant is the keeper of traditions and a spiritual guide. As the leader of the covert and keeper of the Way, The Armorer fits.

If I could draw: The Armorer, framed by her forge, holding aloft her tools, with Mandalorian acolytes. Instead of the crossed keys at the bottom, let’s just have a mythosaur skull.

***

6 THE LOVERS = FROG LADY AND FROG HUSBAND

This should be obvious and I will fight anyone who says it isn’t the right thing to do. I will die for this.

If I could draw: I would actually depart from the Smith depiction and just draw them embracing or holding each other by the arms and staring into each others’ eyes. Some kind of glowing background? Maybe the egg tank?

***

7 THE CHARIOT = THE MUDHORN

Oh. You thought I was going to say the Razor Crest, didn’t you. Don’t worry, I have plans for our beloved craft, but it ain’t here. The Chariot can be a ride, yes, but it’s about victory. Sometimes it’s about the victory over your inner “beastly” natures. To travel to the next phase in the journey, the Fool must take on the beasts that drive the Chariot and claim dominance over them, and when he does, they will carry him to the next level. Since it’s the victory of the beastly mudhorn that brings Din to his bond with Grogu and becomes his signet, Mudhorn for the win.

If I could draw: Again, I’d probably play on Smith’s imagery, put the charging mudhorn in the middle, and replace the rams with Din on his knees brandishing the vibroblade and Grogu in his pram with his Force hand up.

***

8 STRENGTH = CARA DUNE

Don’t come at me about including Cara. I am glad Gina got shown the door and I lose no love on that bigot. But. Cara is not Gina and to cut her out is to cut out Jon and Dave’s creation and I won’t do it.  I actually love her a lot--she’s got her flaws, but she’s sassy and strong and solid, and I would happily accept a piggyback ride from her any day. She’s also a major player in Din’s story and deserves a spot in it. Strength comes after the Chariot--once you’ve conquered the beast within, you have confident dominion over it and it becomes a companion or a tool for your use. Cara is one with her toughness, she’s used it to do some good and bad shit in her past, and she continues to wield it effortlessly and fearlessly. She is absolutely this card.

If I could draw: I would put her maybe sitting on top of the downed ATST. I’d replace the infinity symbol over her head with the one on her cheek (Rebel Alliance).

~~~

9 THE HERMIT = KUIIL

The Hermit is a loner, yes, but in his solitude he looks within, learns from all he’s been through, and becomes wise. He holds aloft a light of wisdom and truth. This was always going to be Kuiil.

If I could drawn: Just our buddy, looking out over the Arvala-7 landscape, holding aloft an in-universe working lamp. No need to get fancy. He would want it to stay simple.

***

10  THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE = IMPERIAL SYMBOL AND STORM TROOPERS

The Wheel is fate. You win some, you lose some. Sometimes you’re on top, and sometimes the Wheel crushes you beneath it. You are helpless to its roll and where you’ll land. Storm Troopers are such a sad bunch. They are keepers of Imperial Law on the ground. On a good day, they capture a Rebel or hold off an attack. On a bad day, their Moff just blasts them to make an example.

If I could draw: The wheel would just be the Imperial symbol and there’d be Troopers on and under it. Maybe the one on top is just standing there, looking authoritative. The one underneath has been blasted. Some Wheels have two more figures--one on each side--and I’d add those too. The one on the down-going side would be falling, arms flailing, blaster shooting (if only sound were available, there’d be a Whilhelm scream), and the one on the up-going side would just be dangling by one arm, along for the ride.

***

11 JUSTICE = COBB VANTH

Well, it just feels right to make the Marshal into Justice. But it’s not just a literal translation of making sure the right thing gets done and the bad guys are punished. Justice is about wiping away emotion and making decisions with bare truth, looking at every side of the situation and understanding what is really there. And I think Cobb fits this well. He doesn’t want to give up his armor because of what it means for the protection of his people. But he’s willing to consider it, if there’s another way he can protect them. Emotionally, he doesn’t want to deal with the Tusken Raiders, but he does it because he can see it’s the best course of action. He flies into battle with the Krayt Dragon. He gives up his armor without a fight. He makes a fair trade and sees the balance in it because he walks away from the emotion and chooses the best course of action. Cobb Vanth for Justice, errybody.

If I could draw: Cobb in the Fett armor, but with the helmet at his feet. In one hand, a bottle of spotchka. In the other, the Tusken mushroom drinky thing; he’s holding them with equal balance.

***

12 THE HANGED MAN = MIGS MAYFELD

The Hanged Man is not just about a dude who’s hanging upside down. (If that was the case, I would have just gone with Gor Koresh and called it a day.) Hanged Man is about changing your perspective to see things in a new way so you can grow. Many times, this growth also requires sacrifice. Over the two episodes we see Mayfeld, we know he goes from Imperial sharp shooter, to traumatized deserter, to merc, prisoner, and exonerated friend. He’s seen some shit, given up a lot, and he’s willing to see how he can be a help to others and find redemption for himself.

If I could draw: Hear me out. Take the image of Mayfeld hanging upside down from the Crest hatch into the prison ship. Mirror that above with an image of him in his Imperial Ground Transport gear. Flip it all upside down so bad Mayfeld up top, good Mayfeld on bottom, images mirrored but inverted, hence “looking at things a new way and getting everything a little topsy-turvey.”

~~~

13 DEATH = MOFF GIDEON

Death is about transformation, so it’s not always the most sinister card. But Death does not discriminate. It comes for us all, constantly stalking, and it will strike you down to serve its needs. You need to face Death to get to your redemption. But really, Gideon is our big baddie here, so why the hell not.

If I could draw: I would forgo the Smith illustration and go for the Marseilles tradition on this one. Gideon and the Darksaber replaces Death and the scythe.

*** 

14 TEMPERANCE = IG-11

Temperance is the transformation that comes after Death. Once Death has chopped your physical being into pieces with his scythe, Temperance is there to take all your pieces and put them back together into something new and better. It’s also a card that asks you to re-evaluate your priorities and see if you can find better motivations than you previously had. IG’s death and reprogramming speak loudly to me on this.

If I could draw: IG pouring the tea.

***

15 THE DEVIL = THE CLIENT

Here’s another baddie card that’s all about your worst faults, about excess and giving into the stuff that will eventually kill your soul. The Client holds on hard to the Empire, doing whatever he’s ordered to do to be one of the top dogs. And in the end, it doesn’t matter. Gideon takes him down like he’s nothing.

If I could draw: The client, wearing his Empire bling, with chains around Doctor Pershing and a rough-looking Storm Trooper.

***

16 THE TOWER = THE RAZOR CREST

I don’t know about you, but Chapter 14 killed me. And not because the Dark Troopers flew away with Grogu. We all knew Din would never stop at getting him back. But when the Crest was destroyed, it was like someone punched me in the soft parts, and I made a lot of severely anguished noises. The Tower is the most tragic card in the tarot. It’s when forces beyond your control make a very big (and usually negative) impact in your life and everything changes. You are left to pick up the pieces and survive any way you can with the skills and resources you’ve been blessed with.

If I could draw: Just that moment of the ray hitting our beautiful Crest, just as it begins to break apart, maybe with Din, Boba, and Fennec watching in horror in the foreground.

~~~

17 THE STAR = GROGU

The Star is hope. It comes after the biggest tragedy in the deck to tell you that not all is lost. There is always something there to live for. C’mon, kids. In this series, there was only one choice.

If I could draw: Just Grogu. Maybe drinking his soup. Or maybe he’s levitating his metal ball overhead, reaching up to it with a smile on his face. *coos*

***

18 THE MOON = BO KATAN KRYZE

We all like Bo Katan, sure. But remember my Clone Wars/Rebels fiends, she was Death Watch, and they were terrorists. She sided with Maul to take over Mandalore. Sure, she’s come a long way and her path is a bit more honorable now, but she’s got an agenda, which makes her hard to trust. Since the Moon is about more feminine energies and has themes of illusion and deception--things look great in the moonlight, but maybe not as they really are--Bo Katan’s our girl.

If I could draw: Head and shoulders profile, double-imaged so you see her face, but her Nite Owl helmet superimposed in profile over it. Nite Owl signet on the bottom. Possibly flanked by her two Nite Owl cronies.

***

19 THE SUN = GREEF KARGA

Everything's sunny when Greef’s around! He’s the feel-good gramps that’s going to make any situation A-Ok! If you’ve got a problem, Greef can sort it out...or he knows someone who can! The sun is always gonna shine on you and take you back.

If I could draw: Just Greef smiling and being cheesy with the halo of the sun around him. 

***

20 JUDGEMENT = FENNEC SHAND

This card traditionally shows the resurrected rising from the grave, ready to be judged. Fennec’s got a lot to answer for in her life, but she is being given a second chance, and my number one girl crush is going to do new and wonderful badass things with it.

If I could draw: I’d either just show her opening her gut pocket to show her new works, all full of aura, with her looking down at it reverently. OR I might do a scene of her being rescued by Boba.

~~~

21 THE WORLD = THE HELMET

Din’s helmet is the world he lives in. But it’s also a symbol of The Way. The World represents completion, a wholeness of self and being, the end of the journey. And since Din is our Fool, his journey is an exploration of his morals and honor, what it means to walk the way of the Mandalore, and what the meaning of the helmet is for him. He may choose ultimately to keep it on and go all-in on Mandalorian-4-lyfe (Child of the Watch style), or he may understand that the helmet is just a symbol and the honor was in him all along; he can wear it or not wear it and it’s all the same.

If I could draw: The World usually depicts a circle or sphere of some kind, the symbol of perfect completion. The helmet is close enough, so it takes up the center. Traditionally, there are four symbols in the corners that give more meaning to The World, and I would replace them with The Razor Crest, Grogu, the Mudhorn Signet, and the pulse rifle or blaster. These represent his home, his foundling, his clan, and his religion, all of which make up more of the whole; what it means to him to be Mandalorian.

~~~~~~~~~~

Challenge accepted and faced. 

Adira dops her witchy mic….

[one-boring-person]

Dumb request but. Uncle Bob gets jealous bc someone hits on thee reader. (It's a funny idea tbh. Also change your name. you're not boring!! you're absolutely awesome!!)

Hehe, thanks for the compliment!😂💛 I loved this idea, so I hope you like this!😊❤💛

Total Strangers.

T-800/Uncle Bob x reader

Warnings: some bad language, some light sexual implications

Masterlist

The terminator goes stiff almost as soon as we enter the store, the unusual behaviour making me lift an eyebrow at him, looking over his perfect posture in curiosity. His imposing frame easily stands out amongst the other shoppers around us, but his new discomfort puts me on edge, aware of his ability to determine and assess threats before I even know they're a problem. With this in mind, I place a hand on the cyborg's arm, looking up into his face in confusion.

"Everything alright?" I ask him, meeting his emotionless stare as he turns it on me.

"Yes." He replies bluntly, still not having quite grasped the balance between using relative information and speaking as briefly as is necessary. 

"You sure? You're very tense." I probe, heading further into the shop with him, going to the section I need.

"I am positive." The terminator responds, following me, his eyes scanning the aisles as we move, the careful turn of his head still not quite natural yet, still a little automated.

"If you say so." I roll my eyes at his answers, choosing to ignore his obvious tenseness and start rifling through the racks of clothes, needing to find something to replace a couple of my old shirts.

"I did." Uncle Bob intones, standing over me, his large build hovering over me like a worried mother might fuss over her child.

It's not long before I get fed up with his presence so close to me, the terminator watching my every move, the precision in his gaze making me antsy. He shadows me around, staring at the people around us until they hastily walk away, his unnerving glare usually quite welcoming, though today it is just irritating me. After ten minutes or so, I turn to him, a small scowl etched into my face.

"Can you drop the hostile act? There's no need for it." I tell him, looking him in the eye.

"I am not sure what you mean." The T-800 frowns, cocking his head, a habit he picked up from me a few weeks ago. Usually, I find it flattering, cute, almost. But now it annoys me.

"I mean you need to stop acting like my bodyguard. It's totally safe here! You don't need to scare people off when they come within five metres of us." I clarify, gesturing to the area around us.

"Why? There is a possibility they may pose a threat to you. It is my objective to keep you safe." Bob recites, face going blank again.

Sighing in exasperation, I briefly close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose frustratedly.

"There isn't any threat, Bob. We're fine, ok?" I try to reassure him, "Just back off a bit, yeah?"

Frowning again, the cyborg nods and steps back, standing by a display of mannequins, his body going still, almost as if trying to blend in with them. Letting out a breath, I turn back to the racks and continue browsing the items there, picking out a shirt and inspecting it, my head cocked to the side, a frown playing at my expression as I consider it.

"Not your colour." A voice behind me suddenly speaks up.

Frowning properly now, I turn to face the newcomer, lowering the shirt as I give them a once-over, checking for any danger they may pose. Finding none, I relax slightly as the red-head smiles at me, showing me he means no harm, his blue eyes straying over my form with no particular subtlety.

"Oh? And what makes you say that?" I reply guardedly, my body moving to face him properly.

The guy shrugs, grinning at me.

"I don't think it will work with your hair, that's all." He tells me, coming to stand beside me, picking out another shirt from the rack, "This, on the other hand…"

Eyeing the garment, I lift an eyebrow as I realise he is right, though I'm far too stubborn to admit it, so I simply place the original shirt back and start moving away.

"Aw, come on! Please don't be like that! I'm only trying to help." The guy follows after me, dropping the shirt and catching up to me.

"I don't take clothing advice from total strangers." I inform him, trying to ignore him as I flick through some more clothes, jackets this time.

"Ah, well in that case, I'm Caleb." The guy offers his hand to me, still smiling, a glint of mischief in his eye.

Glancing at him, I don't react, waiting for him to drop his hand. After a moment, he does, only to instantly pick something off the rack.

"This looks like it would suit you. Wanna try it on?" He looks me over again, holding out the jacket to me.

"Not really."

"Aw, why not?" Caleb pouts, shoulders slumping slightly.

"I told you, I don't take clothing advice from total strangers." I try not to roll my eyes, picking out a different jacket entirely.

"Hey, you know my name. I'm not a total stranger." The smirk is back on his face as he says this.

"You have known her for exactly four minutes and forty-eight seconds. You are a stranger to her." A familiar voice interrupts us, the monotone sounding words muchly appreciated now.

Holding back a smile of relief, I feel my eyes flick up over Caleb's shoulder to meet the hard blue ones staring at the guy's head. The terminator stands over us, his imposing body easily dwarfing both of us, his expression blank, though his jaw looks oddly clenched, something I've never seen him do. Caleb turns to face the cyborg, his expression falling.

"Who the hell are you?!" He bites out, the words flat as he eyes over the much larger newcomer.

"That is not relevant information for me to disclose." Bob replies evenly, staring the guy down, "Now leave. You are not wanted here."

"Fuck no, I got here first. Wait your turn, asshole." Caleb snaps at him, though his tone is a little shaky.

"You are not needed here. Leave." The cyborg intones, disregarding the previous statement.

"How do you know I'm not needed? Think you are?" The redhead snorts, "As if."

"Your presence is very clearly not welcome. She has reciprocated none of your advances, and has been blunt with you to deter you. You have ignored all of this and have continued to pester her for no reason. You are not wanted or needed, so leave." Bob begins, clearly wanting to say more, though he stops at a look from me.

"I'm not going anywhere, and you can't make me." Caleb folds his arms, planting himself in place.

Brow twitching, Bob steps forwards, moving as if to grab the smaller man, hand already outstretched, only stopping when I intervene.

"No, Bob, it's fine. He's not worth it." I stop him, ignoring Caleb's somewhat triumphant look.

Bob halts, staring the other man down, a scowl starting to creep onto his face, staying in place for a good minute, before he finally moves, reaching out to pull me into his body, marching the two of us from the shop. Goosebumps spread out along my skin where he's touched me, the hand at my waist heavy but not unwelcome, the feeling of his hard body pressed into mine making me swallow tightly. We go straight to the car, leaving no room for conversation until we get there, at which point he breaks away.

"What was all that about?" I ask him, confused by his actions, "I mean, I'm grateful that you stepped in, but you didn't have to-"

I'm cut off by the feeling of his large hands on my waist again, yanking me into his muscular body, pressing me flush against his hips. Surprised, I barely register what is happening as he smashes his lips into mine, kissing me roughly, his tongue already slipping out to trace along my lower lip as I gasp into the kiss. My eyes widen momentarily, only to fall closed as I relax into the kiss, my hands coming up to run through his hair, pushing myself closer to him, his muscles right under my touch. The terminator steps forwards, shoving me up onto the hood of the car, still kissing me, his mouth ravaging mine hungrily as his hands start to move, pushing up my shirt to caress my back, one slipping down to grip my ass, tightening around me as he presses his chest tighter against mine. Moaning, I arch my chest into him, allowing him to slip his tongue into my mouth, the synthetic muscle exploring and roaming everywhere it can reach, only pulling back when I tap his arm, needing to breathe.

Heads staying close together, we stare at each other, our breaths mingling with each exhale, his hands still rubbing over my skin. It's only when a wolf whistle from somewhere nearby sounds that I remember exactly where we are. Eyes widening, I pull back further and look around, noticing the group of men walking past, three of them waving and jeering at us, leaving my neck exposed to Bob. Instantly, his mouth attaches to the skin there, sucking a mark onto my pulse point almost immediately, his tongue smoothing over the area, followed by a wet kiss. 

Trying not to moan too loudly, I gently push him off, already craving his touch again.

"Not here, Bob. It's not appropriate." I gasp out, lightly running a hand down his face.

"I apologise. I was unable to withhold myself." He replies, helping me down off the car, adjusting my clothes for me. 

Lifting an eyebrow, I smile at him in curiosity.

He simply smirks, having learnt the action from John, doing his impression of a shrug and helping me into the car.

[o5-blackbird]

*as 05-6 enters his office noticing a small radio handset next to a strange pistol*

Unknown person: testing? Testing! Is this working?

Oh! *slightly far away from the microphone* HEY GUYS IT WORKED WE GOT THROUGH *closer to the microphone*

Are you there? This is freelancer unit 9983! We’ve been trying to break through the veil for weeks! We’re with freelancer incorporated. And we wanted to welcome you to the concept of multiversal travel!

Unit 9984: Jesus Christ Eli slow down get the basics first then the main thing! 

Unit 9983: yeah. I got a bit carried away. We’re a private military corporation and…….well we found a way to  travel to different multiverses.since then we’ve been working with multiple groups and organisations from throughout the multiverse. Like the imperium of man or the rebels (half life).

Anyway due to the fact that both of our groups have similar goals (mainly containing anomalies) we thought we should be the first to welcome you guys!

Unit 9984: tell them about the thing!

Unit 9983: ah yes! We’ve been working on a multiversal slip-gate. To get supplies to our allies easier. But it can also send people! Granted they have to be strapped into something because while it is pretty it’s also very hot and a verk bumpy ride between multiverses (btw we dealt with that big red guy was he important?) so we’re going to send over a transport team if you’re ok with it. We have some old bunkers and base’s around here on mars you guy could use! Just hit the purple button on the back to talk to us! *pulse rifle shots* 

Security officer John: THE COMBINE HAVE FOUND US GRAB A GUN AND GIVE ME SOME SUPPRESSING FIRE WHILE I START THE AUTONOMOUS ARTILLERY 

[END OF COMMUNICATION]

Hello Freelancer Unit 9983,

We are pleased to make your acquaintance! My colleagues have resolved that I should be the one to hold communications with you — assuming that we can eventually re-establish communications. My name is O5-5 “Blackbird”. It is lovely to encounter new individuals!

You are not the first to greet us in the area of multiversal communication but your words are sincerely appreciated!

I would advise you caution in the area of sending entities as we are a rather closed domain when it comes to those that we are not familiar with and I do not foresee others within my Council acting as kindly as one may prefer; it is nothing against your unit or your admirable goal of assistance!

We are unfortunately not familiar with some of the terms that you have stated but we appreciate the offer of sanctuary — should the need to use it ever unfortunately arise.

Please let us know if you wish to speak further! We are always pleased to encounter a friendly face! I wish you luck in your current endeavors!

- [Media: a small sketch of five blackbirds.]

[mudhornchronicles]

uh oh | din djarin

pairing: din djarin x reader

warnings: angst, cursing, getting lost, feeling of loneliness, threats, mentions of death

request by: anon

a/n: a market was requested, but I have read many writers describe markets like on Tatooine and I didn’t want to copy anyone even if I’ve never read their work… so one big city coming right up. fingers crossed you like it. 

masterlist

Today was not the best day of being in three-year long relationship with the Mandalorian. You had landed on the planet Coruscant, a planet that was one big city. You were running out of fuel and were on your way to Tatooine to have Peli and the small droids work on the Crest’s engine. Din said something about feeling the ship sputtering here and there and wanted Peli to look at it.

You had been on Coruscant before, Maker you had lived there. You knew about the black-market trafficking and you knew about the countless gangsters causing a fuss over the smallest things. Din refused to stop there, saying he could make the Crest get to Corellia… anywhere but Coruscant.

Din hated Coruscant more than anything. The streets were filled to the brim with a bantha-sized variety of people and the air was loaded with their small ships causing nothing but chaotic traffic. He was sent there with two other Mandalorians, Paz and their sponsor, when he was still in the Mandalorian training corps. There, they tracked down a Twi’lek gangster who was terrorizing a Mandalorian family living on the planet. He also nearly died trying to protect his sponsor from a blaster shot, in turn speeding up his swearing of the creed.

“Why can’t you just trust that I’ll be okay? You know I’ve lived on this kriffin’ planet! I know my way ar-“

“Enough!”

You are taken aback of his tone. You have gotten into arguments with your husband before, sure, but he has never raised his voice at you. He has never spoken to you the way he speaks to his bounty. Din always treated you and your adopted son with respect, but today, he decided to yell.

“You are not going and that’s final. Do you understand?” He looks at you as he swings his pulse rifle over his shoulder, helmet in hand. “You are to stay in this ship until I return and if you know better, you’ll be here.” You were not going to let that subtle threat get passed you.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to? If I know better?” You say. You strut over to him and look into his chocolate eyes. “Listen here Mando, If I want to leave this trash can of a ship, I will. I don’t know what has gotten into you today, but you aren’t one to tell me what to do… especially to threaten me.”

You grab your brown shawl and aggressively wrap it around your torso, not giving Din a glance in his direction. You open the door of the cot and smile at your awakening green foundling. You grab a piece of your shawl and open it, revealing a pouch. “Come, ad’ika. You and I are going on an adventure while your buir gets the ship ready to go see Auntie Peli, ok?” Grogu smiles and lifts his hands in a “grabby” motion. You delicately place your child in your arms, head snuggled in your shoulder and wrap him in the shawl. You close the cot and turn to walk to the ramp of the ship, meeting Din as he places his rifle’s extra charges in his boot. You motion to his vambrace and give him a pointed look. “Put on your helmet and open the door. Grogu and I want to take a walk. I want him to see the market line. There has to be one around here.”

Din looks at you and his child and shakes his head. “Grogu isn’t going with you. If you want to be irresponsible and leave, then he stays here.” You scoff and quickly press the ramp button on his vambrace. He says your name as the ramp slowly opens and when you do not respond, he grabs your arm. “Grogu will be safe here. Leave him here.”

“Grogu needs fresh air; not this recycled crap. Now get this ship filled and ready to go.”

Din slips his helmet on his head and his hand into yours, interlocking his gloved fingers with yours. You let out a deep sigh you did not know you caged in and look up at your husband.

“Can you at least allow me to walk you?” He says, eyes filled with sadness at arguing with you. “I just want to make sure you both get there.”

You give his hand a squeeze and a nod. You hated seeing his eyes like this; it hurt you. You were connected by vows, but you both always felt as if the stars aligned the day you met. You never thought you would be traveling the galaxy with a Mandalorian, let alone start a family with one.

Din leans down and connects your forehead with his and you immediately feel serenity. He gives you a quick squeeze of the hand and lets go.

You talked a big game to your husband, but did you really know where you were going? No.

You walked around the part of the city you were the least familiar with, about 25% familiar. You clutched your son to your chest and stopped to analyze your surroundings and realizing you had no idea where you were, but knowing you had to get out. The streets were infiltrated with dark business and quick pacing people trying to get out of there as soon as they can. You walk forward and your ears ringing at the blaring sounds of the honking above you.

“You must be new ‘round here. Never seen someone with a baby walkin’ ‘round like they’re on Naboo.”

You turn around, trying your hardest not to show the absolute fear on your face upon recognizing the Zabrak. One of your hands remain clutching Grogu while the other gets placed on your hip, right above the vibroblade Din made you carry everywhere.

“What’s it to you, Zabrak? I can’t walk around?”

The Zabrak chuckles. “Walkin’ with a kid, huh?” he says as he goes to put a hand on your shawl, right above Grogu.

“Get near my kid and I promise you I’ll let you bleed out.” The Zabrak looks down at his stomach and sees your vibroblade pointed right at the center and ready to puncture. He backs up and puts his hands up.

“I painted you wrong, but let me tell you somethin’… I’m the wrong guy to threaten.” He walks away and once he is out of your line of sight, you quickly walk into an empty alley way. You lean on the wall and slip down, pulling out the commlink that was in your pocket. You let out a shaky breath as you press the button, waiting for it to turn green indicating it has connected.

“D-Din…” you start. You take a deep breath to hide your shaky voice but to no avail. “Din, where are you? I-I need you. Hurry up.”

A deep chuckle comes through the commlink that would normally make you want to drop your pants, but this wasn’t the time. “Now you need me? I thought you knew where you going? I told y-“

“Din!” you interrupt. “Now is not the time for I told you so’s! They’re going to get me and you better get your beskar ass here now.”

“Hey stop. Who’s going to get you?”

“Din hurry up! I’m nea-“ you stop. You hear the Zabrak yell find her and that kid and bring them alive. “Din please hurry.”

“Where. Are. You.”

You hear footsteps coming towards your direction and you run to hide behind a metal container. Grogu feels the commotion and coos out in confusion. You give him a small smile and ask him to hush. You can hear Din’s concerned voice come through asking things like, “Tell me where you are.” “Give me a description” and him calling your name over and over.

You quickly press the button and say, “train track above, glass shop, blue door, in alleyway behind metal can.” and smash the commlink so the Zabrak’s men don’t hear Din’s voice. You look down at Grogu as he looks at you with confusion. “It’s going to be okay, ad’ika. Buir will find you, I promise.”

You were afraid. You knew that Zabrak a long time ago. He terrorized your “neighborhood” and forced your family into poverty and lose some of them, which led you to hate Coruscant. You were surprised he didn’t recognize you, but you were also a kid back then; you grew up, but he clearly didn’t. You felt alone all those years and ended up hitching a ride on some lady’s ship. She realized it after she landed on Dantooine. She was mad and ended up leaving you on Dantooine, but some Rebel took you to Tatooine – the planet you met your husband on.

You knew the consequences you were about to endure, so you wrapped Grogu in your shawl and placed a chaste kiss on his wrinkled forehead. You tucked him behind the container and smiled at him. He coo’s at you and expands a claw towards you. You shake you head and tell him to stay and reminded him about his father coming. You walk out of the alley and run towards a shop, away from the alley so they would not look in there. You whistled and waved your arms around. “Hey spike head! Ya lookin’ for me? Come get me!” The men start running after you and you run. You heart starts beating hard as you try to direct them all away from the alley. You didn’t know if it would work but it did. You kept running into different streets, mazing them around like sheep, but when you looked back, you saw them with wide eyes and stopping in their tracks. You slow your pace and turn around, being met with the visor you hated seeing inside your flying home.

Din felt his blood run cold at the sound of your distressed voice. He knew if you were alone, you would have told him to rendezvous at the ship, but you had your son. Din also knew that you would do anything to protect Grogu, even if that meant your life. He did not want to believe the cry for help, hoping you were wanting to play a prank on him, but when he heard you whisper your description of your location, he had to act fast.

______________

He didn’t want to admit he was scared, but he was terrified. If you knew Coruscant, why would you be scared? There had to be something big after you because he has never heard you scared for your life. Din refused to believe that something could happen to you. As much as the two of you disagreed and argued at times, he couldn’t live without you. He couldn’t live without the one person who looked at him as a person and not a machine.

Sure, you had been scared the first time you’d met, but soon warmed up to the man when you realized he wasn’t looking for you. You had always stood your ground and he loved that about you. You always tested Din’s patience, but it always kept the guy on his toes. No matter how much the two of you could be mad at each other, it never lasted more than a couple hours. Din would go insane if it did.

Din cursed at himself. He knew he wouldn’t be able to use his jetpack because of the low riding aircrafts, so what did he do? He left it in the ship. He pondered on your clues.

He recalls a train track close to the Crest, not a far walk at all and definitely a shorter sprint. He spots the train track and as soon as he catches a breath, he asks a local about a glass shop near a blue door. They point him towards the street and breathes out a thank you as he runs toward you. He sees the blue door in the distance, but he also spots men walking around as if looking for something, or someone. He slithers through the channel of alleyways and locates an alley that over looks the train track, the glass shop and is directly infront of the blue door. He runs towards the metal container as you said was there and hears the familiar cooing emitting behind it. He moves the container and sees Grogu swaddled in your brown shawl with tears in his big eyes. Din kneels and picks his upset son.

“You’re okay, ad’ika. We’re going to find buir and get them out of trouble, okay?”

Grogu coos and lets out an “uhoh.” Din smiling and agreeing, putting Grogu in his pack.

Din hears the commotion of running and spots a group of men running after a figure, your figure. He knew your pattern. You’d run until you lost them and would swivel between streets to get them confused.

Din jogged to a street four streets over and waited at the end of it, smiling as he saw you, safe and alive, and your “posse” run straight into it. He had Grogu in his pack at his waist and smirked as Grogu hid inside. Din placed his hand on his blaster and the other pushing Grogu and the pack behind him. His heart skipped at beat and all his worries vanished as he noticed your smile upon recognizing him.

______________

You ran to Din and wrapped your arms around him. You let go immediately since his stance with public affection still was not the best. He pushed you behind him, removing the pack with Grogu and handing it to you. You opened the lapel and smiled at your son as he nibbled on your shawl.

“I can explain,” you said.

“Explain what? The angry mob chasing you? I’d love for you to,” he said. You heard the smirk in his voice, internally thanking the Maker that he was not livid with you.

The Zabrak came forward and stopped on his heels as he saw your husband.

“Huh… Haven’t seen many Mandos lately.”

“Ahkoi,” Din greeted.

The Zabrak stopped and realization hit his eyes. He chuckled and even let out a wheeze as he took a good look at your husband and walked forward. “Mando? That you under there? This one here with you?”

You looked up at your husband as he nodded. How did he know Ahkoi?

“This one got themselves in a lot of trouble, Mando. We just wanted to teach ‘em a lesson, ya know?” He gives Din a pat on his shoulder and attempts to walk over to you, but Din pushes him back.

“Lay a hand on them and you’ll be missing it.” Din threatens.

Ahkoi nods at Din and walks backwards. Din can sense your uneasiness and fear, so he reaches a hand back physically asking for your hand, and you oblige.

“Haven’t changed, huh Mando? They talk like you.”

“Here’s what is going to happen, Ahkoi. You tell your men to get off the roofs and stop pointing their blasters at them. We’re going to go back to our ship and we’re leaving.”

Ahkoi shakes his head at Din. “They broke a lot of rules, Mando. I can’t just let it slide, even if they are with ya.”

“What they do? Told you to back off and get out of their face? Tell your men to stand down, or I will.” Din states, lifting the blaster up to Ahkoi’s head.

Ahkoi tells his men to stand down and you look around seeing about 20 men on rooftops lower their weapons. It should make you feel better, but it only makes you tense as you failed to realize they could have shot you down a long time ago.

“Fine. They can go, but lesson learned.” Ahkoi looks behind Din and over to you. “How ‘bout you take that breath you were wanting to a long time ago, huh?”

You hear Din jump off the ladder and come into the hull as you patch up a tunic the baby decided would be fun to cut. Even though you heard him, you could not help but flinch as he places a kiss at the top of your head. You quickly apologize to him and look up at him. He takes a seat next to you and puts a gentle hand on your thigh, which relaxes you a bit. You sigh and drop your sewing tools, standing up and sitting in Din’s lap. He wraps his strong arms around and you make your head comfortable on his chest. He hums a soft tune, and you smile, recognizing the song as the song you hum to him when he is having a bad day.

“I’m sorry, riduur,” you say. “I thought I knew where we were going, but I didn’t think he’d be there. I should’ve listened to you and stayed here.”

“I’m sorry for talking to you the way I did. I knew what part of the planet we were in and I didn’t want you going out there. I could have gone about it differently.”

“Why is it that whenever we get into an argument, our days always turn out the worst?” you joke.

“Because we are one whether together or apart and being angry at each other messes that balance up, obviously.”

You give him a kiss on his throat and smile when it vibrates as he laughs. “Thank you for protecting us. I only put Grogu in danger.”

“I’ll always protect the two of you. You just wanted Grogu to see new things. I can’t blame you for that.” You look up and smile at him. He smiles back and places a kiss on your lips. He pulls away and you see his lips turn into a smirk.

“However, I can blame you for turning me into a worried mess. Who gives discreet clues like that? Blue door,” he mocks. “There can be so many blue doors on this giant kriffin’ planet!”

You laugh and bring him down for another kiss, mumbling a quick “shut up”.

[swan-of-sunrise]

Taking Care of Business (Chapter Twelve)

Summary: Din and (Y/N) grow closer after opening up about their pasts, and they begin their search for the Jedi Ahsoka Tano on Corvus.

Pairing: Din Djarin X Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warnings/Disclaimers: Brief discussion of panic attacks and trauma

A/N: I hope you all enjoy!

Chapter Twelve The Past (Previous Chapter)

Since bringing (Y/N) on as his partner, Din had slowly grown used to having someone around to fill the deafening silence; if she wasn’t striking up a conversation with him, the captain was talking to the child or humming to herself while she piloted and worked on her sewing projects. But since leaving Nevarro the day before, she’d been unusually quiet and he suspected that her silence had something to do with what happened inside the Imperial base.

She’s always so considerate when it comes to the feelings of others, Din thought to himself as he recalled how understanding she’d been whenever he opened up to her and how kind she always was towards others, but maybe it’s time someone returns the favor. He switched the ship’s controls onto autopilot before making his way down to the cargo hold; (Y/N) was sitting cross-legged on her makeshift cot and absentmindedly cleaning her blaster, her (Y/E/C) eyes unfocused as she stared off into nothing.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

(Y/N) jumped a little, quickly looking over to where Din was standing and offering him a small smile. “My blaster saw a lot of action yesterday; I wanted to make sure it was ready for whatever we come across on Corvus.”

Din nodded. “Good idea.” He walked over to the open armory, grabbing his pulse rifle and a rag before taking a seat on one of the loose storage containers; they both worked on cleaning their weapons for several quiet moments before Din finally spoke. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He kept his gaze trained on his work, but he could hear her set aside her blaster and sigh. “You might’ve already figured it out but in the Rebellion, I was one of a few dozen smugglers who was tasked with smuggling civilians off of Imperial-controlled planets and past their blockades. We would visit the cities and villages that were the hardest hit and get as many people off-planet that we could, and the majority of the time our missions succeeded. But…”

When he glanced up, the captain was staring down at the floor with a hardened expression on her face. “But?”

“Sometimes, the Imps would catch wind that we were coming and rather than see civilians fall under the protection of the Rebel Alliance, they’d raze their homesteads and slaughter everyone in them. It’s been years, but I can still remember all those times I’d arrive too late; Stormtroopers used flamethrowers to burn down homes while a battalion shot down anyone who was left standing. As long as I live, I’ll never forget just how bright those flames were.” She looked up at him and he was struck by how weary her eyes looked. He recognized that they were the eyes of someone who’d seen far too many horrors in their lifetime, because they were the same eyes he saw whenever he looked into his battered mirror.

“So when you saw the lava in the heat shaft, all those memories came rushing back.” (Y/N) nodded once before glancing away. “…I know what that’s like.” She quickly turned her attention back to him and he took a moment to gather his thoughts before continuing. “When I was a child, the village my parents and I lived in was attacked by Separatist battle droids; I was saved by the Mandalorians but everyone else…I was the only one who survived. The memories of that day – the explosions, the screams, seeing my mother and father for the last time – would always play through my mind whenever I had new armor forged by my Covert’s Armorer. It’s something I’ve learned to live with, but only because I try focusing on the good; the Mandalorians took me in when I needed a home and they raised me as a foundling, and without their kindness I would’ve died a long time ago.” The damning words of Bo-Katan came to mind but Din quickly pushed them aside; no matter what Creed they followed, the Mandalorians who took him in had helped him survive. “You saved innocent lives during the Rebellion. Thousands of people are alive because of you, alor’ad, and that is what’s important.”

After taking a moment to absorb his words, (Y/N) slowly began to smile; she didn’t say anything, but he could see the understanding in her eyes and he couldn’t help but return her smile beneath his helmet. The sound of his sleeping compartment opening broke the spell and they both turned to see the child blinking the sleep out of his wide eyes.

“Did you have a good nap, little guy?” (Y/N) asked, standing up and making her way over to the compartment; the child responded with a small coo and the captain chuckled, picking him up and glancing over at Din with a widening smile. “Well, I don’t know about you, Mando, but I could do with another sparring session right about now. What do you say?”

Getting to his feet, Din rested his hands on his hips and tilted his helmet as he met her challenging gaze. “Sure, why not? I’m always ready to take on cocky ex-smugglers and win.”

She rolled her eyes and looked down at the child in her arms. “You think I can beat Mando, right?” The child giggled and wrapped a clawed hand around the finger she was tapping his tiny nose with. “That’s what I thought! Mando doesn’t stand a chance, does he, little guy?”

Din watched their interaction with a fond smile on his face and in that moment, he made a decision. “Din.”

“Hmm?” (Y/N) distractedly asked as she glanced up at him. “What was that?”

“My name is Din. Din Djarin.”

While interacting with different cultures on his travels throughout the galaxy, Din had heard his fair share of fairytales and superstitions and although he respected the differing beliefs, he never put much stock in any of them. But in that moment, while he watched the blinding smile stretch across (Y/N)’s face, he could honestly say that he believed in the existence of angels.

“Well, Din Djarin, are you ready to get your ass kicked or what?”

Din couldn’t remember the last time he laughed as hard as he did at that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hours later, they dropped out of hyperspace and Din piloted the ship towards Corvus while (Y/N) went down to the cargo hold to pack up their supplies. The child sat on top of one of the nearby control panels, staring out the viewport at the stars with widened eyes, and Din couldn’t help but smile sadly when he glanced over at him; if Bo-Katan’s lead on Ahsoka Tano’s correct, then this’ll be the kid’s last ride in the Razor Crest, he thought to himself.

“Corvus. This is the place; I’ve detected a beacon. I’m starting the landing cycle, so you’d better get back in your seat,” Din ordered as he began flicking switches and pressing buttons, looking over and frowning when he saw that the child hadn’t moved. “Hey, what did I tell you?” He gestured with his helmeted head to the passenger seat behind him. “Back in your seat.” With a disgruntled coo, the child clambered off the control panel and over to the passenger seat, and Din tried not to think about how much he was going to miss having the stubborn kid around.

The ship flew through the upper atmosphere and into the smog-filled air of the planet, and they soon landed on the outskirts of the small walled-off city of Calodan. Din and the child climbed down into the cargo hold just as (Y/N) was slinging a knapsack over her shoulders; since they didn’t know what to expect on Corvus, the captain’s blaster was concealed beneath a long-hooded coat and a vibroblade was tucked into her boot.

“Ready to go, alor’ad?”

(Y/N) looked over at him with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes; he knew that she’d grown attached to the child in the short time she’d been with them and it was obvious that she was trying her best to hide her conflicted feelings for the sake of their quest. “Yep! Let’s go find ourselves a Jedi.”

They lowered the ramp of the ship and walked out onto the planet’s surface, Din’s hand resting on the blaster holstered at his hip as he glanced around. The yellow-tinted smog filled the air and surrounding them was a forest of dying trees, among which a couple of creatures were slowly moving. When he turned back to (Y/N), his words died on his lips and his brow furrowed in concern as he took in her stiff expression. “What’s wrong?”

“Something feels…off about this place, Din.” She bit her lip and gave a decisive nod. “I’m gonna go get the little guy’s satchel.”

(Y/N) made her way back into the ship while Din stayed where he was; the longer he looked around, the more uneasy he felt about the planet. The sound of tiny footsteps behind him made him turn around to see the child sitting down on the ramp, his favorite silver sphere clutched in his hands, and he sighed in exasperation. “What did I say about that?” He knelt down and took the sphere from the cooing child, tucking it into the pouch at his waist with a firm head-shake. “This needs to stay on the ship.”

The captain returned a moment later with the satchel in hand and once Din slung it over his head, she helped him place the child in it. “You won’t be in here too long, little guy, just until we know that everything’s safe.” She ran a hand over the child’s wrinkled head and looked up at Din, a small crease forming between her brows. “You feel it too, right?”

Din nodded, resting a comforting hand on the small of his partner’s back as he urged her forward. “Let’s head into town, alor’ad, see if we can pick up a lead.”

As they started towards the city of Calodan, Din’s gloved hand dropped back to his side and he found himself clenching and unclenching it, silently wishing that he could’ve left it where it was. His impulsive decision to place her hand on the skin of his face back on Nevarro had plagued him; he tried focusing on other things, but all he could truly think of was the feeling of her soft hand on his cheek. Her touch had ignited something within him, and he’d quickly come to realize that he wanted nothing more than to be close to (Y/N); it was torture, especially during their sparring sessions, but he tried his damnedest to keep his hands to himself and remain focused on their quest.

They neared the gates of Calodan and Din’s eyes were instantly drawn to the three guards standing on the wall above; stopping in front of the gate, they both looked up as one of the guards stepped forward and called down, “State your business.”

“Been tracking for a few days,” Din called back, careful to keep the child hidden behind his cape. “We’re looking for a layover.”

The guard who’d addressed them raised his brows, seemingly impressed at the sight of them. “Nice armor. You a hunter, then?”

Din nodded once. “That’s right.”

“Guild?”

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Din replied, “Last I checked.”

The guard’s eyes flicked over to (Y/N). “And you?”

“I’m his pilot,” (Y/N) confidently called back. “And his business partner.”

After several tense moments, the guard nodded and glanced over at one of his companions. “Open the gate.”

The gates slowly opened and the two of them walked inside, acutely aware that the gate had been closed behind them. Beside him, (Y/N) adjusted her fingerless gloves and mumbled under her breath, “Not exactly keen on strangers, are they?”

Din didn’t answer but he silently agreed; the further they traveled into the city, the more apparent it became that something wasn’t right. The people they passed on the street ducked their heads to avoid eye contact, some even darting into their homes before they could walk by, and the few vendors there were eyed the two them with caged expressions on their faces. This doesn’t seem like the sort of place a Jedi would live, he thought to himself as his brow furrowed.

Gesturing for the captain to follow, Din slowly approached a vendor on his right. “Pardon me, vendor, have you heard of anyone…” His words died in his throat when the vendor abruptly walked away and he turned to (Y/N), who’s frown had only deepened as her eyes looked past him towards the alleyway. Confused, he turned to see an older man and two small children in the shadows of the alley; the man was giving the children food and quietly speaking to them, and Din figured that he might be easier to speak to. “You there, we need some information.” He and (Y/N) stepped closer to the man as he got to his feet. “My partner and I are looking for someone.”

The man frowned in displeasure, turning to say something to the two children and watching them run off before turning back to them with a frightened look in his eyes. “Please, do not speak to them, or to any of us.”

“Look, we just need to know-”

(Y/N)’s gentle words were interrupted by a gruff voice. “The Magistrate wants to see you.” They both turned to see two masked guards behind them, whose hands were clutching their blasters as they stared them down. Clenching his jaw tightly, Din followed one of the guards down the city’s main road and he was mindful of the guard trailing close behind them. At the end of the road was a large guarded gate and flanking each side of the road were elevated cages, inside which were people groaning out in pain. Their cries were punctuated by the distinct sounds of electric shocks and Din averted his gaze from the sickening sight.

“Help us!”

“She’ll kill us all!”

Beside him, (Y/N) stopped dead in her tracks and stared up at the prisoners nearest to her; the captain’s horrified expression instantly reminded Din of the look that had come across her face just before her panic attack back on Nevarro, so he was quick to get her attention. “(Y/N)? Alor’ad, c’mon…” He urged, and her eyes lingered on the prisoners for a moment before she looked forward and fell in step with him.

The guards opened the gate and allowed them to walk through into a beautiful garden; they stood on a narrow stone walkway over a large pond that was surrounded by countless trees and plants, a stark contrast to the dilapidated city that they’d just walked through. Near the end of the walkway stood a woman dressed in the robes of a magistrate; a droid guard stood several steps away as she tossed food into the calm waters of the pond for an unknown creature.

“Come forward,” The woman called out, and Din and (Y/N) exchanged a look before complying. They came to a stop closer to her, but she didn’t look up from her work as she continued. “You are a Mandalorian?”

“Yes.”

“And the woman?”

A fiery look in her eyes, (Y/N) snapped back, “I’m his partner. What business do you have with us?” In any other circumstance, Din would’ve been captivated by the captain’s authoritative tone but he was concerned that her aggression would only serve to raise tensions.

The magistrate looked over at the pair, her brow raised in curiosity as her eyes examined them. “I have a proposition that may interest you two.”

Din’s eyes narrowed underneath his helmet. “Our price is high.”

“This target is priceless.” The magistrate countered. “A Jedi plagues me. I want you to kill her.”

Ahsoka Tano, Din thought to himself, an unsettling feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. (Y/N) stiffened beside him and he found himself slowly replying, “That’s…a difficult task.”

“One that you’re well-suited for. The Jedi are the ancient enemy of Mandalore.”

Din suppressed his sigh of frustration and shrugged. “As I said, our price is high.”

The magistrate gestured for the droid guard to come closer, accepting the long metal spear from it and holding it out towards Din. “What do you make of this?”

Together, Din and (Y/N) stepped forward and he hesitated a moment before accepting the spear; it was lighter than it appeared and when he tapped it against his vambrace, a familiar ringing echo filled the garden. “Beskar.”

“Pure beskar, like your armor. Kill the Jedi and it’s yours.”

He bit his bottom lip, a trait seemingly picked up from his partner, before gruffly replying, “Where do we find this Jedi?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The two of them were escorted back through the city to the main gate, their eyes trained on the guard in front of them while they walked past the caged prisoners and frightened residents. Once at the gate, the guard stood beside them and wrinkled his nose when he spotted the child’s head poking out of his satchel.

“What is that thing?”

Din’s nostrils flared in anger but he kept his voice level as he replied, “I keep it around for luck.”

The guard shrugged his shoulder. “Well, you’re gonna need it where you’re headed.” His eyes drifted away from Din to focus on (Y/N). “You got a good luck charm too, sweetheart?”

“I make my own luck,” The captain answered tersely and Din urged her forward before either of them could do anything to the guard that they’d end up regretting later. Once they were far enough away from the city’s gate, (Y/N) heaved a frustrated sigh. “Nice wordplay back there; you got the Jedi’s last known location without agreeing to the deal. But that magistrate…I don’t know if she’s Imperial or not but as soon as we find Ahsoka Tano, I’m going back and helping those people.”

Looking over at (Y/N), Din gave her a firm nod. “You won’t be alone.”

The three of them slowly made their way through the barren landscape of Corvus; Din’s pulse rifle was clutched in his hand and (Y/N) had drawn her blaster, but neither of them spotted any signs of the elusive Jedi. After about an hour of hunting, Din detected a faint rustling in the distance and was quick to place his free hand on the captain’s arm to halt her; he gestured towards the line of dead trees before them and she silently nodded, taking his pulse rifle and slinging it over her shoulder. Din took the child out of his satchel, setting him down on a nearby boulder before pulling out his scope and scanning the horizon. He didn’t spot anything at first but when he looked harder, he finally noticed the two large creatures peacefully grazing in the distance.

“False alarm,” Din sighed, lowering his scope and tucking it back into his pouch. “I-”

(Y/N)’s warning shout mixed with a loud electric hum made him spin around, reflexively bringing up his arm to deflect the two laser swords that were bearing down on his helmeted head. The laser sword-wielding Togruta continued attacking and it was all Din could do to block her strikes with his vambraces; the moment he found an opening, he activated his flamethrower and aimed it at the Jedi, watching as she blocked the flames with her cloak and flipped out of the way. Just as her feet touched the ground, he shot his grappling hook at her and bound her arms to her sides, but the Jedi merely smiled and jumped straight into the air. She flipped over a tree branch high above and pulled him up with her, forcing him to quickly cut himself loose.

Din drew his blaster and turned, bringing his free hand up in a placating gesture as he shouted, “Ahsoka Tano!” The Jedi froze, her laser swords still raised. “Bo-Katan sent me. We need to talk.”

Ahsoka’s blue eyes looked past him and her brow furrowed as she deactivated her laser swords. She slowly straightened her posture, and Din decided it was safe to holster his blaster when she glanced back at him with the ghost of a smile on her lips. “I hope it’s about him.”

He turned, following her gaze to where the child sat atop the boulder and hurrying forward when he spotted (Y/N) clambering to her feet beside it. “You okay, alor’ad?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” With a smile of thanks, (Y/N) accepted his hand and stood, wincing a little as she rubbed the small of her back. “Some kind of force pushed me back before I could draw my blaster…”

“Sorry about that,” The Jedi walked up to them and held out her hand towards the captain. “Ahsoka Tano.”

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N).” The two women shook hands and (Y/N) glanced over at Din with a melancholy look in her eyes. “It looks like our quest’s just about over.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thank you guys so much for reading!

Mando'a Translations: Alor'ad-Captain

Chapter Thirteen

Taking Care of Business Masterlist

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