#the galaxy isn’t necessarily in a better place for it though

[archivistofnerddom]

Okay, so we talk about the Disaster Lineage. It started with Yoda and passed down through Count Dooku, Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka, and Sabine. If we factor in that both Obi-Wan and Yoda trained Luke (thus bringing him fully into their Jedi line), that means that Luke, Leia, Rey, and Ben/Kylo Ren (and Grogu with his brief training with Luke) are all a part of the Disaster Lineage.

Therefore, this franchise shouldn’t called be “Star Wars” or the “Skywalker Saga”.

It should be called “The Disaster Lineage Strikes Again (And Screws Up A Galaxy Over Several Generations)”.

[werdlewrites]

Season of The Witch (Steve Harrington x OC?)

Chapter Three: A Message

masterlist-about-patreon-ao3

Summary: “Well, sweetheart..sometimes, a presence can linger from the past, right?” She doesn’t look up to him, gaze stuck on the still swirling galaxy of her drink as it settles into something she can stomach easier. “Isn’t that something you’ve learned from your hundreds of books?” he asks with a laugh. “Or, if someone wishes to convey a message..with enough strength, it can be heard.” Warning: Pure anxiety. Word: 1,680

Autumn stands frozen, time forgotten with toes digging into the plush carpet of the hallway. It was so silent - so eerily silent that she could hear every small tear of each strand of fiber as it was pulled away, almost as if she was subconsciously creating a hole for herself to crawl into. She could hear every small breath she took, every small insignificant crack dancing up her calf or in her hands as stressed fingers toyed with one another. She was on edge, wired to say the least as she stared down the forever closed door of her fathers office. She could hear him rummaging inside doing who knows what, the gentle wisp as papers gliding over one another, the clank of pens or the occasional, “Shit,” was muttered with frustration.

He was busy - he was always busy.

But only feet away with a piece of wood separating them, Autumn was fighting to remain grounded. She could feel her heart quickening, grip tugging at her clothes or her other hand as her breathing increased when the memories of her previous nightmare seemed to creep back in, like a heavy fog washing over already unsteady waters. It was discombobulating, like she was reaching out for help without knowing where the walls were, where it would all end. In her sleep, they had found her again - though she couldn’t necessarily call them voices. Clicking, shrill noises in the distance of a dark void that left her filled with panic. In her deep slumber, she didn’t know if seeing them, or not knowing where they were was better for the spine crawling tension that was twisting its way through her bones, threatening to snap her in half. She was sick with fear, unsure of where to turn and what she would face - hearing the uncertain noises only growing closer, more cluttered together until it was deafening. She woke in a cold sweat, dazed, lost and uneasy.

That was hours ago - she had since washed away her sleep, hair still wet and barely put together as she scrambled for her things, sitting at her low table filled with various herbs, crystals and waxes. It’s almost painful for her to settle - to force herself into a state of calm before she begins work on multiple sets of protection jars, the room rapidly filling with the smell of lavender. When the wax had dried over the bottles, she set them throughout the house, in small places where her father wouldn’t question - and yet somehow she still felt unsafe. Her head whips back to glance over her shoulder as she senses the nightmare following her into her conscious state, but perhaps it was only a trick of the mind.

Her father stumbles over his work just after he hears her knock, hurrying for the door and tearing it open with a surprised look on his face, though it fades into something softer as he takes in the sight of his daughter. Eyes sunken in from exhaustion, lips chapped and swollen from being chewed at from her rising anxiety. “Good morning, honey,” he says, a gentle tone in his voice with a hand raising to fiddle with wild strands of hair out of place, before attempting to lay it in their place against her head. He could tell she wasn’t at her best, having seen her rise and fall many times before from the unknown, the creeping presence that was unshakeable from her childhood.

“H-hi,” she says, words almost failing as her own fingers trail over her throat, searching for the lump that blocked her chords. She fights through it, stumbling over the hurdle. “I-I wanted to see if you were hungry,” she offers simply, a smile stretching over her features. “I know I didn’t eat yet. And..if you didn’t, maybe we could go out for breakfast? Linner,” she ends with forced excitement, eyes beaming.

Her father doesn’t reply immediately, the smile even faltering as he ponders over the question - and she notices. His hesitancy brings a particular twist in her gut, watching as he glances back into his office at the desk he had cluttered up, files spread out and stacks of books. But he meets her gaze, happy and letting the uneasiness she felt settle. “Let me put my things away, and we’ll get going.”

The car ride was mostly silent, he didn't ask about Autumn’s night - not yet. He keeps a goal of distraction to ease her mind, playing music and drumming along wildly until she’s able to laugh at his antics, until she finds peace. In the diner, a few glances are spared their way as the bell dings upon entry. She can’t help but seek refuge behind the tall figure of her dad, shuffling behind each step until settling in at a booth just across from one another.

“How are you all doin’ today? My name’s Samantha and I’ll be takin’ care of you. Can I start you off with some drinks?” Immediately, Autumn attempts to order a coffee only to have her father shut it down. “I’ll have a coffee, she’ll have a tea. And then we can-” “What? Dad, you know how tired I am.” “Exactly,” he says, a rather unimpressed look on his face. “You need to sleep.” “But I’m seeing Jonathan later to study. Come on,” she says practically whines, her shoulders slumped in pitiful defeat in hopes he would give in. And he does, with a heavy sigh and a roll of his eyes. Unable to withstand the torment she would give him. “She’ll have a coffee with no refills,” he grumbles behind a thick mustache, before proceeding to give her their usual order.

His hands are clasped, elbows on the table as he leans into it for comfort but also to close their distance for a more personal conversation, she can feel it looming in the distance and her heart rate is already quickening.

“So, you want to tell me what’s going on?”

The chewing at her lips starts again, nails picking at her skin or small pieces of fabric she finds hung from her sweater, flicking them onto the floor, vanishing into the shadows beneath them. This was always a difficult part, confessing - reliving it all. “I’ve just - uh,” she pauses, eyes on the waitress in the distance, gaze quickly moving to each individual in the diner, briefly catching moments of their conversations. Due to the hour, it was mostly older customers talking about small nothings, but to them it was everything. “I was hearing things,” she finishes quietly. Her father doesn't seem bothered by the information, only nodding in response and leaning back as the hot drinks were placed in front of them. “Yeah? What sorts of things?”

There’s a heaviness on her chest, growing more powerful as she thinks back to the unknown sounds that created a storm in her mind, causing nothing but distress as she lost her way. “People. Just, people. Talking.” Her words fall with haste, bluntly, not wanting to risk admitting the full truth of the chaos in her subconscious. “I-I couldn’t tell if they were..talking to each other or not. It was just a lot.” “I see,” he says with a hum, contemplating, running her words over with care through his mind as he adds just a small amount of sugar into his coffee, while she dresses it up completely. “Are you meditating?” She nods silently. “Well, sweetheart..sometimes, a presence can linger from the past, right?” She doesn’t look up to him, gaze stuck on the still swirling galaxy of her drink as it settles into something she can stomach easier.

“Isn’t that something you’ve learned from your hundreds of books?” he asks with a laugh. “Or, if someone wishes to convey a message..with enough strength, it can be heard.” “I don’t want to hear it,” she mumbles, taking a small sip with her attention now cast out the window, thoughts already spiraling as she tries to decipher what she could have been hearing, from just the night before and the many others prior. “It could be important,” he replies with a simple shrug, leaning back into the cushioned seat. “Maybe one day, when you’re ready..try to find them. See what they have to say. Then maybe you’ll get some sleep.”

His confidence was irritating, but uplifting all the same. He had this belief in her that no one else seemed to, so much so that despite the sickness in the pit of her stomach at the thought of searching for them - or it, she smiled.

“So, Jonathan today?” She nods along, watching as their food settles under the heated lamp, fresh off of the grill and ready to serve while the waitress fusses over someone at the counter. She seems overly pleased to see him, not like she was with them at the booth - and the man is equally receptive to her. “Are you two going to date, or what?”

The question is alarming, her body sinking into a state of shock - frigid and numb as she stares him down in disbelief. “Gross, dad.” “What? You two are with each other all of the time.” “We’re friends, that’s all.” “Yeah, well,” he shrugs, loving the discomfort he’s causing. “Friends before lo-” Autumn holds out her hand, eyes closed and face scrunched up in pure disgust with no ill intention towards her friend, though he would thankfully never have to know about this moment. “You need to shut the hell up.”

[genuineformality]

Rules: List ten comfort movies and tag ten people. Or not. I’m not your boss.

Thank you for tagging me @taralkariel! I don’t watch a lot of movies these days, partially because the way our house is set up isn’t really conducive to that, but… I do have some that I think about all the time and bring me joy.

Here are my comfort movies in the order in which I thought of them:

Pride and Prejudice (2005): It’s such a pleasant adaptation. Is the 90s miniseries objectively a better adaptation in terms of closeness to source material? Probably. But this does such an incredibly beautiful job of capturing the essence of the novel and doing some really lovely things with showing the differences in class that exist between impoverished and wealthy gentlepeople which gets missed in a lot of regency romance adaptations.  

White Christmas (1954): I love this film. It’s only kind of a Christmas movie, in that it takes place over the Christmas holiday and features the Irving Berlin’s (noted Jewish composer) White Christmas, but let’s face it: it’s really a thin excuse to smash as many completely ridiculous dance numbers together with only the tiniest hint of a plot.

The Muppet Christmas Carol (1992): Another completely ridiculous Christmas movie that I mostly love because it is probably the most faithful adaptation of A Christmas Carol that exists, even with the muppets. Possibly because of the muppets. I have a long, complicated history with Christmas (as someone who is Jewish; as someone whose mother tried to join cults a few times, and as a result, all holidays are weird; as someone with a lot of family trauma that often came to a head around holidays, both the ones we observed and sometimes especially when we were not observing them), but I found an uneasy détente with Christmas and now observe it in a way that makes sense for me and my (non-Jewish) family. So it seems weird that I have two Christmas movies on this list, but I cannot tell you how many good, fond, wonderful memories I have tied up with this movie. Just thinking about it lowers my blood pressure.

Bedknobs and Broomsticks (1971): Angela Lansbury, my beloved. When I was growing up, we had a VCR and a very small collection of films on VHS, of which this was one. And this is definitely the one that I wore out through watching and rewatching. It’s such a weird, fun, lovely film.

The Birdcage (1996): Robin Williams and Nathan Lane clearly had so much fun making this. It’s a farce and looking at it any deeper than the surface means that the plot falls apart almost immediately, so you cannot take it seriously. And yet, it has such warmth and heart. I love this film, even though it has not aged well; even though it’s imperfect.

Empire Records (1995): What’s with TODAY, today? This came out when I was entering high school and it was the perfect film for that time in my life and it has remained a favorite ever since.

Auntie Mame (1958): Speaking of films that haven’t necessarily aged well, but are fun, hilarious, and heartfelt. Auntie Mame was a book (that also has not aged well) and was adapted to theater and film about making the best of the family you have and creating family from your friends as well as blood kin. My mom showed me this film when I was still in single digits and I knew then that my goal in life was to be Auntie Mame, the original wine aunt. And you know, I’m not doing a half bad job of it.

Galaxy Quest (1999): It’s the best star trek movie. Fight me.

Mystery Men (1999): It’s the best marvel movie. Fight me.

Persuasion (2007): Persuasion is my favorite Austen novel. When I was in high school/college, I was all about that Pride and Prejudice life, but as an adult (and one rapidly approaching middle age), I feel Persuasion to my core. There is something so incredibly human about grieving the life you might have had; of living with regrets and still living your life with as much integrity as you can; of having a terrible family and bearing with them; and of getting second chances that honestly were probably only available because of your lived experience, integrity, and living through that grief. Anne Elliot is my girl (and I’m actively mad about the Netflix adaptation, despite generally being very live and let live about adaptations being adaptations). Why is this one my comfort movie? Because this is the one that captured Anne for me. Sally Hawkins was beautiful casting and she shines with subtle, understated grace. 10/10, would Anne Elliot again.

Tagging (with no pressure whatsoever): @marycontraire, @saritasoyyo, @totchipanda, @capinejghafa, @whatanybodygets, @pyrrhlc, @tlonista, @feelinglikecleopatra; @jackwolfes; @carolinawrenn; @whimperandabang

[ellie-the-oracle]

The Bad Batch Season 2 Episode 7 & 8 Review and Discussion - The Consequences of Truth

MASSIVE SPOILER WARNING!

First and foremost, these two episodes were absolutely fantastic from start to finish. It had the same energy that peek Clone Wars had. And the politics. The politics of the clones and the military are some of the best moments to me, as they flesh out the world that our beloved characters live in.

Riyo Chuchi is the absolute goat. End of discussion. I’m so glad that someone is finally stepping up to fight for the clones and their rights, even though it may inevitably be all for nothing. Nevertheless, it was so good to see her appear in TBB, and I love what she was standing for. How the clones have been treated has always broken my heart. They have always deserved so much more and while I know not much will come out of this, it’s good to know that there are people who see them and recognize what they did for the galaxy. Also, it was really nice to see Bail. I wish we got a bit more of him but I understand that perhaps he wants to lay low and not have a target on his back, especially when considering his position in all of this (being the adoptive father of Leia, spearheading the pre-rebellion, etc.)

Seeing the truth be revealed in regards to what really happened to Tipoca City, while short lived, was a victory to me. The dramatic irony that was Rampart saying he was “just following orders,” in the same way that the clones are “just following orders,” was masterful. And to hammer it home, Palpatine saying that “if the clones blindly follow orders” then they need to usher in a new military; thus the introduction of the storm troopers, That stung. Yet, I cannot say I’m necessarily surprised since we are all aware by now of how well Palpatine plays his cards. I am devastated, regardless, at how easy it was for him to spin it around in his favour. 

The final scenes of episode 8 was heartbreaking to say the least. I didn’t expect it at all and I’m honestly really concerned for Echo now that he’s decided to stay with Rex. As we have all speculated, there has to be some sort of event that will push Rex over the edge, enough for him to want to stop fighting. I fear that the possibility of Echo dying has increased because of his decision to stay with Rex and moreover, the chances that his death being the breaking point for Rex has increased. I really hope that isn’t the case though, I don’t think I’d ever recover from that. Plus, It would feel a bit cheap to kill him AGAIN.

To continue from that, the bad batch’s numbers are growing eerily thin. They are now down to four 3.5 members (no offence to Omega, love her character, but let’s be real for a second, she’s not a soldier, she’s a child). I don’t really know what this could mean for them in the long run. All I know is that the family dynamic is breaking down and they may need to start considering their place in all of this; perhaps joining the fight alongside Rex and Echo. 

Overall, these two episodes were on par, if not even better, than episode three. They really gave viewers the insight into the function of the galaxy and its politics at this point in the timeline. Moreover, the tragedy of the clones has been especially highlighted here and it really cements their place in the galaxy. 10/10.

[plotvine]

I’m sat here writing the first of many pieces. Every time today that I attempted to sit down and tried to write something… my brain has decided to clear all the cookies. Well. Fair enough, but nonetheless, I am committed to putting SOMETHING on the page. “Fuck you,” I mutter to myself absently as I continue puttering away at my three year old laptop which feels like a physical manifestation of my reluctant brain. Once a beautiful, sleek, powerful machine, now an overheating mess of a device with an inability to sleep without completely shutting down, practically zero storage left, and a power level that left more to be desired than I currently had the strength to admit. I sighed, disappointed at the paragraph of pure self-contempt that I’d created and took a long sip of water from my dented hydro flask.

“This, this is why I don’t write anymore.” Under my breath I proclaimed yet another empty excuse. My inner voice was trying to be comforting, absolutely more supportive than I am of myself verbally. I appreciated that. If not for my friendly inner ‘critic’, I’d be a lot worse for wear. But my capacity for self hate was strong. It was as though that shadow self has burrowed deeper into my brain once my ‘higher self’… for lack of a better term, had turned on more lights in there. The writers room was still overrun with the shadow of self-doubt.

Let’s get into an introduction. I’m Quinn, I’m 22 years old. I’d like to say I have a job, a degree, or any other lovely accomplishment to boast about. But no, surviving this long is the achievement in itself. ‘So what do you do all day Quinn?’ Well. I operate as the right hand of a family that functions like a business. In return, I get most of the things I want, and thanks to years of being isolated from the world. There isn’t much I want, or care about, in the first place. I’m average looking, okay, well. Not to me, but definitely to society. Five foot eight, medium sized, with a complexion that would blend nicely with a galaxy milk chocolate bar, thick hair, large shoe size. Is that enough to imagine me? I wear glasses too.

I’m getting a nudge to describe something nice. I love music, I love books, and I love my family and friends. I also love to complain, and then naturally I suppose I’m a problem solver. Not one for wallowing much anymore. But if there was a qualification for wallowing, I’d definitely had graduated with honors. What are my goals? “Hmmm,” my reluctance to speculate about the future always resulted in a trademark humming that felt like I was simply buzzing the thought out of existence. But I was sitting here at my desk to push past boundaries, right? Grow as a writer and a person, right? Right? My inner voice definitely agreed. Well. My goal right now is to write every day for thirty days. Not necessarily a novel, not necessarily even 50,000 words. Not even particularly all on the same universe, or the same story. A loose goal always feels more achievable. Maybe next year all fifty thousand of those words will be on the same page. (Funny, I know). But for now, I’ll focus on even writing that much in the first place.

“Say no to self-sabotage.” I smile a little at the sight of my word counter. 575 words, not bad for a random spiel about the present moment. Writing has always felt incredibly personal. It felt good to dive into it without a roadmap and simply DO. Simply attack a keyboard with no regard for tense, voice, flow. Zero plot, and a sense of blankness that felt like a positive version of whatever depression does when I sit scrolling for 4 hours without realizing how much time has truly passed. This felt like a slightly more meaningful journal entry. One that felt ‘safe’ to post online to my writing blog with zero traffic.

‘Hi, I’m Quinn, lovely to be here. I’ll be your narrator for the evening. The evening will be one month long, and hopefully the threat of being perceived won’t scare me away from completing my mission.’ I imagine that a cartoon version of me would be quite adorable to watch an introduction for. If only I could draw well enough to satisfy my own standards… I proceeded to spend fifteen minutes daydreaming about my animated self and scrolling through Twitter. Back to my senses, I took a moment to read over my first entry. Trust me to write nearly 800 words about the frustration of trying to write. I sighed and smiled. An introduction that felt completely and totally Quinn. A recovering mess, with some wonky tense and a touch of debate between the two halves of my own psyche. Both halves felt a sense of tentative pride. Not too much though, I still needed to do this or something similar for 29 more days.

Fifty thousand words is approximate to 1,666 words per day, and I am at 850 now. Not bad for a day one. I’m inclined to take a tea break to reward myself with something that will actually keep me going. But no, I’ll stop here and come back with something a little bit more story-like next time.

[yanderechuu]

Shower Thoughts

yandere!Class 1A x fem!reader

[3.2K]

Summary: Momo wasn’t as trustable as you had presumed.

Warning: Larceny, nonconsensual touching, masturbation

│

You used to spend roughly ten minutes in the shower, only ever needing to soak your body in the water, apply shampoo and body wash before rinsing all the foam of products from your skin and scalp. Shower thoughts simply consisted of the day’s agenda or any special occurrence that had happened the past week, never really drifting off to existential questions and dark notions that would keep you from leaving the bathroom later than usual. You neither necessarily liked taking a shower nor did you dread it, as to you it was only ever a mandatory routine of the day which you handled with a neutral mind.

But now, ten minutes were already a slow thirty, and majority of the time you bothered not to move your arms to make work of your hair, or lather your skin with soap as you normally would do had it not been for the questions plaguing your mind like how your classmates would terrorize your time and space.

Right, your classmates - who would spend every hour of the day with you as if they didn’t have anything better to do. As if you were an important subject of matter next to hero training. You never appreciated it, because from the start, you did not want to have anything do to with them. They smothered and coddled you as if air wasn’t that important to you, disregarding the way you felt about personal space, how it was very significant to you. Rare were the moments of peace as a few of them were always by your side, ‘ensuring your safety’ as they would like to quote it. Why ensure your safety? You had not been a prominent figure in the sports festival, neither did you have a quirk that could be of great utility for the villains unlike Bakugou or Tokoyami. You weren’t a problem child, either. Their justification of following you around like you were some sort of high-maintenance prisoner made no sturdy sense to you.

“There’s this new package of green tea my mother had sent me this week! Would you like to try it, (y/n)?”

“Sure.”

But if you had to choose among your classmates one whom you would tolerate for the following years you’d be in U.A., that would be Yaoyorozu Momo. She was kind and considerate, often determining your feelings before you could voice it out (not that you really had the courage to, most of the time). She was organized and pristine and never had you met someone more befitting for the definition of ‘mom friend’ than her. She was perfect in nearly every way, and even though you’d have the occasional pang of jealousy at some times her perfectionism was displayed (gender envy, isn’t it, (y/n)?), she never seemed to bear mal intent, so you would let the emotions slide. You’d see the galaxy in her eyes if you would stare long enough. Her tea was best substitute for coffee, too.

You never considered her more than a very great friend, though, and to her, that was a problem.

As you sauntered your way over to your dorm with her, you shuffled your bag to take your room key buried in the side pockets. “I’ll go down in a while, but you better make sure you’re in the common room before me.”

You wouldn’t allow your classmates to take advantage of your lone self simply because Momo wasn’t there to fend them off.

“Mhm! Lemon green tea as usual, correct?”

“Yeah. Thanks again, YaoMomo.”

Your use of sotto voce tone on her nickname gave a pleasant shiver down her spine; her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head had she not restrained herself. Having been always kept to yourself, you never felt the need to adjust your volume for others to hear properly, so oftentimes your voice came out in a whisper - not that she minded, of course. You sounded more sensual that way.

“Are you going to take a while or will I have to brew tea right away?”

“Training was more strenuous than usual, and my muscles can’t seem to relax,” you explained, “so I’m going to take a quick shower.”

From your peripheral vision as you were focused on your bag to fish out the key, you saw Momo’s jaw slack upon hearing your plan to take a bath. It was odd, but you didn’t give particular attention to it when you finally took out your desired item. You failed to notice the way she abruptly settled her gaze on the key, inspecting it as if she was deliberating its shape, form, and material, and installing it to memory.

“Oh- oh!” She exclaimed. “I do remember having some body wash that help soothe muscle strains and body aches. I can hand them to you if you want.”

You shook your head, smiling lightly. “You’re too kind, YaoMomo. But I think just hot water will do for me.”

She watched as you opened the door to your room, giving her one more smile before disappearing inside and locking the door with a distinct click. As soon as you did so, she pulled the sleeve of her wrist up, developing with her body lipids a key the exact copy of the one you had held.

You certainly lied when you had said you were going to take a ‘quick’ shower. Already ten minutes into it did you only decide to sleek yourself with liquid body soap, initially absentmindedly rubbing it on your body, before you gradually got rougher with your movements and soon you found yourself scuffing your own flesh with vehement motion.

They were excessively touchy again, your classmates. Denki got too close to your face while delivering a pick-up line that made you wish you didn’t exist in order to hear it, and upon nearing you did Bakugou pull you away from him, cursing at him to buzz off. He took his time feeling up your waist - the part he used to grab you - while at it. During lunch, as you were once again coerced into joining his group to the cafeteria, Izuku refused to let go of your hand as you walked, and Uraraka as adamant with hugging you by the hips with one arm. It was what girlfriends did, she said, and you were not entirely sure whether or not she referred to that word romantically.

And if not, then did girlfriends also normally touch the parts of which you did not want to be touched on? You felt, clear as day, a bare hand resting on your thigh when you sat on your usual spot, dangerously close to lifting your skirt for everyone to see, and when you gave Hagakure’s faceless face a questioning look, she asked you what was wrong. Her uniform sleeve was literally floating on top of your lap, and still she had the gall to pretend as if she was not touching you with lacking consent. 

 You were not safe from Shoto, either, when he offered to readjust your uniform tie and you were in no place to decline (you had the right to, but they just stripped you off of it), his breath hitching in ecstasy as his fingers brushed your chest; he was, audaciously enough, not hiding his bliss. Then he rubbed your shoulders to ‘warm you up,’ when all he really intended to do was motivate his own fantasy that you were his and he was simply scenting you like some fucking alpha to his omega.

You turned no blind eye to their gesticulations. You never once found it endearing, and wished they would stop with whatever the hell this was called, because you were quite sure this was past the border of molestation and could already be rendered a form of bullying.

But not once did you consider the possibility of having a class obsessed with your quaint self.

So you supposed that until you’d find a way to deduce their idiosyncratic actions and tendencies then you would have to make do with your own bathroom as your safe space. Momo was the only classmate you could confide to, so at least she was there.

Unfortunately, you had yet to see the other side of her coin.

Because as she was just right outside your bathroom door, obsessively taking in every bit of item you owned inside your dorm room like a madman, you were left with the impression that she was all you could ever ask for in a friend. You didn’t know how she was not any better than the rest of your classmates, adoring your very existence to the extent of insanity; how she’d crave for you so often and so terribly that she’d feel herself clench when you do so much as merely spare her a glance. And you had done that a lot today - she would have to relieve herself for it.

She spotted the heap of clothes right by your bed; it became apparent that you had stripped yourself off of it before entering the bathroom and taking a shower. Walking towards it, a portion of your seamless underwear came to view, and she resisted the urge to render into a mound of horniness in order to pick it up and inspect it closely.

It was a lighter color of (s/c). A plain, simple, modest undergarment item, still it evoked a particular feeling on the bottom center of Momo’s hips. The heat came rushing along her midriff and instigated the muscle of her legs to falter, and as soon as she felt it, a hand of hers drifted past her skirt, feeling up the slick accumulated on the fabric of her own panties only with the knowledge that your panties were currently in her possession. She needed release, but you were nearly finished with your bath, and she was still inside your room.

You walked out of the shower the moment she shut the door of your bedroom. You saw it closed, but you didn’t catch the culprit.

This unnerved you to no end. Undoubtedly, you thought, this had to be one of your classmates. Who else was it supposed to be? Aizawa-sensei (...)? You had yet to know their ultimatum, but you were sure this occurrence was another one of their schemes. You had assumed that all their weird, unappreciated antics were just to get you to socialize with them, but now you didn’t understand why it had gotten to the point of entering your room without permission.

You couldn’t keep this to yourself.

So you planned to bring it up to Momo, a representative of your class and someone whom you deemed trustable enough to share it with. Quickly, you dressed into your casual indoor attire, and rushed outside your room to head to the kitchen, where you presumed she’d be in the process of making your tea. But she wasn’t there.

Instead, she was in her own room, your panties muzzled right into her face and her own fingers buried deeply inside her cunt.

“Oh- oh, god- Ah! (Y/n)!”

Oh god, your panties. Oh god, your panties. The object most intimate to your parts of intimacy, soaking every bit of womanly secretion from your genitalia. Of all the masturbation sessions she had done to the thought of you, this was the hottest. She wasn’t quite sure whether to imagine your cunt on her lips in a position of mutual cunnilingus or your fingers thrusting into her in place of hers. She wanted both.

A whine slipped past her lips. To think that moments ago, she was in the same space as you were nude. Oh, to join you in the bathroom, doing inenarrable things to each other with the use of the showerhead. To touch your skin selfishly rather than only watch as she would do during class hours.

She came with a squeal, falling face-down to bite the duvet of her large bed. Gone in her hazy mind was her promise to you of lemon green tea, and as she still basked in the pathological euphoria of getting off, you were in the common room, anxiously waiting for her return.

But just as you had expected, someone was bound to spot you alone and take this as an opportunity to be with you, and they just so happened to be-

Oh. Aoyama.

He offered you a slice of cheese with his usual grin before settling down a few feet beside you, enough to leave you be in your personal bubble. You gave him occasional glances, unwrapping the cheese from its casing and he just sat there, eating his. He was alright, you guessed - another tolerable classmate of yours next to Momo. Perhaps it was because you used to always be alone in the classroom with him during break time that you were at ease with his presence. Or maybe he just seemed so gay and that, for some reason, comforted you. One gay presence could comfort another lol.

“It’s delicious.” Your comment came out inadvertently.

“Oui. Only the best quality for the best person.” He flaunted.

You weren’t exactly sure whether he was referring to you or to himself, but you paid little attention to that as the cheese was certainly delicious; you were not lying.

“It’s odd how your chose to take a bath at this time of the day.” He spoke.

You stopped chewing.

He meant to refer to your damp hair, but having just suspected your class of breaking and entering your room, you thought otherwise.

“I-” You choked on the cheese, ending up needing to gulp it like liquid content instead of breaking it down to fit your throat. 

Immediately, he sprang up in concern, stepping over to you to gently thump you on the back. “Are you alright?”

“No- I mean- I just-!” You wheezed, occasionally having to clear your throat. You swatted his hand away from you; you hadn’t meant to appear rude, but you did. You stood up in a rush. “L-look, I have to go.”

“Don’t you want to drink water?”

“I’m- fine,”

With your words, you took off from the common room area and headed back to your room. There were two sets of emotions that mixed to form the bile in your throat. One was wrath and humiliation upon the discovery of Aoyama’s actions. The other was betrayal and confusion from Momo’s absence when she had said she’d be brewing tea for you, and it wasn’t the tea that disheartened you. She knew of your issue with the class, and if she were busy, couldn’t she have texted you a heads-up?

She shouldn’t be surprised when at the next time she saw you, you interacted with her less. Your intention to distance yourself from her was most prominent, and it didn’t help that your classmates took notice of this, because now they were taking advantage of the situation, tagging you along with them in spite of your futile attempts to decline now that Momo was nowhere to tell them off. When she’d talk to you, you would answer, though your voice was back to speaking to her like she was a stranger. 

Resentment was stronger than ruing the lack of intimacy between you two. It was as if she had received your panties in exchange for the time she’d be spending with you, oddly enough. After much deliberation, she came to realize that this was your little ‘tantrum’ after not being able to meet with her the other day. 

It was pretty cute, she thought, that you’d try and make her acknowledge the fault on her part by ignoring her.

You didn’t walk with her back to dorms as per usual that dismissal. Instead, just like what you had used to do before finding consolation in her, you walked alone, accomplishing being able to avoid your classmates as you did. By the time she reached the dorms, you were in the kitchen, fetching a glass of water to satiate your throat. She took a hold of your wrist before you went back to your room.

“(Y/n),” she pleaded, “tell me what’s wrong.”

You looked at her with a reluctant expression. Perhaps you should. After the short while that you had been hanging out with her, her presence turned into something you came to miss. You wanted her back, but not in the way she wanted you.

“I-it’s just,” you stammered out, “y-you know how I feel being alone in the common room without you. I... I’m not comfortable with our classmates when you’re not around.” She took pride in this. “I don’t take it lightly how you left me alone the other day...”

Your voice faltered out the longer you spoke.

So she was correct; you were certainly having your little ‘tantrum.’ With a guilty smile, she left your wrist to hold your hand tenderly, and suddenly it dawned upon you the feeling of whenever Bakugou held your waist, Shoto nuzzled his face on your neck or Izuku invaded your personal space.

Fear and apprehension.

Before you could preach your objection to whatever she had planned ahead for you, she dragged you along with her and you both reached her dorm room before you could comprehend where she was taking you. 

“I’ll make it up to you.” She said, making you sit on her large bed.

Then she proceeded to make you tea, boiling water with an electric kettle situated on top of her study desk; there also laid a tea set next to her three books, which you assumed were those of which would aid her in the utility of her quirk, like encyclopedias. Beside those was a piece of cloth, unfolded, unkept - a (s/c)-colored silk fabric.

Your face drained of color.

She pushed the books towards the cloth, completely obscuring it from your view and leaving the table disorganized. You knew Momo, neat and orderly as much as possible; she wouldn’t do that without reason.

Now that you thought about it, the same day someone had barged in your room, your underwear had been missing from your set of laundry garments. You spent the next whole day actively avoiding Aoyama, thinking he was the culprit to this felony. At the present moment you were reconsidering your allegation.

“U-um, Momo, I need to go-”

“Here!”

She yelled it so giddily, so uncharacteristically, as she pushed the cup of tea towards your way. How she did so was very quick that you had not the time to take it properly, and steaming liquid fell to your décolletage, past the cotton of your uniform and streaming down the valley of your breasts. It was a moist mess. She loved every bit of it.

“Oh! Oh, my bad. I’ll- I’ll clean you up!” She exclaimed, all flushed and excited.

You didn’t find it in you to push her back when she began to do exactly what she had said, taking your blazer off, loosening your school tie and unbuttoning the dress shirt underneath, only ever being able to stare at her with eyes that evinced betrayal, because it slowly occurred to you that she was satiating her own selfish obsession with you all under the ruse of maintaining a decent friendship. 

“(Y/n),” She breathed out, “I adore you.”

She was no different than the rest of your classmates, and you were a fool to think otherwise.

[thirddoctor]

I've seen you comment on how each Master should complement their Doctor. Do you have any thoughts about how Anthony Ainley pairs with each of the three 80s Doctors (and Tom Baker) and could you possibly rank the pairings?

Well, in terms of the writing, I don’t think he was specifically mirrored with the Doctor much, so I’m not going to claim any of this is intentional, but here goes.

1. Ainley and Six

I know Five is the Doctor most commonly associated with Ainley, because they had more episodes together and people view him as a more attractive shipping choice (they’re wrong; I continue to maintain Six is the hottest Doctor), but my hot take is that Six and Ainley have the best dynamic and actually complement each other really well.

Let’s start with the outfits. They’re both over the top - Six with his rainbow costume and cat pins, and Ainley with his puffy velvet sleeves and tailcoat - but opposite in terms of colour.

And in personality, Six and Ainley are both arrogant and pretentious, they both enjoy using long flowery words, they have a similar pompous attitude toward everyone around them, and Six is a darker-edged than usual for the Doctor, making Ainley a great example of what he could be if he let himself be led by his worst instincts.

Their interactions together are also lots of fun, because you’re pitting two very over the top, self-important people against each other, and I wish we’d had more episodes with them.

2. Ainley and Four

They only have one story together (unless you count Keeper of Traken), but they have a great dynamic. They’re not really mirrors or parallels for each other, though they have some nice visual contrast:

But there’s something interesting in the fact that the Master has just gotten a new lease on life, while for the Doctor it’s the end of a long era. I like the somber little themes of entropy in Four’s last season, and the Master ties into that in how he’s trying to hold back his own decay by taking this new body.

I’d probably have more to say about them if I felt I understood Four’s character better, but despite him usually not being one of my favourite Doctors, I really enjoy their scenes together. Also, they’re the only Doctor/Master combination where one succeeded in murdering the other (so far), so that’s fun.

3. Ainley and Seven

Look at them. What’s not to enjoy?

Again, only one story together, but it’s a good one, easily Ainley’s best performance. I wouldn’t say he’s necessarily the perfect foil for Seven - he doesn’t really highlight anything about Seven’s manipulation and scheming, because, yes, the Master is manipulative and scheming too, but that’s just a basic part of his character, and he’s not trying to do it for the greater good - but the scenes he has with Seven are still excellent. Their final confrontation where they’re both succumbing to the Cheetah virus on a dying planet, but the Doctor is able to snap out of it, realising the self-destructive nature of their actions, while the Master isn’t, sums up the two characters well.

I do have some issues with Rona Munro’s take on their relationship (which was tied to Cartmel Masterplan nonsense), but fortunately none of that made into the episode, and she later wrote a great scene with Twelve and Missy, so all is forgiven.

4. Ainley and Five

Controversial choice for last place, but I just like the other three better. You get the feeling that the Master is really trying to have fun and get the Doctor involved in his convoluted games and the Doctor is just having absolutely none of it (which, you know, is fair considering the Master did kill his previous incarnation).

There’s a general sense of disdain in all Five’s dealings with the Master, and I don’t think any strong parallels emerge between the two. The most interesting moment in their relationship, imo, is when the Doctor chooses to let the Master die in Planet of Fire. In fact, galaxy brain take here, but I think the character the Master mirrors, at least in Caves of Androzani, is Adric. Both are people the Doctor couldn’t or wouldn’t save, and in both cases he feels some level of guilt over their deaths. That’s why they both appear to him when he’s dying, one begging him to live and the other telling him to die.

So I think the Ainley influenced Five in various ways, but I don’t see a strong case for them complementing each other.

Anyway, fun question, thank you!

Disclaimer that it’s been quite a few years since I watched 80s Who, so I might be forgetting some things that would shift my opinions here.

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 1

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader (no use of Y/N) Rating: M (will become explicit in later chapters) Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, cursing, sexy thoughts, pining, non-graphic description of wounds Summary: With the ghosts of your own mysterious past close on your heels, you can’t afford to get in the middle of someone else’s fight; however, attraction drives you to make a reckless decision, and you end up swept up in the Mandalorian’s story. Notes: (1) Reader is bisexual. It will probably only come up peripherally, but I wanted to make a note of that. (2) I did my best to keep physical descriptions of the reader out of my writing, but please let me know if something slipped in that isn’t as inclusive as it could be!  

Masterlist | Next Chapter

Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

You felt the weight of the Mandalorian’s gaze before you saw him.

Sitting in the cantina on Nevarro, you were alone in a corner booth—a seat close to the back exit that had a clear view of the front door.

You were halfway through your drink when the hairs on the back of your neck prickled, and you had the overwhelming feeling that you were being watched.

You scanned the cantina and, in your periphery, registered the Mandalorian’s head snap back from your direction to face the man sitting across from him. You hadn’t noticed him enter, but it must have been just moments ago because you surveyed your surroundings every few minutes.

The two men were seated a few tables away. You observed the Mandalorian for a moment, noting his stiff-backed posture and the tension in his shoulders under his battle-worn armor. He could tell you’d caught him staring and that you were watching him.

The man sitting across from the Mandalorian was gesticulating as he spoke. You’d been on Nevarro long enough to recognize him as Greef Karga, local leader of the Guild. You could only see his back, but he was boisterous—a stark contrast to the Mandalorian’s silent stillness—and his voice carried.

Karga was saying something about bounties and currency—no surprise there. Mandalorians were the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy. You didn’t know much about them besides the legends you’d heard as a child, though it was very unclear what was true and what was myth. You’d only ever seen one in person before, and that Mandalorian had been terrifying, threatening.

This Mandalorian, however, was... intriguing? He was, of course, intimidating—in his head-to-toe armor with a long rifle leaned against the table, he was the very picture of a warrior. Any person with sense would be scared of him, and judging by the sidelong glances he was getting from the other patrons, most were.

The very relatable experience of having someone catch you in the act of watching them—as you’d just done to him—however, humanized this Mandalorian. Noting his broad shoulders, you couldn’t help wondering what he looked like under all that heavy metal. You’d heard rumors that some Mandalorians never took off their armor in front of another person. That would be a real shame.

Though you’d have preferred to continue thinking about the man under the armor (and the things you wanted to do with him), a small voice in your head reminded you of the potentially dangerous reality of your situation.

Why was he watching me? He can’t possibly recognize me.

No one had come after you in years. There was likely still a steep bounty on your head, but many of the people who wanted to find you were dead, imprisoned, or deep in hiding. Some were convinced you’d been taken out in a star cruiser explosion (because you almost had been). And, you no longer looked like the photo that was attached to your bounty puck. Your hair was a radically different shade and length. You wore contacts to obscure the real color of your eyes. You always chose high-necked clothing to conceal the identifying scar that slashed an angry line beneath your clavicle.  

You kept a low profile, moved often, and assumed a fake identity, but you felt safe enough in your anonymity to come to a planet like Nevarro, a place that was swarming with hunters.

Plus, you reasoned that if the Mandalorian was looking for you for a job, this is probably not how it would have happened. It would have been stealthy and quick, potentially bloody and violent.

No, you didn’t think he was looking for you, which meant he had been looking at you. Out of interest. And that was so, so much better.

You turned your body towards him pointedly to make it more obvious that you were watching him. The slight forward lean of his shoulders told you he registered your movement in his periphery. His helmet stayed trained on Karga, but it was impossible to know exactly where he was looking through the black t-shape of his visor. You would have bet he was looking back at you.

The Mandalorian responded to Karga, pushing some credits back across the table. You could hear the low undercurrent of his modulated voice, but you couldn’t quite make out what he was saying. It looked like they were arguing about the currency of the credits on the table.

As Karga dug in his pocket for something, the Mandalorian turned his helmet slowly back towards you. Throwing caution to the wind, you smiled at him and winked, and he dipped his head in acknowledgement. You watched him expectantly, figuring this was when he’d walk over to your table.

Instead, he turned his head back to Karga, responded to something he said, and grabbed the credits off the table. They were clearly finishing up their deal. The Mandalorian slid out of the booth and strapped the long rifle to his back. He started toward the front door.

Maybe you’d read the whole situation wrong. Like you, he was trained to be aware of everyone, everything around him. Perhaps, he’d just been surveying the cantina, not necessarily you.

Feeling slightly disappointed, you finished your drink, dropped some credits on the table, and got up to leave. You were pulling on your jacket when a familiar feeling made you flick your head up. The Mandalorian was standing at the front of the cantina, his dark silhouette framed in the light of the open doorway, visor trained on you.

From where he was standing, he looked you up and down, lowering and raising his helmet to survey your body from top to bottom and back up again—a gesture that could have easily been achieved without moving his entire head in such an obvious way. His penetrating gaze and brazen attention made you shiver. 

He waited to see what you would do.

You were tempted to go to him, to see what would happen, but the stubborn part of you wanted him to come to you—and, more importantly, the sensible part of you was worried this was somehow a trap. You made an impulsive choice and decided to prolong the chase...whether that chase would prove to be literal or figurative, you weren’t totally sure.

You smiled slyly at him and turned, slipping out the back door.

***

The second time you crossed paths with the Mandalorian, you saw him before he saw you.

You were walking down Nevarro’s main thoroughfare, a busy street lined with vendors, pushing through the crowd, when you spotted the back of his reflective helmet. A couple weeks had passed since you had seen him in the cantina, and you’d been hoping to see him again, always keeping an eye out for his distinctive profile.

These past two weeks, you’d found your thoughts straying to his image—strong, mysterious, intimidating. He was sexy. There was no getting around it. You’d spent enough time around people in masks and full-body armor to know that it wasn’t just the mystery of the helmet that attracted you to him. There was something about him you couldn’t shake.

It didn’t help that you were bored and lonely here on Nevarro. It was not your favorite planet. It was dry and hot, the surface a mosaic of cracked flows of hardened lava and loose tephra—unwelcoming terrain. It was volcanically active, too, steam pouring from fractures in the hard, black ground. A river of molten lava ran under the city itself. Who would choose to live here?

For you, Nevarro was no more than a stopover—a place to stay for a few months before moving on to the next planet. You could leave any time, easily book passage to a bigger city on a prettier planet, but that shameless part of you that imagined the Mandalorian fucking you in his full armor was bold enough to convince yourself to stick around for a little longer and see if you could run into him again. Why not?

You’d been running for years, denying yourself comfort, companionship, consistency. Couldn’t you indulge just this once?

You had no reason to think the Mandalorian had thought of you for one second after seeing you in the cantina, but you let yourself hope. He didn’t hide the way he looked at you, and he hadn’t pursued you as a quarry when you left the cantina (and what a relief that was), so that meant...he’d flirted with you...right? That was probably how a Mandalorian flirted? Maybe you were stuck in his head the way he was stuck in yours? A girl could dream.

You watched his helmet disappear and reappear as you both weaved through the throngs of people. The Mandalorian had a purposeful gait and an immediate effect on everyone around him: the crowd parted for him as people avoided his path and his gaze. No one wanted to be noticed by a Mandalorian. 

Well, almost no one.

The Mandalorian clearly relied on his menacing appearance and the notorious lore associated with his armor to ensure that he was left alone. You, on the other hand, depended on stealth and the ability to disappear in a swarm of people to stay hidden. This meant that while the crowd parted easily for him, you struggled to wend your way through it.

He turned down a side street. 

The fact that he’d hounded your thoughts since you first saw him spurred you into recklessness, and you followed. As you turned down the same side street, you saw the edge of his cape disappear into an alley. The further away you moved from the main street, the more you began to question yourself.

This is potentially a bad idea.

This is definitely a bad idea.

Your existence hinged on your ability to stay lost, to be anonymous, to change your appearance, to never be sought out. And here you were, seeking out a bounty hunter.

You’d been slipping into a dangerous false sense of security these past few months—spending more time in each place, neglecting to change your chaincode as often as you should. Just because no one had come for you in a couple years, didn’t mean you were safe. You needed to snap yourself out of this delusional thinking. 

But maybe... not yet?

You picked up your pace.

It was just the two of you in a long alleyway, and you were sure he could sense you behind him by the slight turn of his head, but he didn’t stop or turn around. You weren’t being stealthy, only a few long strides behind him. He had to know you were there.

He walked surprisingly quietly, considering his heavy armor and determined stride. The loudest sound he made was his cape whipping around his calves. His long rifle was strapped to his back, and he was carrying a camtono in his left hand.

He quickly slipped down another shadowy passageway that you hadn’t noticed. You turned to follow, about to say something, but the passage was deserted. You walked to the end and back, checking to see if he’d turned again, but there was no trace of him. No doorways led off the passage. The only things in the alley were a stack of abandoned wooden pallets and a grate that emitted hot steam. He must have given you the slip on purpose, taken some secret route to evade the stranger on his tail.

Understandable. It’s what you would have done too. I probably should have come up with a better plan than just pursuing him.

Well, fuck.

You were more disappointed than you cared to admit, but you turned and headed back to the apartment you were renting a few blocks away. You were slightly embarrassed by how impulsive you’d just been. You wouldn’t have felt so abashed if it had paid off, but it hadn’t. 

You’d overstayed your time on Nevarro. Your self-imposed limit was two months per location, and you’d been here two and a half. You couldn’t push it any more, especially for such a ridiculous reason. It was time to go.

***

The third time you encountered the Mandalorian, neither of you saw the other coming.

You packed up your things, fitting everything you needed in one backpack. You purchased more food and let the hours of the afternoon drag on, waiting for the sun to sink low in the sky before heading out. 

When it was evening, you slipped your blaster into the holster at the small of your back. You slid a vibroblade into the sheath at your hip and strapped a much smaller one to your calf where it was concealed under your pants. As you slung your bag over your shoulder and scanned your small space to make sure you hadn’t forgotten anything, noise erupted outside—an explosion, not far away.

There were enough ex-Imperials and bounty hunters on Nevarro that street fights and loud commotions were commonplace. You slipped out your front door, figuring you could avoid the action by slinking through the alleyways. You knew the layout of the city fairly well by now.

You crept through the dim streets. You guessed that the fighting was a couple blocks to your left based on the muffled sounds of intermittent blaster fire. You made your way toward the cantina where you knew a few regulars who would have transpo connections, but you only made it a couple blocks from your apartment before you ran into trouble.

Suddenly, shouts echoed down the street behind you. You made a hasty left turn, looking back to see if anyone was following as you broke into a run. With your head turned, you didn’t see the Mandalorian backing his way down the street toward you. You collided painfully with his back and crumpled to the ground next to him. He, mostly unfazed, made a grunting sound and snapped his head to the side to see who’d hit him. He kept his body and his blaster trained forward at two shadowy figures that were stalking towards him, but he pointed his left vambrace down at you, prepared to neutralize you if needed.

He cocked his head at you as if trying to assess whether or not you were a threat. Before you could think of anything to say, blaster fire screamed down the alley toward both of you. You grabbed your own blaster and sprang to your feet.

Noting the way you trained your blaster away from him, the Mandalorian redirected his attention back to the oncoming assailants. As more blaster fire streaked toward you, he jumped in front of you to shield your body with his and fired back down the alley.

I guess he decided I’m not a threat.

The figures drew nearer—one, a hulking man, and the other, a wiry woman with blue hair... both bounty hunters. They slunk around stray crates and garbage bins, making it difficult for either of you to land a direct hit.

The Mandalorian’s beskar armor lived up to the crazy stories you’d heard. Blaster fire pinged off of it without leaving a mark. Standing so close behind him, you noticed that his armor was different than what he’d worn just earlier that day. His old armor, painted a rusty reddish-brown, had been mismatched and battered. This was new, pristine, unpainted—a stunning reflective silver.

It was the same Mandalorian though. That you were sure of.

You kept most of your body behind his protective stance, just peaking your head and arm out periodically to take a shot. You leaned around him again to fire, and you hit the woman in the thigh while she was momentarily exposed. She grunted in pain and paused her advance.

You ducked back behind the Mandalorian. You were surprised and confused by the way the he was treating you like a partner, protecting you instinctually. You hadn’t exchanged so much as a word yet.

Weren’t Mandalorians supposed to be merciless, violent bounty hunters? Why was he trusting you? For that matter, why were you trusting him? It sounded absurd to think that he just felt trustworthy.

The next time you poked your head out, you noticed that the man had stopped shooting and was watching you intently from where he was hiding behind a stack of boxes. He made eye contact with you and held it, and you saw recognition dawn on his face. He pointed at you, turning to the woman to yell something in a language you didn’t recognize, and then charged forward, blaster drawn. His mouth formed your name, your real name, as he thundered towards you. You froze where you stood, partially exposed.

Fuck. He recognized me so easily. How?

Hot blaster fire zinged past your ear. The Mandalorian lurched forward and fell to one knee in a controlled movement as fire erupted from his vambrace. His quick thinking snapped you out of your panic, but your heart thundered as you processed how close you’d come to getting shot.

As the man’s clothes caught fire and he began to flail in panic, you came back to your senses and shot him in the chest.

The female bounty hunter, who was still several paces behind the man, disappeared down an alley behind her, just as you resumed shooting in her direction.

It won’t be long before word spreads that I’m alive on Nevarro. FUCK.

The footfalls of the woman faded quickly, and you knew she was too far ahead to catch.

You and the Mandalorian were left alone in the alley. Things were quiet for a moment. 

You turned to look at each other. It was then that you noticed the bundle tucked tightly in the crook of his right arm, the same arm that held his blaster. He shuffled the bundle to his left arm carefully... tenderly?

He tilted his helmet slightly, starting to say something just as you did the same. Before either of you could form a sentence, several more figures rounded the corner behind you.

“Come on,” you yelled, grabbing his arm to drag him forward. For the moment, the two of you were in this together. It was better than being caught in this fray alone. You figured you’d be able to slip away from the action soon enough.

As you ran through the streets, you both noted the echoing footsteps picking up behind you at each juncture. More and more people—bounty hunters—were joining the pursuit. It seemed like every bounty hunter in Nevarro was being drawn to the Mandalorian.

What did he do to bring this much heat down on himself? I need to lose him.

You considered turning down every street or alley you passed, but at least one hunter blocked each one. Every doorway was shut tight. The hunters were right on your heels. You kept running, the Mandalorian pounding along behind you, until you reached the main street, emerging near the archway that marked the entrance to town. Beyond the archway, the flat expanse of Nevarro stretched out before you; a silver ship, not far ahead, was the only thing that broke up the uniform landscape.

You both stopped abruptly in the middle of the street, as at least twenty bounty hunters closed in around you, each with a blinking fob in their hand. You were trapped. The pinging chorus of the fobs was enough to rip you back to a not-so-distant time when that sound was a constant refrain in your nightmares. But even at the height of the Empire’s search for you, you’d never had this many people on your tail.

Up until this moment, you hadn’t been too worried about making a getaway. You knew you would get out of this. You’d been in worse situations. But now? Blood rushed in your ears, and your adrenaline spiked. You were cornered, outnumbered, and somehow in the middle of a fight that had nothing to do with you. You were surrounded by bounty hunters, and one had already recognized you. You’d spent years disappearing and here you were, back in the thick of it because you turned down the wrong alley at the wrong time.

You glanced at the Mandalorian and tried to formulate an escape plan—or at least a way put some distance between you and him.

He surveyed the scene, seemingly calm in his blank mask of beskar, and began to walk towards the archway, as even more bounty hunters appeared. Not having come up with any better alternatives yet, you followed him.

The Mandalorian stopped short when Greef Karga sauntered out from the shadows to block your path forward through the archway.

“Welcome back, Mando!” Karga’s voice, the voice that had seemed jovial in the cantina weeks ago, sounded threatening as it rang through the street. “Now, put the package down.” He rested a hand on his hip, pushing back his cape to expose his blaster.

The bundle must be valuable. You wondered briefly what the Mandalorian had wrapped so carefully under his arm. A rare material like kyber? Something unstable like rhydonium? A set of holodisks with important intel?

The Mandalorian mirrored Karga’s movement, hovering his hand over his own blaster. “Step aside. I’m going to my ship,” he replied calmly. He sounded awfully certain considering the circumstances. Your eyes flicked back to the silver ship, an old Razor Crest, that sat just beyond the archway.

Karga chuckled. “You put the bounty down and perhaps I’ll let you pass.”

“The kid’s coming with me.”

KID?

“If you truly care about the kid, then you’ll put it on the speeder,” Karga said, pointing to a speeder parked in front of the building on your right, where a droid sat in the pilot’s seat. The droid let out a series of cheerful beeps, indicating its readiness.

“How do I know I can trust you?” asked the Mandalorian.

How did he know he could trust me? This guy seems to play fast and loose with trust.

Karga scoffed, “Because I’m your only hope.”

Shit.

Any second, this fight was going to turn into an every-person-for-themself situation. You and the Mandalorian had helped each other thus far because it had been convenient, but now that you were trapped, you knew this precarious alliance you’d formed out of necessity was about to fracture. You hadn’t missed the way he said I and me, not we and us. You weren’t part of his equation, and you couldn’t blame him—of course, you were also going to prioritize your own safety over that of a literal stranger.

You surveyed the street, looking for the least obstructed escape route. You hoped you could run fast enough once this tense moment passed and the fight started in earnest.

The Mandalorian stepped back into you suddenly, taking the opportunity to whisper urgently, “Jump in when I say go.”

You were stunned—so stunned that you followed him without thinking as he walked over to the speeder.

For the first time, the Mandalorian looked down at the bundle in his arms. You gasped when you saw that it was in fact a sleeping child—a tiny green infant. He took a moment to watch the baby before glancing at you briefly. He looked back down at the child and without any warning, he breathed, “NOW.”

You dove head first onto the speeder as he raised his blaster and shot a hunter who was right behind where you had just been standing. From the outside, you imagined that it looked like the two of you were partners—the way you moved together, coordinated and seamless.

You scrambled back and pushed crates out of the way, staying down on your stomach, as the Mandalorian flung himself over the side of the speeder and landed next to you. Blaster fire screeched all around you as the hunters reacted in unison.

You both stayed prone on the floor of the speeder, reaching only your blasters up to return the fire that was raining down on you. The Mandalorian rolled over to carefully place the kid down before yelling at the droid at the front of the speeder.

“DRIVE!”

When the droid shook its head in refusal, the Mandalorian demanded again, holding up his blaster threateningly. The droid acquiesced, and the speeder lurched forward. You grabbed the child and hugged them to your chest as the crates shifted around you.

You made it almost all the way to the archway—you and the Mandalorian taking out several of the bounty hunters as you went—before someone had the sense to shoot the pilot droid. The speeder crashed to a halt in a rain of sparks. Fire ceased and a tense quiet fell.

The Mandalorian edged toward you on his elbows. You could hear the bounty hunters closing in around you, the crunch of their boots ominous. You curled your body protectively over the child.

“Fuck,” you whispered. “What now?” You looked into the black t of his visor, wishing you could see his eyes.

He nodded as if that was a sufficient answer to your question and worked his way toward the edge of the speeder. Slowly, silently, he pulled his long rifle from his side and eased it between two crates, pointing it at a hunter on the roof of the closest building. You heard the sound of the rifle powering up and its screeching discharge as it vaporized the hunter. And then another. And another. The Mandalorian’s reload was lightening fast. You took the chance during the ensuing chaos to scoot to the edge of the speeder and take aim at a hunter with your blaster. The remaining hunters scurried away, taking shelter behind walls, doorways, whatever they could find.

The Mandalorian paused, and for a tense moment, nothing happened. The threat of the Amban Rifle was enough to create another temporary ceasefire.

“That’s one impressive weapon,” bellowed Karga. You couldn’t see him from where you lay.

“Here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna walk to my ship with the kid, and you’re gonna let that happen,” the Mandalorian stated authoritatively.

We.

“No, how about this? We take the kid, and if you try and stop us, we kill you both and then strip your body for parts,” Karga spat back.

You could feel the hunters starting to come out of hiding all around you. The subtle rasp of tephra under foot gave them away again. You looked behind you and saw that one hooded hunter was edging closer to the speeder. The Mandalorian had his back to the hunter, as he faced Karga. You trained your blaster on the approaching hunter, ready to fire. Before you could pull the trigger, the Mandalorian kicked the canister at his feet, knocking the hunter over, and sat up to stun him with the rifle.

Apparently, he had been aware of the man the whole time. His peripheral vision must be largely obstructed in his helmet. How is he so acutely aware of everything around him?

Everyone opened fire once again.

Over the sound of blaster fire, you heard Karga yell, “Don’t hit the target!”

The Mandalorian rose to his knees, leaned over some crates, and activated his vambrace so a sudden burst of flames cleared out the hunters that were closest to the speeder. You took out two more with your blaster while they were distracted by the flames.

The Mandalorian grunted in frustration as the fire streaming from his wrist sputtered out. Then, he grunted and doubled over in pain when blaster fire hit him in the side, where he wasn’t protected by his armor.

He clutched his side and ducked back down to crawl his way over to you, gently pulling on your arm until you released the child, so he could look at their face. The child cooed and opened two huge, watery eyes.

You looked away, feeling like you were encroaching on a private moment.

Is this his kid? Who is after a child? What is the story here?

You leaned away and fired several more shots, injuring another hunter.

Then you heard it. A streaming projectile took out one of the hunters on a nearby roof. As the hunter screamed and fell to the ground, several figures in Mandalorian armor, powered by jetpacks with blasters in hand, rose up from behind the row of buildings lining the street. There had to be at least a dozen of them—maybe more. It was hard to tell in the chaos. They seemed to be everywhere. They took out hunter after hunter as they slowly lowered themselves to the ground and sparks rained down around you.

You both sat up to watch.

A particularly huge Mandalorian in blue armor with a large repeating blaster touched down next to the speeder and bellowed, “Get out of here! We’ll hold them off!”

“You’re going to have to relocate the covert,” responded the Mandalorian, raising his voice to be heard over the din.

“This is the way,” replied the huge blue Mandalorian, as he continued to fire at the bounty hunters.

“This is the way,” agreed the Mandalorian next to you. 

In one fluid movement, he strapped his rifle to his back. You sheathed your blaster as he thrust the kid back into your arms, and he grabbed your free hand, hauling you to your feet as he stood. You jumped from the speeder together. He pulled you along behind him, continuing to shield your body with his as much as possible. The juxtaposition of the way he held your hand and how he was brutally taking out hunter after hunter with his blaster was jarring.

A blaster shot grazed your thigh as you ran, and you swore at the stinging pain, doubling over slightly without loosening your grip on the child. The Mandalorian turned his head but didn’t stop pulling you forward. You faltered for a moment but gritted your teeth and sped up to sprint behind him, leaving the chaos in your wake as you crossed under the archway. You made it the short distance to his ship, where the ramp was already lowered.

You followed him up the ramp. He shoved his blaster into the holster on his belt and started forward into the ship.

The idea of being trapped with this strange Mandalorian was absurd, but you didn’t have much of a choice. If you stayed on Nevarro, the remaining bounty hunters would tear the city apart to find you. This was the fastest way to get off world: a calculated risk.

You sensed movement behind you before you heard Karga’s voice.

“Hold it, Mando.”

You both spun around to face him. Karga had a blaster trained on you and the kid in your arms.

“I didn’t want it to come to this. But then you broke the code,” he spat.

The Mandalorian was silent as he assessed his options. Silent was clearly his default state. He was used to hiding behind the intimidating mask of his armor.

You were trying to guess how good Karga’s reflexes were and if you could grab your blaster from where you’d resheathed it at your back fast enough. As you thought it out, the Mandalorian tipped his head subtly to his left at what looked like a carbonite chamber. Before you or Karga could register his plan, he shot a metal cord from his vambrace, hitting the button to activate the chamber and filling the hull with freezing mist.

In the gloom, the Mandalorian grabbed you roughly and pushed you out of the way. Karga shot blindly. You whipped out your blaster and fired back, knowing exactly where he had been standing. You heard him grunt and fall backwards off the ship with a thud.

The Mandalorian made quick work of shutting the ramp, deactivating the hissing carbonite chamber, and initiating the takeoff protocol from a control panel on the wall.

You slumped onto a nearby crate, exhausted, as the ship lifted off the ground. You let your backpack slide off your shoulders onto the floor next to you. Still holding the baby to your chest protectively, you loosened your arms to study their sweet sleeping face.

His face? Her face? Who is this child?

Wordlessly, the Mandalorian stomped forward and snatched the kid from your arms. You looked up in surprise as he disappeared up the ladder next to you. He was gone for a few moments before the ship jolted as it left Nevarro’s atmosphere and jumped into hyperspace.

You rested your head on the cool wall behind you, trying to catch your breath. You let your eyelids slip shut for a minute—until you opened your eyes at the loud thud of the Mandalorian jumping back down into the hull, ignoring the ladder all together. He walked purposefully towards what looked like a storage bay, set the sleeping child down inside, and closed the door with a snap. He turned slowly to face you.

***

Chapter 2

[jokerscrazybrilliant]

Survive - Chapter 1 - (Captain Rex)

Idk why I'm so nervous to post this lol, but I'm new here, anyhow, I've been re-watching Clone Wars and re-fawning over the incredible Captain Rex, so um, here's the maybe beginning to something? I kind of don't know how to judge my own writing so I hope this isn't totally sucky lol..

ANYHOW CHAPTER 1 !! XD

Also out now:

Chapter 2 · Chapter 3 · Chapter 4

Story on other platforms:

AO3 · Quotev

________

sur·vive /sərˈvīv/ verb Continue to live or exist, especially in spite of danger or hardship. Similar: live · continue · remain · last · persist · endure · persevere · abide · linger · exist · be • continue to live or exist in spite of (an accident or ordeal). • remain alive after the death of (a particular person). • manage to keep going in difficult circumstances.

________

Darkness. Everywhere. Not just a lack of light, but the feeling of being lost and directionless, the great darkness that spread endlessly in every direction. And I was alone in it, unable to watch my step, I stumbled over my feet as I ran. Run. Run. RUN.

“MASTER!” The shout tore itself from my throat painfully as I shot up in bed, sweating and in a panic. Breathing heavily, I put a hand to my chest, feeling my heart pounding painfully rapidly. I tried to control my breathing as I blinked away tears, making my way to the refresher, the bright lights of Coruscant’s horizon making their way into the room through the window.

The shower helped calm me down and I got dressed in my tan and brown jedi robes, making my way to the balcony to meditate until sunrise.

Today the council would be informing me of their decision on my future. When I lost my master so close to being ready to take my tests to be knighted, the council was unsure of which path would be best for me. To assign me as a Padawan to a new master or to get me to take the tests early, neither seemed an easy option. I took a deep breath and let my mind quiet as I felt the force flow through and around me. Whatever may come would be for the best, I just had to keep my mind open and accept things as they were.

***

Standing there in front of the council, most of what was said passed around me in a haze. All of the comments on how what had happened was unfortunate, but the force willed it so, the comments on how it would make me a stronger Jedi to learn patience detachment and strength from this particular trial. While this was all true, I wasn’t in a place where I wanted to hear these words. I just wanted to know what their decision was so I could carry on without thinking about what happened.

“-so we believe that it would be best if you served under another Jedi master, not necessarily as his Padawan, but just to gain some more experience before you are ready to take the tests for your knighthood. And you would also be assisting him in leading his battalion and helping him plan strategies for key missions. This is a great opportunity, so I hope that you will make the best of it, and I’m sure you will, we have faith in you Nimra.”

“Thank you Master Windu,” I bowed my head to him respectfully. “Might I ask to which Jedi Master I am being assigned?”

At my question a half smile and a nearly playful twinkle appeared in the Master’s eye. “Anakin Skywalker. He is a very skilled Jedi, and things would certainly never be dull.”

I gave a slight smile in response and bowed once more to the council. “Thank you for the opportunity masters, I will do my best to make you proud.” With that I made my exit, sagging slightly once the door closed behind me.

Master Skywalker, huh? I had met him a few times with my previous master on certain missions, and Master Windu’s comment made perfect sense to me. Things would certainly be interesting, but I was just hoping to keep my head down and get through the next few months with him until I could take my tests.

***

He was late. This was a wonderful start. He was late, and he was arriving in an old trash pile of a ship, one that looked like it was found in a junkyard on an outer-rim moon somewhere. “Nimra!” He called my name joyfully as he made his way down the ramp with a small blue astromech and a young orange skinned Togruta following him.

“Master Skywalker.” I bowed my head respectfully and gave him a small smile.

“I’m so sorry to hear about what happened to your master. He was a great Jedi Master and it’s truly a loss to the republic and the Jedi Order.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Of course. I’d like you to meet my Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, Snips this is Nimra Sayla.” I bowed my head to the padawan as well and she returned it with a smile. “Nimra will be joining us for a while, and we will be lucky to have her, I’ve fought on the battlefield with her, and she is a force to be reckoned with.”

“You’re too kind, Master.”

“You’re nearly knighted yourself Nim, stop calling me that would ya?” He laughed at my formality, and I gave a small chuckle myself.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Master – Master Diya thought highly of professionalism and formalities.” I kept the smile even though saying my old Master’s name caused a sharp stinging pain in my heart. Anakin put his hand on my shoulder and gave me an understanding smile, which I appreciated immensely.

“Well, we should get going if we’re going to make the rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.” Anakin turned to climb back up the ramp before the astromech gave a series of agitated beeps at the Jedi. “Oh, you’re right, how could I forget. This, is R2-D2.” He laughed as he introduced the droid to me, it beeping appreciatively and spinning it’s head around slightly.

“Hello R2-D2, it’s nice to meet you.” I gave the droid a grin as we all made our way into the ship, me biting my tongue as not to comment on how this junk pile would possibly make the trip through hyperspace.

***

“Home sweet home.” Anakin commented as we made our way into the hangar of his Jedi cruiser we had met up with.

“Welcome back, General.” A clone trooper with the blue paint of the 501st met us as we descended. He was holding his helmet under his left arm, and he had buzzed bleached hair, with no other specific markings unlike many clones who chose to tattoo themselves or get very unique haircuts to set them apart from their comrades. Of course, being someone with the force, I could feel the energy signatures within people rather than just seeing their outsides, and that had always helped keep track of the clones, who while they had the same DNA, each had their own very different and unique personalities. “I see we’ve picked up a new recruit?”

“Thank you, and yes, Captain Rex, meet Nimra Sayla.” Anakin introduced us, gesturing his hands between us before focusing on an information disc R2 was giving him.

“Nice to meet you General.” The Captain gave me a salute.

“Oh, no, not quite. I’m not actually a Jedi Knight yet.” I gave him a slightly sheepish smile.

“Ah, sorry about that Commander.”

“That’s quite alright.”

“You’re not a padawan but also not a knight yet?” Ahsoka inquired from beside me.

“Uh, no, not yet. My master, he died before I could take my tests, so I’m going to complete my remaining trainings here with you until I can take them.” I was acutely aware of the pity entering Ahsoka’s eyes, but thankfully the clone did not show that same emotion, rather just a slight understanding of my situation.

“Sorry to hear that Sir.” Rex said, still standing at attention.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” Ahsoka said sweetly.

“It’s really okay, but thank you.”

“Alright, me and Ahsoka have to go prepare a debrief, and discuss how when I say ‘let’s go’, it means ‘let’s go’, and not ‘take your time Ahsoka’.” I chuckled at Anakin’s words.

“But Master, if I hadn’t stayed as long as we needed, we would’ve never gotten the information we needed!” She retorted, pointing at the disc in his hand.

“Yeah yeah, that’s not the point, Snips. Anyway, Rex, can you show Nimra around and to her quarters please?”

“Yes, of course Sir.” The captain saluted again and then turned to me as Anakin and Ahsoka walked away, still bickering.

“Are they always like that?” I asked, small smile still on my face.

“Yes Sir, for the most part.” His response made me turn to look at him in the eyes, serious expression taking over my features.

“I will do whatever it takes, whatever it takes, to get you to stop calling me that.” The moment he recognized my joking, some of his seriousness dissolved, and a small half smile appeared on his face.

“Whatever it takes?” He inquired, arching an eyebrow.

“I will personally make the trip to the end of the galaxy and back, on THAT scrap pile, with an agitated blurrg as my copilot, just to get you to stop calling me ‘sir’.” I pointed at Anakin’s ship behind me, serious expression never cracking even as I gained a full smile from the captain, which made my heart warm slightly.

“Well in that case, Commander.”

“That’s not any better!” I exclaimed, laughing as he grinned at me.

“Shall we begin the tour?” He offered, arm outstretched in the direction we would begin with.

“Yes, Captain.” My grin remained as he began to show me around. This will be interesting indeed.

[azertyrobaz]

Comfortember: Day#26 - Confrontation

What Din hadn’t anticipated was that because Sorgan and Yavin 4 – the planet where he had learned thanks to Cara the Jedi had set up his school – were on opposite sides of the Outer Rim Territories, it meant he had to stop to refuel on the way. And not anywhere, but on the Salin Corridor, a hyperspace trade route he tried to avoid with his flashy new ship. It wasn’t necessarily the kind of place where you wanted to be recognized as a Mandalorian – Din could hold his own, better than most warriors, but he was in a rush.

His son was waiting for him.

Deciding not to tempt fate, he removed most of his armor, helmet included, before exiting the ship. He hopefully wouldn’t attract too much attention and he’d soon be on his way.

“That’s a Mandalorian ship, isn’t it?” came a somewhat familiar voice behind him as he was making his way back aboard the Kom’rk-class fighter after the fastest refueling he was able to manage.

Obviously he hadn’t needed to go looking for trouble – it had found him, as usual. Din turned around to see who he was dealing with and tried very hard to remember all of Bo’s lessons to hide his reaction from his face. He knew he’d heard that voice before.

“What if it is?” he replied levelly.

“You don’t look like no Mando,” remarked Qin, showing him pointy teeth when he smirked. “But I could be wrong.”

“He’s not a Mando, they never show their faces, remember?” said Mayfeld, standing next to him. Din was impressed at how little the man had let transpired when he clearly recognized him as well.

“He might know where our Mando is, though. He needs to pay for what he did to Ran.”

So Ran had died. Pity Qin hadn’t tagged along. Sensing he still had to tread carefully despite Mayfeld’s surprising support, he decided his best course of action was to get out of there, and quickly.

“I have no idea who that ship used to belong to, I stole it,” he grumbled, showing impatience. Would Qin be able to recognize his voice without the helmet? Surely he was too dumb for that.

“I don’t think I like that tone,” replied Qin, and Din automatically let his hand rest on the hilt of the Darksaber. Funny how it had gradually become one of his spontaneous reactions when provoked. Usually it was his blaster. But sometimes, when the situation called for it, such as right now, he didn’t hesitate to reach for it – he wondered what that meant.

In any case, it had the desired effect, as it stopped Qin in his tracks. Din didn’t think he’d ever seen a lightsaber before, but he’d been around long enough to know it was safer to be wary of unknown weapons in this part of the galaxy.

“You want to fight this dude, you’re on your own, Qin. I’m not risking it,” said Mayfeld, looking directly into Din’s eyes.

“Coward,” the Twi’lek snarled, but he hadn’t moved any closer either.

“I can also leave you here and let you figure out how to free your sister on your own. The deal was just for her, not to look for Mando.”

Qin raged some more, but Din could tell Mayfeld had him there – he didn’t have the brains to mount an operation on his own and he knew it. Din walked towards them, still guarded, but they didn’t try to jump him when he boarded his ship.

“Going anywhere interesting, man?” asked Mayfeld as he was almost at the top of the ramp, his tone deliberately casual.

“I’m going to see my son,” Din replied simply, and Mayfeld gave him a nod and a small smile Qin didn’t see.

[itsclydebitches]

I have to wonder how season 2 Crosshair is gonna start with anything other than him escaping execution. Dude murdered his whole squad with one known survivor who reports it to the General, who then says 'We were gonna kill him anyway, so just let him die here'. It's not like Crosshair has any sort of bargaining chip to justify the Empire not abandoning or executing him.

It may end up being important that (I think) the surviving squad member doesn't know that Crosshair killed his team, only that they're dead. She was off looking for Omega, came back, saw her dead teammates and the clones fighting droids, and (smartly lol) got the hell out of Dodge. I think her exact words were that Crosshair "lost control of the situation," which tells the Admiral that Crosshair failed, but not that he failed because of his own betrayal. Granted, I think she's also the one who approaches the Admiral earlier, saying she doesn't trust Crosshair's motivations when it comes to his former team, so there's already a precedent set that Crosshair's loyalty may be less than perfect. Still, the actual explanation of what went down doesn't reveal that Crosshair killed his teammates and outright betrayed the Empire, just that he failed to complete the mission.

So based on what stories have done in the past, I can picture a couple of different ways for him to return:

 Using the above, Crosshair straight up hides his shaky loyalties and frames the failure as just that: a garden variety failure. Perhaps he implies, though does not outright state, that his team's death came at the hands of TBB. A "Let the Admiral think what he wants" situation that benefits him.

The above + Crosshair emphasizing that TBB escaped. You know what kind of threat they are, Admiral, and though I failed before, I'm still your best chance at capturing/killing them. You need me. Crosshair believes firmly in his own usefulness — that ego — and he's not above working hard to convince others of that.

 Between now and the time of his return, the Admiral has, for whatever reason, reconsidered the benefit of having at least a few clones in his army and is thus pleased that Crosshair survived, no matter the iffy circumstances of that. Personally, my mind keeps focusing on the weird motivations here. Namely, this push to have a conscripted army when, as far as TBB shows, that's a bad option compared to what they've already got. We as the audience know that the Empire needs to reach the point where they've got stormtroopers with terrible aim (that's the OG Star Wars), but right now, outside of that meta context, the Admiral's choices come across as rather stupid to me. Gregor and TBB point out, "These are our replacements?" highlighting that conscripted soldiers just don't have the skill of clones who were bred for war. I can only assume that the Empire was spying on Crosshair's team the same way they did TBB when they were sent to execute the "insurgents," which means they would have seen that the clone, Crosshair, was the only one originally willing to follow their order of killing civilians. Crosshair had to kill the other guy/talk the rest of the team into following that command. And of course, that's largely due to the chip, circling right back to why the Empire would have removed his when it gives them perfect control over Crosshair, especially after bothering to enhance it in the first place. So say nothing of Crosshair's crazy skills, making him one of, if not the best, shooter in the galaxy. I feel like if they want the Admiral to come across as less foolish, all these points should resurface at some point like, "Yes, having an ally specifically bred for war, with a genetically superior makeup to enhance his ability, who can be put under literal mind control and who while in that state has already proven that he'll follow our commands when conscripted soldiers won't... that's actually a good thing for us evil people to have!"

The Admiral has totally written Crosshair off. Doesn't need him. Doesn't want him. But a new character is introduced who is interested and who, crucially, outranks him. So Crosshair is let back in as someone else's evil pet, setting up conflict within the Empire.

The above, but specifically through the lens of clones now being a rare and useful commodity. We know they grabbed Nala Se, so either she (if she regains some power) or her new scientist boss could insist that they keep Crosshair around as a genetic source/experiment/whatever. Especially since they don't have Omega yet. Could even be that Crosshair becomes a prisoner again, returning to fight for the Empire, but becoming their lab rat instead.

Crosshair deliberately does something to get back into their good graces. Something, something, saving the Admiral from a legit threat, or one of Crosshair's own making. A way to show off how useful he is.

 OR we do get a near execution that results in the same basic thing: Crosshair escapes, shows off his skill, all his would-be executioners are dead, he's the last one standing, and the Admiral is like, "Well then. Welcome back." You know when Rex is on the cruiser and goes "This will do nicely," Tech points out that it's not sterile, Rex pushes back that they can go to Kamino instead, and within a second Tech is going, "This will do nicely!" too? Same idea. It's easy to accept Crosshair as the best/only option if he does something to make himself that option.

Ultimately, I think how this goes down will depend largely on whether they want Crosshair back in the Empire's clutches or not. He's told TBB he intends to stick with the big power, but that doesn't necessarily mean the plot will allow for that. If the story wants Crosshair to continue being a willing Imperial for a time, prior to his assumed redemption, then yeah, I think it would be relatively easy to get him back in the Empire's good graces. It wouldn't necessary be the smoothest transition of all time, but as we've already seen in Season One — I don't totally follow why conscripted soldiers are supposedly better than clones, don't follow why TBB isn't trying to rescue Crosshair, don't understand yet why Crosshair won't clarify things about his chip, etc. — motivations in Star Wars can be... messy at the best of times. So if they just went, "And the Empire let Crosshair come back for ___ reason, don't think about that reason too hard" I'd be fine with that. But, if they want Crosshair to start his redemption now, one of the easiest ways to do that would be to stick him with a third party. Someone else finds him on the planet, perhaps someone neutral-ish like another bounty hunter, and Crosshair is given the chance to technically be opposed to his brothers because that's where they left things, but not actively working with the organization hunting him down. Plot-wise it would be relatively simple to put him in situations where he wants to return to the Empire, but can't just now, for whatever reason — they need to travel there, he hasn't thought up a means of getting back in their good graces yet, he gets caught up in another problem he needs to solve first, starts hunting TBB himself to return with that incentive, etc. — and that time allows him to start reconsidering whether he actually wants to go back, now that he's been forced to survive without them. An in-between space that will allow him to work towards the Light side again... even if I'd personally prefer for that to come about through his brothers fighting for him.

[damn-stark]

Stories behind scars

Cal Kestis x reader

Requested by anon “perfect! can i request a cal kestis x reader? maybe they go exploring on their own and they find an old jedi temple and they explore it and afterwards fluffy stuff with the reader asking about how scars? xx”

Warning- fluff, violence, talks of blood, slight angst.

——

There was always something so peaceful about traveling the galaxy to find Jedi temples. Even if you weren’t a Jedi like Cal, and didn’t have much of an importance to seek them, there was always something great about finding them and exploring them.

Plus usually going to Jedi temples, you avoided not having to fight, or worry about who was out to get either Cal, or you. There was always something so peaceful about them. It made you wish you could have the force to feel what your boyfriend did, but alas you didn’t. You were only left to wonder and imagine what it felt like.

“So where are we?”

Cal lowers the ship into the desert moon, letting you both be greeted by a large walled city that is surrounded by nothing but dry, sandy terrain. While at the edge of the city stood a large triangular tower. At first you thought Cal was going to land in the city but he kept going and traveling about the desert, answering your question a moment later after passing the city.

“The cold moon called Jedha.”

You hum as a response, but then you’re left to wonder. “Didn’t we just pass the Jedi temple?”

Cal shakes his head and smiles slightly. “No, that was the temple of kyber, good eye though, you’re getting better at pointing them out. Or trying to point them out.”

You scoff and shrug. “Well it isn’t hard when they all look the same, ancient, tall and almost broken down.”

Cal chuckles and slightly turns his head to meet your gaze, instantly proving your comment wrong. “Except for this one, look.” He turns his head to look out at the transparisteel, pointing out to you a carving on the desert ground as he flies above it slowly.

You narrow your gaze on what he had pointed to and tried to find what temple he had “pointed to” exactly, but all you saw was a huge carving of cloaked Jedi with a carving of lightsaber in its clutch, and never-ending sand. “I don’t see a temple.”

Cal smirks, “you’ll see.”

He proceeds to land the ship by the carving, still not clarifying your confusion one bit and only making you worry that he was leading you to nothing.

But you trusted Cal, so you followed him to where he lead you through the desert without a question. Feeling surprised as you felt rather cold in a desert, in the middle of the day. Something Cal noticed.

“I told you to wear your jacket.”

“Well,” you remark, “it’s a desert, I didn’t think I’d need it.”

Cal just shakes his head, finally stopping where the tip of the carved out lightsaber stopped, studying the ground beneath his feet carefully. Only looking up to you moments later to wave you to him. “Come on I found a way in.”

You let your eyes study him for a moment, before looking down at the ground with nothing that could lead to a Jedi temple of any kind. Regardless, doing as he asked and walking to stand by his side.

Only being surprised when he uses the force to blow the sand around you away to reveal a carved out circle that he began to lower down slowly. Leading to an underground...temple.

“Told you,” Cal remarks with a knowing smile. “And you were worried that I was leading you to our deaths.”

You chuckle and shake your head to disapprove of his comment. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. I know you.”

You scoff and jump off the platform once it’s safe, looking around you and noticing that it was a pretty small temple, formed out like the Jedi carved above ground. In terms of looks, it looked the same as many others you've been to, old, dusty, made out of stone, abandoned and with one of the circles that cal meditated on.

“I’m going to mediate, and find out what happened, okay? Watch my six?” Cal questioned.

“Of course,” you nod, instinctively pulling out your hand to receive his lightsaber for just in case.

“Be careful.” He reminds you.

“Always am.” You assure him with a wink, turning to leave him be and taking time to explore the temple and see if their was any trouble with BD-1 on your shoulder—“I wonder what stories this temple contains.” You muse as your eyes explore every inch of the temple.

BD-1 chirps and you can’t help but agree. “You’re right, probably old stories.” You smile at him and continue, not noticing the tunnels that were dug and hidden by the shadows. Instead gasping as at the center of the temple, you see something shining by the sun peaking through the small holes above.

You’re hesitant to move towards the shining object, but you’re also entranced and find yourself instinctively moving towards it, feeling your eyes widen in admiration as you notice that it’s a kyber crystal placed above a stone pedestal. You move your hand to grab it and as you do, something suddenly comes out of the hidden tunnel.

A long sepertent with its mouth wide open and moving swiftly towards you. You jump out of the way and notice that it chooses to ignore you, quickly slithering away towards the only other person here; Cal.

Without a second thought and a plan, you run after it, igniting the lightsaber in your hand and puncturing it through its tail, but not expecting its tail moving back and throwing you to the wall.

At the impact you’re left dazed for a few seconds, gasping for air and hearing BD-1’s nervous chirps. It takes you a moment to fully return to your surroundings and your worried state. Not thinking of your pain and jumping to your feet to continue with your improvised plan to help Cal. Finding once you return back to the room you had been at before, that the serpent threw itself towards Cal, biting down on his shoulder and dragging him away, pulling from his meditative state and bringing him back to the room.

You tighten your hold around the hilt and run towards the serpent, once again puncturing it’s skin and cutting it along its side as you run forward to reach Cal, stopping and seeing the serpent drop it’s hold on Cal and fall limp the ground.

“Cal!”

“I’m okay, I’m fine,” Cal assures you once you reach him and pull him to a sitting position. “It just got a good bite out of me, but I’m okay.”

At his words you see blood soaking through his clothes, causing you to pull the pack you owned off your back to open it and get out some patching supplies.

“Could you take off your jacket and shirt please,” you plead Cal.

Cal hesitates but does so, revealing the fresh wound and scars littered across his body.

To distract him from the stinging pain that you were going to cause by patching him up, you point to the scar on his side. “What happened there?”

Cals gaze flickers down to what your fingers trace and he shivers at your touch. “Oh, that I got from when I used to work as a rigger.”

“Hmm,” your eyes flicker to what you’re doing before blinking to briefly glance at the short, round, punctured looking one on his ribs. “What about that one?”

“Oh, that’s one from this sith,” he tells, “you know from the adventure I had with the crew.”

You chuckle and grin. “Oh the one neither of them can ever shut about?”

“Exactly,” Cal agrees, continuing to explain his explanation. “I got the scar when Darth Vader stabbed me.”

Your eyes fly to meet his and you quirk your brow, narrowing your gaze to study his eyes as if trying to read if he was lying. “Really? That’s hard to believe.”

He scoffs, “believe it or not, it’s true.”

“You kill him?” You snicker.

Cal shakes his head. “Almost.”

You laugh and add a patch over his shoulder, moving your hands to clean them on a wipe. “You need to be more careful.”

Cal smiles. “I always am.” He continues to take your hand, placing it on his face, so you could trace the scar on his face with your thumb. “And you know where I got that one.”

“Yep, during the Jedi purge.” You smile softly and press a small kiss on his lips, stroking his cheek before you pressed a kiss on the bridge of his nose where his scar was traced. Only parting away to show him your smile and your relief. “I’m glad you made it out okay from all that.”

Cal mirrors your smile and is quick to respond back in the same soft voice you spoke. “I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what I’d do without you. It seems like you’re always saving me from something.”

You look away and shrug, trying to avoid feeling the heat rise on your face. “I try my best.” Finally remembering what you had obtained from the temple, you take it out of your pocket and show it to Cal. “Look what I found, a kyber crystal.”

Cal takes it from your hand and examines it for a brief moment before handing it back to you. “Keep it. It’ll be useful when you build your own lightsaber.”

You blink, surprised by his comment. “But I’m not a Jedi.”

Cal stands to his feet and puts his jacket on and folds his bloody shirt. Helping you to your feet and reassuring your doubt. “No necessarily. You don’t have to be a Jedi to have a lightsaber. Plus I’ve seen how you handle mine, you’re great.”

You shake your head, still shocked by what he said. “But—”

“I’ll help you, don’t worry.” Cal cuts you off, beginning to lead you out of the temple.

You grin. “Alright, just don’t complain if I become a better fighter than you.”

[sulphuryasecretcloset]

Never gonna happen

(Looking at the art deity @cacodaemonia​ ‘s work for inspiration to help me through the next chapter of Time To Say Goodbye and I couldn’t stop giggling at this one. And suddenly this one-shot was written. Poor Mose xD )

-

The bar is crowded with souls from every corner of the Galaxy and none which one should be turning one’s back on. In the corner of the room, Mose tips the food on his plate into his big mouth while Zev’sonya leans back in her chair and takes a big swallow from her glass of hard liquor.

They are between work, and also between crews as the previous one made the mistake of heavily hinting to her how many credits they could get by visiting one of the blood farms with Mose.

So, yeah, Zev’sonya is in a foul mood and of course that means some moron has to appear and try his luck charming her.

Her initial reaction and instinct is to tell the idiot to go away before she cuts him, but one glance at his face makes her change her mind. Instead of scowling, she puts on a smile. Instead of threats, Zev’sonya nods for him to take the seat next to her.

Mose chews and watches them with a slight frown.

The idiot introduces himself as Dannian or something. He offers to buy her a drink while he does a poor job at trying to map her body with his eyes and hating her layers of clothing for making it difficult. Zev’sonya keeps her smile on and pretends not to notice.

And soon she accepts the offer from this Durian-guy to travel back to his planet with him as his guest, on the one condition that her friend got to come along as well.

While Durian-guy tries to act like he’s perfectly fine with having a Hutt join them, Zev’sonya gives her sweet smile to Mose, who returns it with a faint narrowing of his eyes in a silent question.

Zev’sonya takes the hand Durian-guy offers her and lets him help her to her feet before looking back at Mose again, still smiling. “You coming?”

Sighing, Mose puts his plate down. “Yeah, yeah…”

She knew he would. He always does. He’s the one soul she can trust.

On the ship, Mose stays in the back, in the shadows, while Zev’sonya allows the Durian-guy to cozy up to her. She giggles at the lame jokes he delivers and swoons at the lies he serves her.

The planet they land on is quite beautiful with sleek, golden buildings and a warm, red sky. The air smells like sugar. They walk to an impossibly tall tower where servants scramble to obey Durian-guy’s every whim, just like he said they would and Zev’sonya knew they would.

Mose keeps quiet and remains in the background, but he follows. 

Though, unease flutters across his face later, when Zev’sonya appears in a slinky dress that had been brought to her room for her to wear to tonight’s big dinner in the tower. He’s clearly worried she’s lost her mind.

Zev’sona gives Mose another sweet smile and lets Durian-guy place his hand on her bare back as he guides her over to the seat next to him. Mose shakes his head and eats.

It’s in the middle of the night when the door to Mose’s room slides open and Zev’sonya sneaks inside. “Mose…” She whispers.

Mose frowns without opening his eyes or getting up from where he’s sleeping on the floor. “What?”

“We have to leave.” Zev’sonya continues, keeping her voice down so no one else will hear her. “Now.”

Mose opens his eyes and stares directly at her. “What did you do?” His voice is an odd mix of resignation and wariness, but he doesn’t sound surprised. At all. Like he was expecting this.

Zev’sonya can’t help it, she grins, too pleased with herself not to. “Relax. He’s fine. I didn’t put a finger on him.”

“What,” Mose gets up and sighs, “did you do, Lorda?”

“You didn’t recognize him, huh?” Zev’sonya says as they leave the room. “Well, I did. I saw that guy’s face on a propaganda bulletin thing last month. Durian is a prince on this planet and a huge player in the slave trade.”

They pause in the shadows as two guards walk by before Zev’sonya gestures for Mose to follow, which he does, and they actually manage to sneak out of the building undetected.

“I just thought him having so many credits from his business deals, he wouldn’t mind sharing them with us.” Zev’sonya states gleefully, feeling the weight of all the jewellery and other valuables in her countless pockets. “He was only too happy to show me where he kept all his treasures. Not exactly humble or smart.”

“A prince, Lorda.” Mose growls. “You decided to rob a prince. On his home planet. Without an escape ship or a back-up crew.”

Zev’sonya makes a face. “It seemed like a good idea at the time?”

“We talked about this.” Mose sighs, shuffling along after her as she scouts for a ship to steal.

“You need to learn to get a little more fun out of life, pateesa.” Zev’sonya grins, then lights up as she sees a small and fast ship that is perfect for them. “Ah hah. That one.”

“What I need is to sleep through a night without having to flee for my life…” Mose mutters.

Snorting a laugh, Zev’sonya slices the computer lock on the ship’s door and it slides open to let them in. “You want a straw? I mean, since you’re set on sucking the fun out of things?”

“No, I just want to get off this planet before they start shooting at us.”

Zev’sonya gets into the pilot seat and starts awakening the ship from its slumber. It’s fairly easy and soon they are heading towards the safety of space. She glances back into the passenger seating area outside the cockpit door and grins at Mose. “See? You worry too much.”

Mose huffs, unimpressed, and merely tries to get his big bulk comfortable between the narrow path between the row of seats at opposite sides of him. Few ships are designed for a Hutt body and this small craft is clearly not.

Zev’sonya is about to reassure him that they’ll land and sell the ship and get a better one as soon as possible when a beeping sound draws her attention. She turns forward again and the smile on her face fades when she sees the multiple dots on the radar following them. “Oh.”

Mose stops fidgeting and stares at her. “What?”

Zev’sonya clears her throat. “I think he found out.”

“Here we go…” Mose sighs. “Are we in trouble?”

Frowning, Zev’sonya flips some switches and pushes some buttons, pushing the engine to the limit to reach top speed. It helps, but not for long. The dots on the radars increase their speed as well and soon they even start catching up. “I wouldn’t necessarily use the word ‘trouble’…”

“What word would you use?” Mose demands.

“Uhm…” Zev’sonya glances to the left when a warning shot is fired by the ship. “That things might get a little… interesting?”

Mose mutters something rude in Huttese.

A second shot comes dangerously close to the ship and Zev’sonya snarls angrily. They want to punish her for stealing stuff Durian-guy can afford losing three times over? Fine. But they do NOT get to shoot down Mose for her idiocy. She gets up and runs out of the cockpit, running across the seats to get by Mose to reach the narrow, circular opening in the floor that will lead her to the ship’s weapons. “Take over the controls. Keep up the speed and be ready to dodge. I’ll get on our guns.”

“What do you-No, wait, get back here! I can’t…” Mose blurts out as she goes by, but then the ship shakes as a third shot clearly comes too close for comfort.

“Do it!” Zev’sonya shouts as she climbs down the ladder and then rushes over to activate the weapons.

There are about seven or eight ships pursuing them and it is quite satisfying seeing them scatter like startled birds when she starts firing at them.

Mose is a skilled pilot, just rarely fits into a cockpit, so he keeps them going while Zev’sonya convinces the ones following them it would be wise to simply let them go. It takes quite a bit of persuading, whatever Durian-guy is paying them must be a lot, but eventually they decide they’ve chased them far enough and the risk isn’t worth it, so they turn and head back to the planet far away in the distance.

Cackling satisfied, Zev’sonya climbs back up the ladder. “We’re good.”

“You’re sure?” Mose asks, his upper torso in the cockpit as he has his hands on the controls while the rest of him is still in the passenger area.

“I’m sure.” Zev’sonya says, hopping up on the chairs to make her way towards the cockpit without stepping on his tail. “We’re good.”

“Good.” Mose replies, then sighs and slumps a little. “Because I’m stuck.”

“Really?” Zev’sonya blinks, surprised, then steps off the chairs and on to his back, ignoring his soft grunt of annoyance, gingerly walking up to where she crouches down and can see the door frame is digging into his sides.

“Really.” Mose grumbles.

Caught between feeling guilty and the urge to laugh, Zev’sonya clears her throat and heads back into the ship again. “I’ll go see if we got some grease.”

She finds some by a panel where somebody had been doing repairs or maintenance.

It takes a bit of time and effort, plus all of her might pulling on his arm, but finally Mose, after one careful inch after another, finally slides free with a loud schlurp. He exhales with relief and lets go of Zev’sonya’s hand so she falls on her back with a startled squawk.

Laughing up at the ceiling, not begrudging him a little payback, Zev’sonya revels in her smugness at their success. “I told you; you worry too much.”

Watching her, Mose shakes his head a little. “I feel so bad for the one who ends up marrying you, Lorda.”

Sitting up with a heartfelt scoff, Zev’sonya speaks with utter certainty: “That, pateesa, is never going to happen.”

There is absolutely zero chance of her agreeing to something so stupid. That kind of love isn’t real, the only one she will ever trust is Mose and marriage is for naive idiots.

Not going to happen.

Never.

[my-writings-and-musings]

Idea, a group of young human liaisons (late teen/young adult) join the lost light crew and the different crew members essentially adopts them (any bots of your choice)

That's adorable so absolutely yes! I chose the bots I thought most likely to adopt in any capacity.

Tailgate

·Being amongst the tiniest bots on the ship, and having loved human culture whilst never meeting a human, compounds his excitement at their arrival to nearly critical levels. They're so tiny! They can answer all his earth questions! They can go on missions together and he can show them around the galaxy! His first step is to learn how to tell humans apart and to memorize all their names, as well as anything they find important about themselves, so that way they'll feel welcome.

·During this introduction it's revealed these humans are on the younger side, and his reaction immediately becomes one of shock. You're all still little ones?! Not done growing even?! The explanations that human development is quite different fall on deaf audials; he knows what it's like to be small and new in the galaxy, and he won't let anything hurt these protoforms!

·The liaison team now has a permanent guardian, and they quickly learn that his size doesn't tell his full story. Of course, it doesn't hurt that he's still twice the height of the average human, so calling him "tiny" doesn't make much sense to any of them. Being so much taller is something he absolutely adores experiencing for a change, and that combined with his super strength leads to a lot of piggy back rides for the whole crew.

·If anyone, bot or con or whatever, says a mean word to even one of them he's on the warpath. Think you're a big tough guy, huh?! Picking on his little buddies?! Well, he's not gonna give you a chance to pick on somebody your own size! Unless you offer a heartfelt apology, and if the human in question accepts that, then everything is just fine! But he will punch you if he hears this is recurring!

·The various liaisons start referring to him as their "big brother" and once the meaning of that is explained he's absolutely touched. Him? A part of their family? Movie nights henceforth involve him being surrounded by a group of young humans, just chilling around their adoptive older sibling who happens to be six million years old, and should anyone glance at his visor they'll find it absolutely shining in the dim light.

Ratchet

·Having worked with and studied humans of this age group in the past, he's far less upset and far more worried by their arrival, but he pretends he's merely the former. The truth is that he knows their species is especially vulnerable at this age, and getting the rest of the crew to understand that will be an impossible task, even if he asks them to imagine a delicate protoform taking nearly two decades to mature instead of a few hours and to try and comprehend how much trouble that would be.

·His first step is to establish that he's their doctor, one fully capable of handling human medicine, and he quickly catches the rest of his team up to speed. Every medic needs to be able to meet the needs of every crewmember, and these juvenile humans are part of the crew now, as well as their responsibility for the sake of diplomatic relations... Somehow that last part doesn't stress him out in the slightest.

·These humans will quickly find his gruff to be little more than a personality trait. When he's with a patient, specifically one who's a little frightened, his demeanor rapidly softens just as his touch becomes gentle even to a being quite soft and tiny by comparison. For a species not necessarily accustomed to medical care just... whenever they need it, the young liaisons can't help but like him. His reaction to the fact that most humans can't afford medical care is... a very long sigh.

·His attention to these new patients extends well beyond appointment hours, though he does try not to be overbearing. But he just needs to be certain; are they exercising enough? Does the atmosphere of the ship upset their respiratory systems in any way? Is there any chance the modification to the lighting system was ineffective and they're not getting enough vitamin D? Are they eating all their vegetables?!

·It's impossible for the group to ignore the gigantic alien robot very obviously fretting over them like a mother hen, and thus he often gets a "Yes, mom" in response to his queries from them, but in a good natured way. He huffs at first but their genuine appreciation for his efforts is... well, he'd be lying if he said his actions weren't driven by something more than medical duty. Maybe he's the first Cybertronian with a kind of maternal instinct, who knows? What matters is that his "children" are all safe and healthy, and he certainly doesn't start smiling when "Dr. Mom" becomes what he's listed as in their communication contact list.

Ultra Magnus/Minimus Ambus

·Rodimus agreed to this diplomatic mission despite all his warnings (and pleadings) to say no and find some other way to encourage a good relationship between the species. He has experience with humans, specifically of this exact age range, and while that relationship is one he treasures he's not looking to put any humans in potential danger again. He is, of course, duly ignored and the group is brought on board.

·For the sake of fostering a welcoming and structured environment, he memorizes their names in advance and has them all come to his office for an abridged two hour orientation on the ship and its rules. Knowing they have to be on the move often for neurological development is the only reason he doesn't keep them for a proper five hour orientation. It goes relatively well, but he's less distressed by their lack of attention than he is by how intimidating they seem to find him.

·For some reason this bothers him, no matter how fine he is with bots finding him to be frightening, seeing humans flinch from his presence actually hurts him. So he endeavors to be... friendly! If he earned the nickname "Uncle Magnus" with one human, he can do it again! The best strategy he can think of isn't actually that off base; he'll try to mentor them in their individual pursuits. Dropping down in height whenever he can, typically by getting on a knee to ensure he doesn't tower over them, also proves to be a big help.

·Initially he's determined to keep his Minimus self hidden from them completely, down to the very existence of his split identity. It's less about size, as even his most base form still stands well above the tallest liason, than it is about respect. He wants to be an inspiration to these little ones, and Ultra Magnus is obviously the more impressive of the two. It's only once one particularly affectionate liaison gives him a hug, or more accurately an attempt at one around his offered hand, that he feels compelled to reconsider.

·It makes him nervous for weeks, contemplating the potential fallout of being honest with them, and how it could ruin everything... In the end he blames his own moral compass for forcing him to be honest. He gathers the liaisons together and explains the entirety of his identity in detail, taking all of their questions and praying he won't see any kind of disappointment, before finally removing his armor and "introducing" them to Minimus. The reaction is far from negative. There are exclamations of "botception" and "nesting dolls" in the wild surprise that follows, but nothing that could even be interpreted as dissapoint, and in fact the young humans are only that much more amazed by their "Uncle Minimags". It takes everything he is not to cry.

Swerve

·He knows enough about human culture to have seen that this particular age group tends to party, and is also way more likely to enjoy pop culture, so he's delighted when they join up. Of course he introduces himself, but he doesn't need to mention much more than his bar before he has their full attention and fascination. The Manhattan sized spaceship run by giant alien robots has a bar?! They're all begging to see it and he's so thrilled he forgets he can transform and runs there with them.

·Their amazement only doubles when night comes and they get to see the place in full swing, but he makes sure they're safely seated on the bar itself, to avoid squishing. As always he's able to chat endlessly to these new arrivals, and his knowledge of human culture quite surprises them. Even if there's a fair amount he doesn't know, the fact that he's aware of anything at all shocks them.

·The rush to get him caught up is a shared effort between the liaisons. Does he know what social media is? Would he like to have an account? For once he's the overwhelmed one and he has to work to keep up with everything they give him, but the attention and genuine interest these little humans have in his thoughts and experiences is... it's a good thing he's got some help around the bar to help him stay caught up. Because these little sort of protoforms have convinced him to get Twitter.

·Movie nights become so massive they actually have to consider expanding the bar. Not only are old movies watched, but all the latest releases as well, some as soon as they're in theaters because look they know it's not technically legal but it's promoting good diplomacy so... However, even when he starts serving and mixing human alcohol, he's quite firm on requiring the humans who drink it to be of age. There's still fun drinks for the younger ones though.

·The humans bond with other bots, but as their first contact on the ship and the most fun he's always got a few of them by his side. Maybe he's just better with other species? He doesn't really know or care, but somehow when there's a little moment and they all take a selfie together he just... he just feels not alone. It's something he keeps a little on the down low, but he's a bit too easy to read for the humans not to notice, and since they're good kids they pretend it's a secret that they mean the world to him. On especially rowdy nights they even help clean up, and each human develops their own little nickname for him, making it less like he adopts them and much more like they adopt him.

Whirl

·Humans come in fun size too? Neat! But he's admittedly a tad curious when their age is explained and he realizes that, in their own super weird alien way, these are still protoforms. Something almost akin to worry flashes in his spark for an instant. Still, he plays it cool when they're brought on board, pretending to be no more interested than any other bot they're introduced to.

·Before he meets them, he's told quite firmly that these humans are to be protected at all costs, and that any behavior seen as antagonizing in the slightest will be punished. He ensures the top bots he's no Decepticon and that squishies aren't on his radar. But he's admittedly a little concerned that they'll notice his... peculiarities. His own species recoils at his appearance, and while he can handle that, getting it from aliens would be unpleasant.

·But there's no such reaction. They ask him his name, share theirs, and react with the same enthusiasm they do to every bot and even ask the same questions. It's pleasantly surprising, until they all get excited upon his description of his alt mode, at which point it's freaking fantastic. It's with pride that he confirms he's the only flying bot on the crew, and when he's immediately corrected by a random passerby, he explains that he meant the only one who could fly worth a damn. He's greeted by a chorus of laughter for his amazing joke and he vows that he'd die for each and every one of these little squishies.

·All it takes is one hint of a request and he's offering to take them all for a lift through the hangar. This is just the beginning of an impossibly interesting friendship. Eventually he just carries them all around in his cockpit whenever they're walking anywhere, or on his shoulders if they won't all fit, and either way there's a row of humans sitting across him. This friendship is why he's so mortified when his identity of an Empurata is accidentally revealed and the questions begin.

·He reluctantly answers and braces for the impending disgust or revulsion to realize he's been mutilated. But it never comes. Instead, there's genuine sympathy and anger on his behalf, and their little hands reach out to comfort him. Initially he can only be awed. How are these little, fragile, and oh so very young protoforms better than so many members of his species?! Does it matter? They shall be called; "The Whirl Scouts", trademark pending. They'll all have to be trained in combat for their own safety, and he will be their mom now, because he won't just die for them he'll kill for them. They're his kids and his family.

[catherdrashepard]

Darrow is Not Going to Die at the End of the Series Part 2

There are probably going to be at least one or two more parts depending on how much I can stop myself from blathering on. Anyway, spoilers ahead for the following: Dark Age, Hunger Games, Castlevania, Trollhunters: Rise of the Titans, Avengers Endgame, The Hobbit, Voltron, FMA, HttYD, Death Note, Madoka Magica, Merlin, Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts, HunterxHunter, Dragon Prince, He-Man (the new one), Yu Yu Hakusho, Persona 3. Mass Effect, The Hollow, Camp Cretaceous, and whatever else I can think of.

I last left off on talking about how my thoughts implied that Darrow could die at the end as long all the loose ends are tied. But, I don’t think that that’s really something that can actually happen. A lot of this is speculation on my part and really relies on what happens during the 6th book.

The first thing that came to mind was Mass Effect. The ending of Mass Effect 3 was...not very well received. I’m not going to say that I’m particularly happy with it either but I also think it fits the narrative. However, one thing to note, video games are different than books and the story that Shepard goes through is reliant on the player. Also, stories in games are going to be shorter than stories in books (for the most part, there are definitely exceptions) due to player involvement.

I’m going to start with Shepard’s first death, at the beginning of Mass Effect 2. Of course, being the second game, their death couldn’t be permanent unless BioWare switched protagonists mid trilogy. There are a few reasons, in my opinion, that Shepard was killed during the opening credits of the second game.

First of all, the combat changed between games (a lot between the first and second and only slightly between second and third), and I think Shepard’s two year absence gave a reason for a tutorial on the new combat system. They were dead and had to learn how to use new technology. This is also done between the second and third games, with a 6 month gap, but the combat only changed slightly. Secondly, having the main protagonist die really highlights the threat that the player is dealing with in the second game but, Shepard’s return also shows that they still have unfinished business and that their story isn’t over. Thirdly, I think the absence gives time for the secondary characters time to develop on their own. This is shown more with the characters who appeared in the first game but also it gives an idea of just how much of an impact Shepard had. I feel like this is a parallel to the time Darrow spent in the table between GS and MS.

Now to move on to Shepard’s more permanent death...although if you complete the game entirely (at least in the legendary edition; thank goodness I hated the battle readiness thing) there is a dubious ending where Shepard may or may not have lived. But in any case, Shepard is considered dead and their story is over. Whatever my feelings about this may be, this type of ending didn’t come out of nowhere. The main threat, the Reapers, have been dealt with in a permanent manner, or at least it’s heavily implied that they won’t be coming back. However, just because the Reapers are gone doesn’t mean there aren’t still things to be done. Specifically, recovery. Shepard very well could have been involved in this but it’s not necessary. Their story is over, they have dealt with the threat and it’s not coming back.

Darrow, on the other hand, has not finished his mission. Even if he does by the end of the next book, however, it’s a very different circumstance from Shepard. The threat in Mass Effect was a very large and tangible thing, whereas the problem Darrow faces is an ideology and the people who hold those views. Something like that doesn’t end with a large space weapon pointed directly at the threat; it permeates everything. So even if Darrow defeats Atalantia, Lysander, and whoever else, there’s most likely going to be more people who shared belief that Golds are best. Also, we saw how the Vox Populi felt about the things Darrow was doing. Darrow is essentially reconstructing an entire system of government and, no matter how correct Darrow is, there will always be people who disagree with him.

Assuming Darrow defeats the remnants of the Society, stops the Ascomanni, deals with Quicksilver and whatever he’s doing, takes care of Atlas, handles Apple, what’s left? Much like with the end of Mass Effect, what’s left is recovery. The difference between these two, however, is that while Shepard was not necessarily needed for the rebuilding, Darrow would be.

Now, both Shepard and Darrow spearheaded their respective causes, but (and this relies heavily on how the sixth RR book goes) defeating the Reapers was a group effort, utilising every species and as many resources as they can spare. No doubt the rebuilding of the entire galaxy will require the same. Not that Darrow’s goal hasn’t been similar in that regards, with the help of so many different Colors being necessary. It’s just....Darrow’s circle feels a lot smaller than Shepard’s.

I mean, obviously being the face of a war is going to get you a lot supporters and people to work with, but the most important players are Darrow’s close friends and family. I’m sure part of this is the fact that the books are first person with specific POVs. Mass Effect does focus on Shepard’s story, but it’s in third person and you get a lot of different information through sidequests and talking to other characters. I mean, there’s a whole codex in Mass Effect with a lot of information and there isn’t one for RR (PB should make one tho). Our knowledge of the universe and its history is more limited in RR than Mass Effect, but I think that’s mostly because the lore in Mass Effect has more of a direct impact on how the story goes.

But back to the original point, it’s explicitly shown in Mass Effect that it requires everyone to stop the Reapers. And even though we see Darrow’s army, the main players, the ones who are taking care of the big things, are still Darrow’s inner circle. As an example, Mass Effect would be more like a pyramid (ironic) where Shepard is at the top. Even if it crumbles away (they die), the pyramid will still stand. For RR, it feels more like a chain. If one of the links (Darrow) breaks, then the chain is also broken. You could re-attach the pieces but it wouldn’t be as strong as it once was.

One last thing I wanted to bring up (which I will bring up again in part 4, yes I said part 4), is technology. Both Mass Effect and RR take place in the future and therefore have better technology than we do. There is something very important about this technology though that makes it more likely for Darrow to live. The Reapers are a race of sentient squid machines hellbent on the genocide of every other sentient species in the galaxy. But they are the ONLY things with access to that kind of technology. Even when they share it with Saren or the Collectors, it’s not something others can replicate. And once they’re destroyed (control ending notwithstanding) at the end of the third game, that’s it. They could still have people who are indoctrinated (although I think that stops when the Reapers were destroyed?) or people who are just stupid and think they were right, but...those people aren’t a threat. They can’t bring back the Reapers, I doubt anyone would be able to recreate such a thing (at least not within Shepard’s lifetime even if they did live). So once the Reapers were gone...that’s it.

Now, the technology in RR is, for the most part, accessible to everyone. Assuming Darrow defeats Atalantia, Lysander, etc. their way of thinking would still be around. But with the way the universe works, I think it would entirely possible for supporters of the Society to rise up and start a conflict all over again. This means Darrow is not finished yet, even if the immediate threats are gone. It wouldn’t make sense for him to die when there’s still stuff for him to do.

I do think, though, that it is worth mentioning that the definite ending of Mass Effect is probably related to the fact that it’s a video game and especially for stories like that, a more open ended conclusion with the implication that I COULD do more would only be frustrating. With tv shows, movies, and books, I notice, having a more vague ending works better because you’re just separated enough from the story that you can enjoy the implications of more stuff without feeling unsatisfied. There’s always exceptions of course.

ANYWAY, it part 3 I’m going to be talking about Persona 3 and 5 so....stay tuned.

[mldrgrl]

Broken Things 10/24

by: mldrgrl Rating: varies by chapter, rated R overall See Chapter 1 for summary and notes

The supper bell is sounded before Mulder and Jesse and Jimmy have fully put the horses up for the evening.  Feeling like he’s been shirking his share of the responsibilities the last few days, Mulder sends the two brothers in ahead of him to finish.  He washes up at the pump at the back of the house, but goes round to the front entrance to get a clean shirt before he comes to the table.

Everyone is having their supper when Mulder comes into the kitchen.  Katherine jumps up to serve him, but he waves her down and fixes his own plate.  The biscuits are a little burnt at the bottom, which she apologizes profusely for.  The potatoes are lumpy, but delicious.

“These may be the best mashed potatoes I’ve ever had,” he says.  “You’ve put something in them.”

“Ah, ah,” Melvin says when Katherine opens her mouth to answer.  “A chef must never reveal the secrets of the kitchen.”

“I think you’re just jealous that I’ve never asked you about any of your recipes.”

“I never heard you complain.”

“You ever hear me compliment either?”

“I just figured you not to be very mannerly.”

“It’s garlic,” Katherine says.  “Just a bit of powdered garlic and butter and some cream.”

“Well, this is my new favorite potato.”

“Have you ever made up a shepherd’s pie, Ma’am?” Jimmy asks.

“A few times,” she answers.  “Not many.”

Jesse elbows Jimmy and Jimmy elbows him back.  “Our Gran used to make it for us when we were small and she was always saying the potato was the best part.  I wonder if you can’t make as good of a pie as she did.”

“I can certainly try.”

“You’ve already got admirers of your talents putting in requests,” Mulder says.  “How about that?”

“I think you all are just being kind since I burned the biscuits.”

“Not the whole biscuit,” Mulder says with a wink and a smile.  “Just the bottom.  And the steaks are delicious.”

Katherine chuckles.  “Melvin did the steaks.”

Melvin’s fork clatters to the plate and he wipes his mouth on his napkin before he gets up and does a short jig in front of the table.  “Did my ears deceive me or was that a compliment I just heard?”

“Alright, sit down before you hurt yourself.”

“That sounded like a compliment to me,” Jimmy says.  “What do you think, Jesse?”

“I think people need to let me eat the best steak and potato the lord ever created in peace.”

“Jesse,” Katherine says, looking at Mulder.  “I notice you didn’t mention the biscuits in there.”

He grunts.  “They’re burnt.  Nobody likes burnt up biscuits.”

Katherine gestures to Jesse and nods at Mulder.  “You see.”

“Well, I do.”  Mulder stares back at Katherine and brings another biscuit to his plate from the tray.  “I happen to like burnt up biscuits very much.”

↭

Despite the burnt biscuits, Katherine thinks supper is a success.  The dessert got an especially enthusiastic response and she makes a note that the boys seem to really like apples.  Just like the noon dinner she took part in yesterday, as they all finish eating, they bring their dishes to the wash basin and then they disappear after thanking her for a nice supper.  Mulder excuses himself as well to go light the lamps as it’s getting to be dusk.

Melvin helps her wash and dry the dishes despite her insistence that he should sit down and not worry about her.  He waves her away and tells her that old habits die hard.  She ends up doing the washing and he does the drying.

“Melvin, can I ask you something?  And you can tell me no, but I thought that I might like to do some rearranging in the kitchen.  But, only if I have your blessing.”

“This is your kitchen now, m’lady.  You can put things to how you want them.”

“Still, I know this has been your domain and I don’t want you to think there’s something wrong with how it is now, I just have a certain mind about how things work.”

Melvin throws the dish towel over one shoulder and then puts both hands over hers.  “My lovely, you don’t need to explain anythin’ to me.  This is your kitchen now and that’s as it should be.  The only thing I’ll tell you is that when Mulder expands on this place, you tell him to build you a kitchen that’s twice as big and twice as nice.”

“I rather like this kitchen though.”

“Stove’s faulty, obviously.  Burn’s the biscuits.”

Katherine laughs and Melvin takes the dish towel and puts it over her shoulder, passing the mantle to her.  Mulder comes in with a lighted lamp.

“All set in here?” he asks.

“Just finishing,” Katherine says.

“I was wondering if you might like to join me on the porch.”

“I thought you’d never ask!” Melvin exclaims.

“Not you, you little interloper.”

“That’s alright, I’m just going to take my compliment and head on to the bunkhouse.”

“Good night, Melvin,” Katherine says, embracing him lightly.  “Thank you for everything.”

“Good night, lovely lady.”

Katherine takes the hand that Mulder offers her and walks with him down the dogtrot to the porch.  There are two chairs out there that she distinctly remembers being much further apart than they are now.  She sits down first and he puts the lamp down on a small table between their chairs.

“Is it too cold out?” he asks.  “Should I get a shawl for you?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Do you ever think about all those stars up there, how they got there?”

“A French astronomer named Charles Messier compiled a catalogue of star clusters and comets and galaxies in 1781.”

“Isn’t it strange that we’re here a hundred and some years later looking at those same clusters?”

“Not necessarily.  Stars can die and new stars can be born.”

“I take it you don’t believe in star lore, then?”

“I know of Orion and Andromeda.  But, those are just stories.”

“I believed in them when I was a boy.”

Katherine looks away from the stars and at Mulder.  He still believes those stories, she can see it in his eyes.  Or at least, he wants to believe.  She’s never met anyone that looks at life the way he does, with the wonder and humor of a child, but the sharp mind of a genius.  She likes to hear him talk.

“Tell me one of them,” she says.  “Your favorite.”

“Orion is my favorite.  You already know it.”

“Maybe I don’t remember it very well.  I’d like to hear your version.”

“Orion was the son of Poseidon,” he says, tipping his head back and looking up at the sky.  “He could walk on waves.”

Katherine tips her head back as well and as she listens to Mulder’s voice, her eyes grow heavy. Soon, he’s shaking her shoulder and helping her up from her chair to guide her inside.

“I fell asleep,” she murmurs.  “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.  It’s been quite a day.”

“Yes, it has.”  She turns to him in the doorway of her room.  The lamp at her bedside table is on low.

“I’ll say good night,” he whispers, and his eyes leave hers for a moment and bounce down to her lips and then back.

“Good night,” she answers, looking up at him and feeling a fair amount of anticipation for what might come next.  It is their wedding night, after all.

Slowly, Mulder leans closer and then kisses her softly on the cheek.  He stays where he is for a few moments, his nose lightly brushing the back of her jaw and his breath on her neck.  She closes her eyes to await more, but then he steps back and she looks up at him.

“If you need anything,” he says, “I’ll be across the hall.”

“I can’t imagine that I will.”

His lips twist into that lopsided smile of his that looks like he’s trying to speak, but can’t seem to form the words.  He nods once at her and then turns around.  She watches him enter his room and then she closes her door with a sigh.  That night she sleeps better than she has in years, maybe ever.