#one of many of hunter’s shortcomings I think

[kimbureh]

TBB's Crosshair & shame, fear, inferiority complex

having finally watched The Bad Batch Season 1 in its entirety, it's fascinating to see Crosshair's character development cuz he is exactly the type of person who would be seduced by fascist propaganda such as the Empire's. And I ache for him so much.

He is vulnerable to the Empire's ideology because out of the five Batchers, Crosshair's actions are the most driven by shame, fear, and a deep inferiority complex.

In retrospect it seems obvious to me that his character arc in TBB was at least roughly mapped out by the time he was first introduced in Clone Wars The Final Season, because none of the other Batchers would make such an easy target for the Empire.

But lets reverse engineer the plot as if you had to pick the one Bad Batcher to be affected by the inhibitor chip for a compelling story. Which Batcher do you pick for maximum impact, and why?

Ironically, the next best option, for me, is Wrecker, and they did a speedrun for this scenario in the series. Wrecker is an interesting case, because he is in many ways the exact opposite to Crosshair.

The three characteristics that make Crosshair especially susceptible for the Empire's propaganda are, as mentioned, his shame, fear, and a deep inferiority complex. Wrecker isn't ruled by these things the way Crosshair is. Yes, he is scared, and quite frequently so. But Wrecker is not ashamed to admit his fear in front of his team mates and trusts they won't look down on him. Wrecker isn't ashamed of his emotions and shortcomings, at least not to the same degree as Crosshair is. I think all Batchers carry a considerable load of shame being treated as and seeing themselves as defective, but Crosshair is affected by this mindset the most.

Which is why Crosshair all but jumps on the idea of serving a purpose under the Empire, especially once his old old purpose under the Republic becomes obsolete. He cannot bear the idea that he might be deemed useless, he cannot endure the uncertainty that comes with finding a purpose on his own. And doesn't the Empire have a neat antidote for that? Crosshair is not stupid, he is aware that the Empire doesn't respect him as a Clone, but this is about survival. Given that I don't have watched Season 2 yet (please no spoilers), I can only assume it was Crosshair's worst nightmare to be ruled by the inhibitor chip and be abandoned the only people in the galaxy he thought he could truly trust. And his trust isn't earned easily.

Wrecker's arc when he was ruled by the inhibitor chip showed how a person can deal with the shame of lashing out and hurting loved ones. His arc is, again, a speedrun of Crosshair's, at least thematically. Crosshair has to become more like Wrecker in order to overcome his inner struggle and complete his arc, which is why I see with delight how the writers have subtly set in place this unique relationship despite Hunter being the main focal point of Crosshair's character development. Things like, Crosshair allowing himself to cry (!) in front of Wrecker at the armory. Crosshair and Wrecker bunking next to each other. Wrecker being the first to admit he misses Crosshair. Wrecker asking Crosshair to come back twice in the season finale. And in Clone Wars, there's the friendly rivalry both seem to thrive in. I just love them, your honor (all of them).

#the bad batch #bad batch #crosshair #tbb crosshair #clone force 99 #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #star wars #star wars the bad batch #yeah i know i am late to the party and everyone else has already watched season 2 #but if u gotta meta u gotta meta #still not sure if i believe crosshair about the removal of the inhibitor chip but it's more compelling if it's true #tbb meta

[kitkatopinions]

Watched the second ep. I don't have pics this time but I'm gonna do my best to make a good post anyway. RWBY volume 9 spoilers and criticism below the keep reading. Also this is a long one!

Praise

The use of 'business person.' About ten years of gender-specific stuff like 'Huntsman Academies' instead of 'Hunter Academies' aside, it's nice to hear some gender neutral terms.

On its own, removed from the comedy and bad tone of the volume and the moment two seconds before it, I really enjoyed Weiss reflecting on the weight of what happened, the loss of her home, the fact that their plan could've been (and kind of was) a disaster that put people at risk, the possibility of losing the Relics, acting like they made mistakes... I also really like Ruby's response to it, her "you did the best you could to save Atlas" was said in this weak kind of stiff way like Ruby knows that's a meaningless comfort that doesn't help. And then when Weiss talks about Penny, Ruby just turns away and keeps walking? That's good. This on its own felt like a really good moment.

Also, I like the choice of framing in the conversation, specifically Weiss gripping her sword. Yesss those trauma responses motherfucker, yeeeeah! That's what we wanna see!

I really love the concept of the weather in wonderland clearly connecting to emotions (and so far, more Ruby's emotions than anything else.) I kind of even like how it changes on a dime.

The soldier waving to the little kid? Kind of cute!

Ruby's "Look, we may not know exactly what's going on. But for whatever reason, this place is putting us on a similar path as a book we all read as kids. I say we follow it... And stop pretending we know what we're doing." First off, this is what I mean when I say the voice acting for Ruby has much improved. The delivery is great, the emotions are great, the twinge of bitterness despite her seeming to be trying at the start to give one of her usual speechesTM leading to her ending with her dark statement of them not knowing what they're doing, it's great. Second off, she's her uncle's niece, that's for sure, I love this new angle for her actually. Third off, please please please don't have this written off by the end of the season with an "actually there's nothing we could've done differently, nothing that needs to change, Ruby is back to normal." I have a lot of complaints about this episode already typed up (because I'm writing both criticism and praise as I watch) but this is a good direction for Ruby and I'm liking this growth for her actually surprisingly a lot. Everything else, I do not like, but Ruby is so far my absolute favorite part of this season, which is as it should be. And I want these changes to mean something in the long run even if she - as she should - regains some confidence and optimism near the end. I want her to come out of this more cautious, more mature, a bit more cynical, a bit open to council and other solutions and working on her own shortcomings and accepting some nuance. This is good groundwork, I'm really hoping the writers can take this thing the whole way through.

Guys, I feel kind of bad, I really expected to have more praise... But by and large... I didn't like this episode. Let's talk about why.

Criticism

First off, gonna say right away. Yang being like "are we just gonna sit here thinking about that in silence, or...?" What a weird way to start an episode. That's a 'back from a commercial break' line you'd find in Phineas and Ferb.

The way that the 'anime-animation' has gone up by a hundred in this volume is bad, the show has been written so that it's mostly normal with maybe two or three anime-animation gags a season for ages, and they always feel out of place because of how little they're used, and now they kicked it up to eleven jam-packing as many into their show as possible, and it's annoying! The "reason" may be because the writers wanted this volume to feel different than RWBY. If that's the case then congrats the show RWBY doesn't feel like RWBY at all even in vibes right now.

Weiss: "And Yang got her arm stolen by a- by a- what was it, that you said?" Boy howdy. Let's just gloss over Yang actually telling them what happened, so we can by pass their reactions and act like it's all just old hat and stupid and tiring. It's not like the audience needs to be engaged. It's not like this is meant to be the first time the audience is hearing about this.

Weiss (paraphrased): "Just because this place is weird doesn't mean we're actually inside a fairy tale." Me: "Good, someone is going to point out that the sentencing is really weird considering that it doesn't make sense for them to think they just blue-skadoo'd into the pages of a fairy tale and they're going to take this moment - the most logical moment - to talk about how it's more likely that this world must've been traversed by someone who returned to Remnant and based a fairy tale they've read off of it (which is VERY Journey to the Center of the Earth starring Josh Hutcherson and Brendan Fraser by the way) and therefore whether this is an after-life or another dimension or something else that they logically ought to consider, they can get back." Yang: "Also this thing that may be reflective of something that might have happened in a fairy tale happened to me." Weiss: "Actually yes we're probably 'in a fairy tale.'"

Ruby, the girl who explicitly loved FAIRY TALES SPECIFICALLY: "Some of this is sort of familiar." Blake, the girl who may like fairy tales alongside the other books she reads (once joked at majority being trashy romance novels in the show, and repeatedly in Chibi): "I recognize this at once!" Weiss, the girl who grew up in a strict home where she's never once mentioned ever liking even any form of entertainment as far as I can remember: "That's just something we all read as kids." Gee whiz, I wish this was actually... Something better. XD

"Alyx" fought a "Jabberwalker" and beat the "Red King" and met the "Curious Cat." Listen, this is all... Very boring. I know I haven't actually encountered some of these things yet, but despite feeling like them doing things like making Pinnochio become a real person was lazy, RWBY has never been this lazy before. At least when they literally uncreatively named a character Sun Wukong, he wasn't just an immortal godlike character you meet in a rushed journey to the west pocket of an adventure where everything is Journey to the West themed and the characters in RWBY were like "this is the world of Travel to the Western Location, it's a book that exists that we're going to have to go through." Not only am I bored, I'm very annoyed.

Little: "I'll lead the way! Right to-" *Cuts to Little sleeping* Immediately, I'm done as hecking heck with the pointlessness of this mouse so far. "They might have a point later" Well until then, they're annoying, and they could have a point right the frick now by acting as a guide, but instead all they're doing and seemingly their only purpose as of yet is as bad comedy in a season so far filled with more than enough bad comedy.

Blake: "Alyx didn't know the customs and ended up starting a war." Yang: "Well, she was kind of a bad person, right? She lied and cheated her way through most of the book." Weiss: "She was trying to survive. The morals of those old stories are so simplistic." Weiss...... Do you remember how you all fucking hated Ozpin for three seasons because he lied and were fine with him getting punched over it? Do you remember how you guys decided that 'saving what we can in a trolley problem' made someone evil? Do you remember when you pointed what was essentially a loaded gun at your underage civilian brother because he was in the way? Do you remember how you acted like Yang had slapped Ruby because she suggested that Ruby might have been wrong about something? Do you remember when Blake accused May of acting like Ironwood when she told you guys that you had to choose to do something to help people instead of sitting around and doing nothing and you were just like "yuh-huh." And that's not even getting into how this show has treated so much as cut-and-dry either you're good or you're evil for the past three seasons in the narrative, leaving no room for nuance in the conversation. Hopefully this season will address some of that, but it still leaves Weiss looking like a massive hypocrite for this line.

When Yang says what happened with the racoon, the animation used to tell that story is not it for me champs. Idk who decided that. Why couldn't they just mimic the art style of Yang's story about looking for Raven when she was a kid and Qrow helping her? What, is the 'tone' of that style of art too serious for their comedic stuff they've got going on?

Yang and Blake: *Almost touch hands.* Weiss: "About time." ABOUT TIME FOR WHAT, WEISS? THEY HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHING! They've literally held hands at least twice now

And that Blake has also done with Ruby and Weiss

Yes, this time Yang and Blake are doing it with Energy that was non-existent for Blake and Ruby and Blake and Weiss, but they've been doing everything with ENERGY since volume six. This is nothing new, this is just another way of the show writers and Rooster Teeth going "see? See? They're actually something (probably) so just wait teehee" but first off, I don't like it and I wish they'd just progress Blake and Yang's relationship because they haven't done anything now that's different from the cake picture or the practicing their dancing. But second off, boy does Weiss look an oblivious chump. "About time." Where have you been???

And also, at the writers, just because you act like it's new and significant doesn't mean it is. What is this hesitation for?

Also! Weiss and Ruby: *Stop walking, start having a serious conversation.* Yang and Blake:

Bro, when I'm walking with my sister and she stops, I??? Stop walking??? So we can walk together??? When my sister stops walking to have a sad serious conversation about being sad and serious, I just??? Stop to talk to her?? It kind of makes Blake and Yang feel like they're so caught up in each other that they're just ignoring not only the dire situation they're in and the dire situation Remnant is in, but also the feelings and suffering of Ruby and Weiss. And it's just... Not what I want to see tbh? Like I want to see them acting like they care enough to at least notice what the other two are going through.

The amount of screentime that's already been spent on Little being just so silly and quirky is really wrecking my enjoyment. I wish they had left Little behind when they left the mice army. Actually, I wish Little (and also the mice army) had never existed at all.

"So which one is Yang's arm?" I feel like this is from a little kids show for five year olds. "Okay kids, the mean racoon has disguised what he stole as something else. Is it the green doll, the pink rabbit, or the yellow-and-black staff that looks kind of like Yang's arm that's made of metal? Do you guys remember what color Yang's arm is?" *Kids voice* "Yellow!" Hand of the Creator making Team RWBY look like idiots here tbh. Cringe. At least Yang went on to assume it's her arm - because that's what her heart told her - but yikes was that dumb.

Also though the racoon is massively bad and bigoted. Everything about this racoon is a negative stereotype associated with the Romani people and it's coming out in 2023, this is a really bad look especially from Bigoted "NO WE SWEAR WE'VE CHANGED" Bad Business Practices Inc.

The sword thing doesn't make sense to me tbh. Other people who say things better than me have talked about the lack of logic regarding the sword being here in the first place, but what I'm gonna talk about is the lack of emotions tied up in this item. By talking about Doctor Who. So, the writers of Doctor Who wanted the Eleventh Doctor to have something to remember his companion Amy Pond by after she left after a whopping two and a half seasons (more than achieved by even Rose Tyler in modern Who) for his remaining half a season left on the show, as an emotional gut-punch for the many fans who loved Amy and the other companion Rory who left at the same time. So they had the Eleventh Doctor wear Amy's glasses.

The problem with this is... Amy only ever wore glasses in her very last episode, so... There was no real emotional significance in them. They weren't iconic to Amy, they weren't something the viewer knew well, they were something transparently invented for an emotional moment that was completely unearned. This is a bit more than what happened with Penny's sword which I think probably were just invented to give Penny something to fight with now that she was no longer a robot. But it's still the case that I feel zero emotional connection to this thing I've seen in the last like two episodes of volume eight that only appeared right before Penny's death. It isn't like this moment

Especially now that Penny's been in five seasons with her regular weapons tied to her robotic body. That's what we're used to. This is one (of many) reasons why they should have left Penny as a robot. This is already a do-over - Penny died in a terrible fall of a kingdom more or less at the hands of Cinder and Ruby is left with her sword. It's almost like they realized that Penny's death mattered to the viewers and yet nothing significant was ever really done with Penny's death, Penny's sword, or Ruby's reactions and so they copy-pasted the events, tweaked 'em for the story they were in the middle of already, and then were like "OKAY TAKE TWO." But because of them changing Penny's robotic body out for a flesh one and therefore tossing aside the iconic design of her weapon we all know and love, I'm sitting here going "Oh look, green glass that the writers want me to associate with Penny."

Although I do think that the voice actress for Ruby has improved this season, someone please tell them that their whimpering doesn't sound good or convincing.

Also that whole 'get our stuff' section lasted about five minutes. "We're gonna have to get our stuff back." "Oh no we don't know what our stuff is?" "Let's use our feelings to figure out what our stuff is." "Omg, we can't pay the cost of that." "The stuff is revealed as our stuff." "We're gonna have to fight for it!" "I'm so sad about Penny!" "Okay we got our stuff, let's get out of here!" I've said before that RWBY struggles to let people sit with the weight of any emotions which makes things seem really shallow, but this is ridiculous. I feel nothing about Yang not being willing to give up what it feels like to be loved as the price of her arm, because... If I had been grabbing my Red Bull for the two seconds that had happened, I would've missed that, nobody reacted to it, and it was just gone. All of that legit could've been a whole upset with emotional beats where the girls grapple with concepts of having to give up things or not having enough hope to fill up a jar, but instead it's five minutes of rushed comedy-centric nothing that started and then just kind of stopped while I'm just like feeling nothing.

Blake's "I've read so many stories, I... Never thought I'd be the moral of one" Is clearly played straight? As in, it's clearly played as serious and not just for laughs, as 'emotional' music starts playing. But what part of the last scene outside of Ruby's whimper and holding the sword was I meant to take seriously? The whole thing was played up for comedy and Blake didn't seem to be taking it that seriously either - and five minutes prior had been joking and teasing and laughing with Yang in the most carefree manner. I'm sorry if I can't take her crisis seriously now, but I really can't. I actually got confused because I was like 'ah somebody messed up and started playing serious music? Oh wait no, it's gonna cut out for a joke. No? They're being serious?" Bleh

Weiss: "We are not IN A BOOK." Me: "Good, someone is going to point out that it doesn't make sense for them to think they just blue-skadoo'd into the pages of a fairy tale and they're going to take this moment - the most logical moment - to talk about how the author or Alyx or whoever probably just wrote about someone having an adventure in this place that could be an afterlife or another dimension or something else that they logically ought to consider, and their own adventure shouldn't be the same as there's because this is a different time and it's not the foregone conclusion to think the exact same things that happened to her would happen to them (some of this is reminiscent of Tim Buton's Alice in Wonderland btw) but that they can try to get out the same way she did." Weiss: "And even if we were, we know how it ends!" I guess at least they're doing the last part??

Weiss: *Hits herself with a rock so hard that she falls to the ground and doesn't get up for at least two seconds.* The other members of Team RWBY:

Can this show try to convince me these characters care about each other outside of Big MomentsTM, at least a little? Nobody tries to help calm Weiss down? Nobody asks her if she's okay? Nobody tries to help her up? Nobody even reacts? Ruby doesn't even look up? "It's a comedic moment!" Well, first off, not three seconds before it happened or two seconds after it happened, it isn't. And second off, so? Even in a comedic moment, it'd make sense to have someone say "are you okay?"

Also the toy looking guards remind me of Orbot and Cubot from Sonic the Hedgehog... That's not a compliment, they're super annoying.

Okay... Ruby's speech about Penny is not nearly as emotional as everyone made it out to be. I've seen so many people be like "This episode had me crying so hard over Ruby's eulogy to Penny" And then I get to the ep, and she says kind of really impersonal stuff? I mean, maybe it would've seemed shallow if after Ruby's lack of happiness at Penny's actual resurrection she acted like she and Penny had been best friends, but still. "The most powerful warrior to ever live." Okay, I'll believe that Ruby believes that. "She was touched by magic." And so are at least five other characters Ruby knows including herself. "She gave her life for thousands." Sure, okay, but that's still not personal. "She took a message of hope to the stars." Well, that message may have caused mass hysteria that could theoretically bring down every civilization in Remnant, but yep, Ruby sure thought that was an important act that should be done. "And she saw the world through better eyes." See, this is the only one that seems kind of emotional or something specifically connected to Penny, but it still sounds like something people would say about a long dead astronaut they never knew at some kind of gala. Look, I'm ribbing on this, but I actually think this makes sense - Ruby is pushing down her emotions, and she didn't have the connection with Penny she used to after her first death based on her reactions to Penny being alive (it's more like she really wanted to have the connection she used to,) and she's suffering with the concept that all she (and tbh Penny) had done in the most recent fall could've meant a lot of bad despite her (and Penny's) best intentions. It makes sense that her speech given while in the middle of squashing down her feelings is stiff and not very personal, but it's just really not what I imagined. And with RWBY's history, I'm not sure this is meant to be played as Ruby being stiff and impersonal, it might very well be meant to be a deeply emotional tribute to a beloved character that's meant to trigger waterworks in fans everywhere. And if so, it's just wildly disappointing tbh.

Also, the tone between comedy and serious was horribly done yet again, and also still not combat.

All in all, this episode...

#rwde #anti rwby #rwby criticism #rwby critical #rwby volume 9 spoilers

[10blue10]

Erets Rant

“You’re right, bud. It’s time. Go. Lead them to the Hidden World,” Hiccup told Toothless. “You’ll be safe there. Safer than you could ever be with me.”

“Bullshit,” said Eret. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Or seeing, for that matter. Once again, everyone was just blindly doing what Hiccup wanted.

“What?”

“You heard me. Bullshit. What makes you think he won’t be safe up here? On this insanely tall island that only dragons can reach the top of?” he demanded. “And what do you mean, lead them to the Hidden World? Who’s ‘them’ exactly?”

“The other dragons.”

“What, the wild ones?”

“No… Eret, the world just isn’t ready for dragons. You saw that armada! It’s better if we let them go; they’ll all be safe in the Hidden World, away from hunters. Toothless is the King of Dragons; he has to go and be their leader.”

Eret scoffed a mocking laugh. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. That’s your argument? I’m pretty sure we just watched your precious ‘king of dragons’ order this entire flock into cages, just to save his sparkly new girlfriend.”

They both flinched. “He didn’t have a choice! Grimmel was gonna kill her”-

“Of course he wasn’t gonna kill her. She was his only bargaining chip. And even if he was, that doesn’t make your dragon a good leader! What the hell happened to ‘the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few’?” Eret glared. “I’m just gonna fucking say it. Toothless is a terrible Alpha.”

Everyone gasped. Eret pushed on. “He wasn’t trying to keep the flock under control back on Berk, then he ditched ‘em all to chase after her,” he jabbed his thumb at the Light Fury, who hissed, “and when he comes back he orders all our dragons to please walk into the cages. Grimmel never even told him to!”

Astrid snapped “you’re out of line. How dare you speak to your chief like that?”

Your chief. Something in Eret broke free. He’d already lost a lot of respect for Hiccup; in that moment, he lost respect for Astrid as well. “He’s not my chief. Even if he were, I wouldn’t listen to him. He’s as bad a leader as his dragon.”

More shocked gasps. For a bunch of Vikings, these people sure were sensitive. “Hiccup is a great chief!” Astrid protested. “He’s one of the best we’ve ever”-

“Would a great chief cram his village full of dragons?” Eret sneered. “Would a halfway decent chief do that, risking injury and food shortage? Or force his entire tribe to abandon their home and chase a myth, or force them to give up their scaly friends - why, because there’ll always be bad people out there?”

Hiccup snapped “if you’d warned us about Grimmel sooner, we could have been better prepared. Maybe next time don’t wait until the last bloody minute!”

“Oh, no, don’t you dare try to pin your shortcomings on me. I admit, I could have mentioned Grimmel earlier - but everything I just mentioned, that was all your doing.” He poked the younger man in the chest. “If you think I’m gonna let you strand me on this gods-forsaken rock, I’ve got news for you. I’m taking Skullcrusher and I’m going home. To my actual home, and my actual tribe.”

“Fine! Go! See if I care,” Hiccup scowled. “But you’re not taking Skullcrusher. He belongs with his own - hey!” Eret was already climbing into the saddle.

Well, since he was leaving forever, might as well burn a few more bridges. “Bye, everyone! Gobber, I feel sorry for the next bloke you start creeping on. Valka, have fun getting hit on by Snotlout. Fishlegs… you’re the only one I still like. Good job.” He waved to their shocked faces as Skullcrusher took off.

#thw salt #thw shitpost #eret son of eret

[helenadurazzo]

The Lord of The Underworld and His Lady of Spring Part 1

In this story for the HPHM x Twisted Wonderland AU, Vil, Rook, Epel, Deuce, Ace, Asteria, Jamil, Kalim and Helena are talking about their recent performance at a competition and their shortcomings due to be tired from dealing with an overblot in the midst of it. However as things start to look for the better, even with Grim’s location unknown to the girls temporarily, they turn south faster than one could imagine.

Asteria belongs to @princess-of-pearls-and-stars while Helena belongs to me. These stories are Inspired by Chapters 8, 9, and 10 of Book 6

One minute, they were talking about their recent concert appearance and shortcomings. The next, Ramshackle shook in a way that Helena and Asteria were both convinced the old and archaic building was going to collapse. It had been abandoned for years after all and was a wreck when they first moved in.

Epel was the first to bring the suspicions everyone was thinking into words, “Was that an earthquake?”

Rook looked out the window in an attentive way just like a hunter, and his eyes widened when he found his target. “No it isn’t, look out the window.”

Kalim rushed over to the window and followed Rook’s eyes towards the sky with his own, “What in the world!? There’s a bunch of guys flying through the air! Are they on hoverboards.”

“Technology like that means it might be related to Ignihyde.” Asteria did her best to remain calm.

“I’ve been to Ignihyde many times to watch animes with Idia.” Helena reminded her sister, “And while I believe they have a handful of these hoverboard things, it’s certainly not that many. And those don’t even look like students.”

“That’s not possible…” Vil breathed, not really paying attention to the girl’s words it seemed not that it mattered all that much. “This school has a magical barrier to keep out intruders. And it is always up as long as we don’t have a special event going on.”

“Maybe that sound was the barrier getting breached!” Jamil theorized.

“But how?” Vil reminded him, “It is complex magic.”

“Some are coming this way!” Rook called out to alert the group, “Let’s see there is one, two-!?” He then did a 180 degree turn and faced the group, “EVERYONE GET DOWN!”

Large sounds followed as figures crashed into the structure of Ramshackle. Soon enough they were all on the floor trying to get cover. Helena barely even noticed Asteria’s protective arm around them.

“Asteria! Helena!” Deuce called out first, rushing over. “Are you both ok?”

“I-“ Helena was about to respond before she was silenced by the sight in front of her. There were at least three guard looking figures in some sort of technologically advanced armor. It was a metallic grey with a couple of its accents being a glowing blue. They appeared to be quite hostile and heartless, nothing like Ortho, well, at least when he wasn’t trying to shoot the school down with a laser beam to save Idia from a crazy ghost bride that is.

Once they regained their footing, Jamil jumped in front of his Housewarden, “Kalim get back!” He firmly instructed as he looked at the guards the same way Helena did. “I’ve never seen that kind of gear before…” He muttered to himself, although Helena could just barely hear his words and assumed others could as well to some extent.

“Hepta team coming in.” One of the mysterious intruders started, seemingly alerting their master of a discovery, “We’ve got visuals on subjects D, E, and G. Moving in for capture.”

“I haven’t the faintest idea who these people are.” Vil began as he tried to examine the guards from a distance, “but crashing through windows shows an appalling lack of manners.” He turned to the rest of the group with a firm expression, “I hereby declare this an emergency! By my authority as Pomefiore Housewarden, I authorize the use of magic on the intruders!”

“Oui!” Rook seconded as the vice housewarden.

“I do the same for Scarabia!” Kalim mustered in his most authoritative voice. “Prepare for battle!”

Vil’s eyes turned to Deuce, Ace, Epel, Asteria, and Helena, “Freshmen, stay back, and do not get involved for your own safety. Heartslabyul students, call your Housewarden!”

“Yes sir!” Deuce, Ace, Epel, and Helena said in unison, however Helena could see out of the corner of her eye that Asteria was frustrated by sitting on the sidelines. But surely she knew that their magic only seemed to work half the time in this world, right?

The same robotic guard spoke again, “Subjects D and E exhibiting hostility, Subject G showing signs of retreating. Requesting permission to engage.”

“Permission granted.” A voice over the robots intercom sounded. “Execute capture plan C”

~~~

“They’re all struggling…” Epel observed as the battle commenced.

“Those oar-looking staffs can churn out spells real quick!” Deuce pointed out with a great amount of perception.

“AUGH!” Vil exclaimed as said oar-looking staff-thing shot another intense concentration of magic.

“VIL!” Rook called out as Vil collapsed on the ground, and by the looks of it, also lost consciousness.

“Subject E is subdued.” The robotic guard sounded. “Securing now.”

“GAHHH!” Jamil screamed out as the same thing that happened to Vil moments ago occurred to him as well.

“JAMIL!” Kalim panicked.

“We have also secured Subject D, all that is left is Subject G.” The robotic guard informed its instructor or head of operations Helena theorized. “Tetra team has already captured Subject F.

Once the last capture is complete we will rendezvous then return to HQ.”

“Where are you taking them!” Kalim frantically requested, “WAIT!”

“Whoa…” Ace breathed, “The housewardens and vice housewardens went down in seconds.”

“And it’s not over yet…” Asteria pointed out, “They were talking about a Subject G, perhaps that’s Kalim or Rook? But why did they stop if that’s the case?”

“didn’t they say that ‘Subject G’ was retreating? If we assume it is someone in here then it has to be one of us.” Deuce determined.

“But who would that be?” Epel pondered.

“Heck if any of us know.” Helena snapped. “We should just stay low.”

“Tetra team has regrouped with Hepta Team.” The intruders sounded again.

“What in Tarnation!” Epel exclaimed again as he looked up, “They are hauling a cage. Wait… ain’t that…”

“LEMME OUT! GET ME OUT OF HERE!”

Helena and Asteria recognized the voice even before they saw who it came from. As they looked simultaneously through the rubble and dense amounts of people. They spotted Grim, being carried in a cage with tight bars as he attempted to escape his prison. How did he end up in such a predicament after the Shrouds helped with retrieving him earlier?

“GRIM!?” Asteria called out frantically.

“Ace! Asteria! Helena! Deuce!” Grim cried out.

“We need to stop them!” Epel got on his feet, “Come on, I ain’t doing this on my own am I?”

“Right!” Deuce agreed, “Hold on Grim! I’ll save you!”

“Dude, Vil just told us to stay back.” Ace tried to remind them, “Helena has a point you know, if we fight we will loose, we should just stay low, and come up with a plan when we can have, no offense, a stronger team?”

“Don’t be such a coward!” Asteria quickly got on her feet pulling out her wand, with Helena reluctantly following suit.

“OH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!” Ace pleaded, but presumed he had no choice.

~~~

Asteria noted how the battle was practically over before it started, and somehow ending up as the last to emerge in their line of fighters despite Ace and Helena’s initial reluctance. She couldn’t doubt that it was a disturbing sight to behold.

“Argh.” Ace mumbled mindlessly. “Didn’t stand… a chance… urgh.”

“Urgh guh…” Deuce moaned.

“Dagnabbit.” Epel muttered.

Yet the only voice Asteria didn’t manage to hear, even in a soft tone, was that of her own sister. Her eyes frantically scanned the room and eventually spotted her figure. And panicked when she saw her sister not moving.

“HELENA!” Asteria frantically called out, trying to rush to her but the robotic guards beat her to it, taking her sister.

“Subject G is secured.” The robotic man sounded, “Reporting Back to HQ.”

“Lemme Go!” Grim pleaded, “I don’t want to go! Asteria!!!” He called as his paw reached out to her.

“GRIM! HELENA!” Asteria called out, practically screaming as they were taken away.

“VIL! JAMIL!” Rook and Kalim did the same in nearly identical tones to Asteria.

Rook growled then did a few meditative breaths before turning to Scarabia’s Housewarden, “Kalim, we must tend to our injured freshmen. I will take them to the infirmary.”

“But Jamil…” Kalim stammered, “Jamil’s been…”

“KALIM.” Rook asserted to get his attention. “You must calm yourself. Jamil has been abducted. You need to step up and fulfill your Housewarden duties by yourself.”

Kalim only reluctantly sighed, however it seemed to be more out of concern for Jamil than the idea of added rightful responsibility, “All right, I’ll go summon the other house “wardens.”

Ace grunted again, “…didn’t pick up…”

Asteria rushed to Ace’s side, his mumbling did not sound promising, nor did his grunting. And he seemed to be wincing from pain.

“Huh?” Rook raised an eyebrow.

Ace attempted to speak again, wincing against the pain as Asteria looked at him with widened eyes trying to tend to him and Deuce the best she could, at least Epel seemed to be in a better state, although that wasn’t saying much. “Called…Housewarden Riddle…but he didn’t…pick up…”

“Oh no!” Kalim exclaimed as realization hit his features and he turned to Rook, “Do you think?”

“There is a likely chance.” Rook determined, “We don’t have much time, we must warn whoever we can.”

#HPHM #Hogwarts mystery #Twisted Wonderland #twst #twst book 6 #Asteria Othonos #Helena Durazzo #Helena Othonos #Grim #Vil Schoenheit #Rook Hunt #Epel Felmier #Kalim Al Asim #Jamil Viper #Ace Trappola #Deuce Spade #Styx #The Lord of The Underworld And His Lady of Spring

[sytokun]

i was wondering your thoughts on jaune as a character tbh. today i was thinking about atla and where it succeeded versus where rwby failed (especially because miles luna himself has compared rwby to atla multiple times).

one thing i disliked about rwby is that all four of the girls are super important in some way. ruby has silver eyes, weiss is the SDC heiress (richest company in the world), blake is WF leader’s daughter (also from a wealthy family), yang’s mom is a maiden. none of them are normal.

in atla, we have aang (the avatar), katara (who’s the last southern tribe waterbender… kinda?), toph (rich family daughter), zuko (firelord’s son) and sokka… who is completely normal. i like how they have a normal guy in atla which makes him relatable to the viewer.

the problem is in rwby, this normal guy is jaune. who ends up sticking along in the plot and being forced by the writers to be in situations which get him hate from the fndm. miles said jaune is partially inspired by sokka (dorky funny strategist type) but at the same time it means jnpr has to be part of the rwby adventures for jaune to be around. which makes people dislike jaune even more.

i kinda rambled but i was wondering yours thoughts on him? where did he fail where sokka succeeded and so on in your opinion?

Not to mention the inclusion of Oscar who is basically Normal Guy 2.0 before Ozpin came along, but yeah.

Hypothetically, Blake would have been a great everyman type for Team RWBY had she not been revealed to be of noble birth. Had she been written more as an orphan left to fight on the wilds outside the Kingdoms, her humble origin would have been a good contrast to the rest of Team RWBY, and grounded her with the audience within the team.

But in regards to Jaune, I've had some discussions on my server about him, and he's a tough nut to crack. Speaking of his failure within the context of canon, there is a definitely a disconnect between him being essentially a fifth main character and being a part of the B-team.

Another shortcoming is that he often, as many have and will attest, steals moments much better suited for other characters. Him vs. Cinder and killing Penny come to mind, both of which would vastly benefit Ruby more. And I think it's because he doesn't have an arc to speak of, ironically given his name.

For Sokka, he has a very distinct arc and dynamic within the Gaang that doesn't really overlap with the others. Neither Aang, Katara nor Toph are natural skeptics, nor are they non-benders, nor do they have an interest in technology or strategy. And his actual arc revolves around learning to be a man - not immature machismo, but responsibility and virtue. This alone lets Sokka occupy a niche that makes him valuable to the audience, because his unique experience is valuable.

However, Jaune, like Oscar, has many aspects that feel poached from other characters. His struggles as a leader steps on the toes of Ruby's arc as a team leader. His implied backstory as being from a line of famous Hunters can overlap with Weiss and the Schnee legacy (though due to how vague this detail is, there's room to play with this to make it more distinct). His niche as a strategist/tactician also overlaps with Ruby, leaving fans to headcanon distinctions between them, such as making Jaune a more "big picture tactician", while Ruby is a more "boots on the ground" strategist.

But the problem, as seen, lies in the fact that he offers very little to the audience, because what he offers, other characters can too. But because he does a little bit of everything, he is also always a little bit relevant to any situation, inflating his presence but not his importance in the show.

I've seen a post that posits that Jaune was at his most likeable in Volume 7, because there he was playing the role he should be to Team RWBY: a supporting character. While I do agree somewhat with this, as he was at his most likeable, being a sort of anchor trying to stay positive for everyone (nevermind that this is a trait overlapping with Ruby), he was also pretty... harmless?

I suppose it's because I've grown used to his extended presence, but him actually being more in the background also made him feel... kinda basic? There was really nothing too offensive, but also nothing terribly interesting for him to fall back on. He has no unique dynamic to bounce off of, no unique niche to fill. He's just kind of... there, occupying whatever vague role the story needs for him. And that makes him fairly forgettable; likeable only because he was no longer overstaying his welcome.

As for possible solutions, if I had to rework him from the ground up, I'd probably take Jaune in one of two directions, if not a bit of both:

A pampered noble. Lean more into his sheltered upbringing and weak start. He's from a long line of Hunters but for whatever reason was not raised as one or just lacks talent. Like Weiss but without any of the bite.

An underdog. This would work more if he was from more humble origins, but basically a no-name dude trying to work his way from the bottom.

Personally, I would lean more towards Option 1, if only because Oscar is clearly of humble birth and I would want to keep them as distinct from each other as possible. But for both, I would emphasize his underdog vibe as a weak fighter, as that is the one aspect he has in the series that everyone else doesn't.

Oscar would be weak too, but that's because he has no experience nor need to fight up until he joins the plot. But for Jaune, he would just be plain bad. He's bad at fighting even when he wants to be good, given his lineage, and that already creates a solid arc for him to work towards.

While Oscar would be fine with not being a fighter, it would be a source of a massive inferiority complex for Jaune, which totally checks out with how he behaves throughout Volume 1 and Jaunedice - sometimes even sabotaging himself because he's too stubborn to swallow his pride and admit he's weak and needs help, because a scion of a reputable Hunter family shouldn't be this weak.

As for his dynamic with the rest of the cast, knowing this, I'd probably make him incredibly weak, but also incredibly determined. While other characters can be determined too, Jaune would be so to an absurd amount, because he has to make up for his weakness with sheer will and persistence. If he falls down, he would get up more times than everyone else because he falls down more than everyone else. When faced with a problem, his natural inclination would just be to throw himself at it until either side yields.

This would be compatible with him having lots of Aura too. He's like a rock - uncomplicated in nature and immovable when it counts. Rather than make him a tactician, I'd make him the source of morale of the cast. People would be inspired by Jaune because even if he doesn't contribute much to a fight, he'll always be the last one standing; and seeing him would encourage the others to stand back up and continue fighting.

#syto asks #rwby #blake belladonna #jaune arc #rwde

[mickeymagpie]

20 questions for fic writers

Tagged by @marypsue, thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

106 so far!

2. What’s your total word count?

321,819, which is somehow both lower and higher than i expected.

3. What fandoms do you write for?

a whole lot; most recently Rise of the TMNT, my fandom on ao3 with the most works is Rise of the Guardians. lots of rises.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

The Gravity Falls trans dipper one-shot, the FMA Ishvalan!Elrics AU, an into the spiderverse fic, raven cycle pov outsider, and a star wars force awakens one-shot. i give all my fics long song lyric titles so that's all the info yall are getting lmao.

5. Do you respond to comments?

I always start out trying to respond to everything when i post a new fic, but then i get overwhelmed pretty quick. lo siento mucho.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't usually go for angsty endings tbh! I like a lot of angst in the middle, or i go for kind of bittersweet endings.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

probably that star wars one; force awakens had just come out and i was one of many kylo ren woobifiers who wanted him to have accepted han's invite to come home.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

The most hate i've gotten is on a Different star wars fic where i made Luke trans and some people were Not happy. luckily, i have a permit (i can do what I want).

9. Do you write smut?

yeah lol. i don't post a lot of it though; most of the time i just share it with my discord friends.

10. Do you write crossovers?

all the time all the time babey.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

yes i've been notified 2 or 3 times that someone copied my stuff onto wattpad or ffnet. i usually go report them but don't care enough to follow up.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

I don't think so? not that I can remember. I've had one or two podficced though iirc.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

nnnnot a finished one. my friends and i do a lot of half fic writing and half rp that usually doesn't turn into a polished product (but it's still fun <3).

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

ALL TIME FAVORITE FLYNN AND LUCY TIMELESS. i've never written fic for them and the show isn't even GOOD but god the way they look like "she fixed him" bs on the surface but really they're each so perfect to make up for the other's shortcomings. also i always wanted so badly for someone to tell her to get her dog on a leash <3

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

ahaha,,,, the good omens roleswap fic is burning a hole in my document folder. i have an outline i just have no inspiration/motivation :(

16. What are your writing strengths?

characterization; particularly I've gotten the feedback that i'm good at writing characters in different circumstances from canon while keeping their personalities both Intact and Logically Justifiable.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

ending things, both in the sense that i start a lot of stuff and don't finish it, and the sense that i usually have too many ideas and don't know how/where to cut off a plot.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

google translate always does me dirty so now i usually just write the dialogue in english and use a dialogue tag like "she said in *insert language*"

19. First fandom you wrote for?

iiiiii think it was Rise of the Guardians! before that i mostly did over-dramatic RP on the cricket magazine forums where i had characters like a half-dragon bounty hunter.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

probably the ishvalan elrics fic! fma is already full of a lot of meaty concepts, and it was fun re-conceptualizing the canon plot and character beats while keeping the arching plot intact. stuff like that is like a puzzle to me, it's very satisfying when i finish one and it gets positive feedback!

tagging anyone who wants to do it, because im. so sleepy rn

#writing meme #tag meme

[the-bastard-and-the-pup]

Whumptober 2022: No. 2 NOWHERE TO RUN

Cornered | Confrontation

Warning for homophobic slur

(I did it, Mirrorworlders and Fox Siblings! This is the "Will and Nerron meet the asshole treasure hunter from Glass of Lead and Gold between books 3 and 4" fic I have been wanting to write for you forever! Also the story of their first hug. I hope you enjoy!)

"If it isn't the Bastard. I didn't think I'd meet one of your kind this far east. Are you hiding from Jacob Reckless here? I bet not having him around should be doing wonders for your career." Will saw Nerron's lip pull upwards into a brief snarl at the sound of the voice, baring his fangs for a second, but when he turned around from where he was sitting at the bar next to Will, his expression was one of mocking annoyance.

"And what about your career, Jakes? Still trying and failing to steal from little girls or have you started putting some actual work in?" The man standing in front of them did not posses an ounce of the skill Goyl had with schooling one's expression, his skin turning an angry red.

"Perhaps you need to get your rumours from better sources."

"Honestly, I really think I don't. Would you like to talk about your shortcomings some more? Such a broad subject and I would happily provide a new perspective." Will hid his smile by taking a sip of his drink because he felt like openly laughing would not deescalate the situation. Nevertheless, he enjoyed witnessing the exchange.

"I just want you to know that I was here first. So I suggest you pick something else to find", Jakes hissed. Nerron raised his eyebrows.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, we were originally just passing through." His face pulled into a grin that gave a good view of his teeth. "Though now you want us to leave, I am starting to get interested in this town."

"Careful, Goyl. You are far east. People here rarely get to see your kind."

"And therefore have less strong hard feelings about my kind than westerners."

"Just some advice between colleagues. I'll let you and your... companion enjoy your evening." Turning to leave, he addressed Will. "I commend you for your bravery, kid. I would want these teeth anywhere near my private parts. A word of warning, though? Make sure you remain useful and stay clear of bodies of water. His kind are prone to drowning those who outlive their usefulness."

The flying knife was a silver glint in the air that landed in the wall next to Jakes' face. The treasure hunter had a moment of startled surprise before Nerron leaned into his space, his hand closed around the knife next to the human.

"Does it look like I would need a body of water to end your life?", he hissed and leaned closer until their faces nearly seemed to touch. Many humans tended to get uncomfortable around Goyl and Will saw Jakes try to recoil with trying to get away from a creature his instincts told him was a predator.

"No, it doesn't", he bit out. "Is that what you want to hear? And you can back off, I am very much not interested. How about you behave like a civilised person and go back to your boy there, fag-" Will's stomach clenched, he hadn't had any idea this insult existed behind the mirror as well. But after all, even with all the magical objects and beings in this world, humans were humans. It occurred to Will that the subject of Nerron's attractions (in light of Sixteen's presence, Will hadn't felt the need to talk about himself in this regard) had never come up. Though to be fair, Nerron was rarely forthcoming when asked such personal questions.

Distracted by his thoughts, Will noticed only now why Jake had stopped talking abruptly and followed his line of sight to find the cause for it. He didn't have to look further than the small, human-like creature Nerron pulled out of his coat pocket.

"You really think your pet can just try to steal from me like that? Such a reckless little thing. Crawling into the wrong pocket could get it killed... so... very. Easily." Never breaking eye contact with Jake, he curled his fingers tighter and tighter around the little creature, making sure one of his claws was resting against the thin throat. Something cold seemed to grab Will's insides while observing the scene. Of course he had seen his friend fight and kill, but that had always been in defence of their lives. He had never done so for such sadistic reasons and Will found he didn't want to see it happen.

Jakes' jaw worked furiously, obviously trying to think of a way to stop Nerron, but not able to come up with one. Which Nerron noticed, a cold gleam in his eyes. Just when Will was about to step in, Nerron loosened his grip and pushed the thumbling into Jakes' coat pocket.

"If you'll excuse us, we need to get back on the road now." Nothing about Nerron's smile was remotely friendly. "I wish you the very worst of luck for this job." Without looking back, he pulled his knife out of the wall, picked up his sword and coat from his chair and left through the inn door. Distantly, Will thought about how his self from three years ago might have stayed to make some peace with Jakes. Now, he followed Nerron with no more than a brief nod at the man.

Once outside, Will sped up to a jogging pace until he caught up with Nerron on the way to their camp outside of town. Will had no idea what to say. Clearly, Nerron had been set off by something Jake had said, but... finding out what was a delicate matter. Saying the wrong thing might drive Nerron away and if the suggestion they could be intimate had offended him, addressing it in any way could be very bad indeed. Though Will very much hoped it wouldn't.

Nerron didn't acknowledge Will's presence until they had left town and were halfway to their camp, where he stopped walking.

"Aren't you worried about going to our camp with me? I might drown you in the nearest pond", he snarled without looking at Will. So this was why Nerron was so agitated. 'You won't, after all, your king needs me', Will might have joked, but this was not what should be said here. Instead, Will decided to share something he had never addressed before.

"I'm not worried. This isn't the first time someone told me things like that about you." Now he had Nerron's attention.

"What?"

"Two weeks after we started travelling together, one of your informants asked me if I still had all my fingers. Another if both my eyes are real. I also got the advice not to talk too much around you if I wanted to keep my tongue. I never cared about any of it and I'm certainly not going to start now."

"You saw me throw a knife at someone over a simple insult and then I nearly crushed-"

"I don't think the insult was simple. Don't forget that I spent time around Hentzau. I remember what people say about the Onyx. Not much of it, but... enough." I know what would have been done to you if the Onyx had decided you weren't of use to them. "And I know enough about you to know you're not like that. What happened in the inn didn't bring you pleasure. Just look at you. You hate the mere suggestion you could be like them."

"My reputation must have come from somewhere." But there was something else than defensive anger and pain in Nerron's voice now. That tentative hope let Will rake a step closer.

"I'm sure you did what you had to in order to get it. But having built that reputation saves one from having to act upon it too often, doesn't it? You're my best friend and you don't ever need to worry about me being afraid of you. Even when you're cornered and scared. In fact, do... would you like a hug?"

"We- we have found a gap in my vocabulary there. What are you offering?" The fact that Nerron had never been in a situation to learn the human word "hug" made Will want to give one all the more.

"Oh, it's the same as... maybe "embrace" is a word you heard before? It's something that helps me sometimes so I thought I'd offer." In this world of magic and fairy tales, a creature Will hadn't even known existed for most his life stood and looked at him like he was the most impossible thing in the universe.

"I haven't received a... hug in a long time, I think", Nerron admitted quietly. "But if you're offering..."

"I am and I also promise not to breathe a word of it to anyone. Come here." In theory, nothing about a stone creature with fangs and claws who was wearing scaly leather clothing and several weapons was huggable. In praxis, all these things were still there, but after a few seconds of stiffness, Nerron also practically melted into the arms Will put around him. And after another couple of moments, a pair of arms circled Will's back in an imitation of what he was doing. Even though this wasn't meant for his own comfort, Will allowed himself to close his eyes and take a deep breath where his face was pressed against stone skin. He had no idea how much time had passed before Nerron's hands lightly patted Will's back and he started to extract himself. Will hurried to react quickly so he wouldn't hold Nerron for longer than he was comfortable with.

"There's more where this came from", Will said with a smile, to spare Nerron the awkwardness of having to speak first. Nerron cleared his throat, the only sign he showed that his emotions had been affected by anything that had just taken place.

"Thank you. That is. Good to know for the future."

"Of course. Do you need rest tonight or should we pack up and get going?"

"I believe it's best if we put some distance between us and this town. Bartholomew Jakes is going to be livid as soon as he notices I nicked this while pushing his thumbling back into his pocket." He reached into his coat and pulled out something that looked like some kind of key, glowing faintly with engraved runes. An incredulous laugh erupted from Will, met with a smug grin from Nerron.

"Are we going to find the treasure before him, then?"

"We have better things to do, it's not like we are your brother. I just want to make this job as inconvenient as possible for him." The Goyl turned and flung the key into the nearest pond, where it disappeared in the murky water.

#whumptober 2022 #cornelia funke #tw homophobia #mirrorworld #mirrorworld series #reckless series #reckless #will reckless #nerron #bartholomew jakes #the glass of lead and gold #my writing #jadebastard

[smmpanelindias-blog]

Building a Fruitful Social Media Presence Is Like Growing a Garden

Many individuals believe that when they send off a web-based entertainment promoting effort, they will have huge numbers of companions and devotees, develop their email list by thousands and out of nowhere procure a six figure pay inside an exceptionally short measure of time. I've had numerous clients and potential clients who accept that in something like 3 months, they should be in that classification and think that on the off chance that I can't get that going for them, I personally do not merit my weight in salt.

This kind of reasoning is the shortcoming of purported on-line masters who make such crazy commitments and neglect to specify the measures of cash and time they put resources into request to think of these numbers (which might be produced).

ALSO VISIT:-How and When to Use Social Media Channels

Valid, there are a few characters who have developed their followings and records rapidly however they have worked resolutely to do as such. They don't simply put out 3 tweets per day, post once on their Facebook page, add something to their LinkedIn stream and become complacent. They don't go through 20 minutes daily via virtual entertainment.

Building a virtual entertainment presence resembles growing a nursery. It takes an arrangement, devices, expansion of supplements, expulsion of weeds, compost, and managing bugs and other nursery hunters to procure a decent collect of natural products, veggies or blossoms. I love cultivating and I love online entertainment so it simply seems OK that they require comparable methodologies.

The Arrangement

Indeed, even now (in the northern half of the globe where it is still winter), nursery workers are looking over their seed lists, deciding their requirements and requesting their seeds. They may as of now have collected, dried and put away seeds from last year's reap (think legacy tomatoes) that will be utilized in the current year's nursery. Those in the southern half of the globe may be requesting tubers, bulbs and trees.

On the off chance that these people don't yet have a nursery, they should arrange for where to put it so it gets the expected measure of sun, has great seepage and is helpful. They'll have to figure out which plants, trees or shrubs fill well in their environment and what kinds of food sources they like to eat so their work isn't without remuneration.

The main thing isn't to design anything over you can deal with.

In web-based entertainment terms, this implies analyzing every virtual entertainment stage, its subtleties and what kind of organizations will generally hang out there. As such, who is your ideal client and which web-based entertainment stages do they use the most?

Which virtual entertainment stages impact you and are bound to be utilized? A few people are befuddled by Twitter; others are exhausted by LinkedIn and others are irritated by Facebook's many changes. So pick the one(s) that you'll utilize.

Once more, the main thing isn't to design anything over you can deal with. Pick 2 and no more and focus on learning and developing those web-based entertainment stages first. Then you can add one more as you see fit.

The Apparatuses

As we as a whole realize there are many cultivating instruments out there however there are a couple of dependable devices that simply work better compared to other. A pitchfork, a digging tool, a rake, a cultivator, a post opening digger, and so on are great planting instruments.

There are additionally apparatuses that can be utilized in Online Entertainment.

Other than the essential locales and their relating cell phone applications there are Hootsuite, Market Me Suite, Tweetdeck, Support, Fledgling Social, and a bunch of different devices that you can use to use your experience via online entertainment. Do an examination to see which one(s) impact you.

Expansion of Supplements

Very much like most soil needs added supplements, for example, peet, sand (on the off chance that it has a ton of dirt) and treated the soil materials to create an incredible yield, so does your web-based entertainment.

Setting up your virtual entertainment profiles accurately using your watchwords, your site and other online entertainment joins (as space licenses), adding your photograph and a few intriguing goodies about you is an incredible nourishment for your web-based entertainment stages.

Web-based entertainment supplements likewise come as satisfied (both your own and arranged content).

Your own substance can be tips for progress in your specific specialty or blog entries that offer significant data to your perusers.

Arranged content will be content that you find and offer from confided in people in your industry (or who have given general interest data). It could try and be motivation quotes.

You might have seen that I did exclude attempts to close the deal in the supplement class However assuming you have developed (one more planting word) an extraordinary relationship with your devotees, your contributions will without a doubt be viewed as a supplement.

Manure

All plants need manure to assist them with developing.

Online entertainment needs compost, also.

I trust that this comes as clans, twibes, Tweet circles, sharing circles, for example, Social Buzz Club, Facebook share gatherings, and so on. Additionally included would be accommodation of your articles to article locales like EzineArticles and posting and remarking on other people's blog entries.

Expulsion of Weeds

Weeding is something that I despise yet it is a means to an end. It was particularly abhorrent when I lived on 10 sections of land of recently recovered land that was totally brimming with napweed. I probably burned through 16 hours seven days simply pulling weeds! Therefore, I came to comprehend the reason why God made winter - to give weed-pullers a rest!

In web-based entertainment, expulsion of weeds is important however fortunately considerably more handily achieved.

I have seen a great deal of my countrymen downsizing on their Facebook companions since they have lost contact with those with whom they need to stay in contact or they have become worried about who really sees what they are sharing (you don't be guaranteed to need outsiders taking a gander at photographs of your children or residence, however yet you need to be genuine and share a touch of what your identity is).

Numerous ladies have decided not to be associated with Foursquare because of safety concerns - don't bother empowering stalkers.

On Twitter, it's somewhat of an alternate situation. Twitter just permits you to follow 10% over how much individuals who are following YOU. On the off chance that you follow somebody who doesn't follow back, and it's not somebody whose content is that critical to you, you might need to end that follow.

There are two or three apparatuses that can be utilized to find and unfollow Tweeps who are not responding your follow. JustUnfollow.com is one source. Manageflitter.com and FriendorFollow.com are a couple more.

With LinkedIn, it's really clear who has not acknowledged your challenge to associate.

Managing Bugs and Different Hunters

Beside the bugs, we have a ton of deer, elk and moose in our space. And keeping in mind that they are delightful to watch, they can gobble up my whole harvest of treasure tomatoes or bed of tulips (which they aren't even expected to like) in 5 minutes or less. Therefore, we have needed to set up walls… TALL walls. The canines can't remain outside on account of the coyotes and the chicken yard is canvassed in netting for a similar explanation. You figure out how to adjust.

There will continuously be spammers, con artists, phishing abuses, infections and different dangers to your online entertainment accounts so you might have to raise your very own few walls.

In the web-based entertainment world, you couldn't in fact trust your genuine companions or regarded counsels on the grounds that THEIR records might have been hacked, also.

Be incredibly cautious about the connections you decide to click. Unfortunately, the connections that you get in regular postal mail on Twitter or confidential Facebook messages are likely the most risky ones of all. I never click on a solitary connection that I get in a Twitter direct message (which might be an interesting point while developing your own Twitter DMs - don't add interfaces; nobody will click them. The vast majority could do without Twitter direct messages by any means, truth be told.)

There are likewise a ton of phony records out there in the virtual entertainment world so don't naturally follow everybody back. Be separating - it's actually not necessary to focus on the numbers; it's about the nature of your associations. You need companions, fans and adherents that add to the development of your business (yield), or that you can serve here and there. (I will express this about counterfeit Twitter supporters - they frequently have extraordinary statements and I have been known to rehash them on occasion - yet not as a retweet.)

Reaping your Yield

Indeed, this appears as though a ton of work and it very well may be. Yet, very much like a nursery, the work is more troublesome initially and the prize of new blossoms, vegetables and the your rewards for so much hard work merits all of it.

Individuals that you meet, the connections that you create, the business training that you might find priceless, the feelings that you share with others along this excursion and the long lasting companionships that you might make because of developing an online entertainment presence are surely worth over 90 days and 20 minutes per day.

[marcussour]

In preparation for the release of Scarlet/Violet, went back to play Pokémon Sword. I had completed the main story and the post game content, but actually never completed the dex, or got everything, and never even got around to buy the expansion pack. Here are some random musings (TLDR in advance: it was okay):

- My memory of the game was that I liked it more than I remembered. Now, of course, it’s different going back to the game after the main things were completed, instead of playing the story as it went along. But as I was playing I started noticing the shortcomings even more, and basically what kept me from dedicating hundreds of hours to this game like I’ve been doing with pretty much all of them since gen 1.

- I mean, I think it’s a serviceable 6 or 7/10 game. There’s a lot of stuff to like but that’s like, barebones or showing some promise that eventually would’ve been capitalized in future games (nothing new for pokémon in that regard, but I think it’s far more noticeable in Sword/Shield). I think the main example it’s the Wild Area, it’s by far the best and more memorable bit from the game, and it shows the promise of roaming in an open space and what wonders that can do for pokémon, so it’s no wonder that it was expanded to full areas by way of Monster Hunter, in Legends: Arceus, and from there it was a natural progression to a full open world game in Scarlet/Violet (and if anything, it’s kinda remarcable that a studio so slow to adapt and evolve like The Pokémon Company went in just 3 years from Sw/Sh’s Wild Area, to Scarlet/Violet open world).

- It’s amazing in retrospective how this was probably the best pokémon game in term of trainers designs since the first two gens IMO. Specially when it comes to the gym leaders and main characters, almost all of them are really good, and there’s no wonder characters like Leon, Nessa or Marnie became so popular in so little time.

- I think the pokémon designs were really hit or miss (I know that people often said this about every generation, especially when they put their nostalgia glasses on to compare older generations to the newer ones). People often remember the more memorable designs (and this was the gen that gave us Scorbunny, Sobble, Corviknight, Wooloo, Galarian Weezing, Yamper, Sirfetch’d and many more), but I don’t think that there’s been any other gen where I literally forgot about many of it’s pokemon like with this one. Although I would be the first to admit that this might be due to the fact that, since the overall game experience was just fine and I didn’t find enough replayability value compared with other pokémon games, that might be the factor why I forgot about many pokémon.

- Not gonna go into story details, since this was about coming back to a file that already all that stuff done.

- I do think that the game’s main problem comes down to that it just feels like a new pokémon game, like, it ticks the requireable boxes and it’s certainly a pokémon game ™ in structure. And while it did try to innovate in some things (like the aforementiond Wild Area, or by tying the main story directly to the league championship), it didn’t went far enough and it shows. I know some people don’t like it for graphics reason or what not, but TBH, if anything, I think it looks better than I remembered (and also, I think in many ways Legends: Arceus felt like a visual downgrade, and yet, that game nailed it many beats to a tee -and it helps that it tried many new things, or new for pokémon at least-; it’s pretty telling that I almost never came back to Sword, but I dedicated many hours to Legends: Arceus until I reached 100% completion).

- Also, I kinda wished the game had leaned even more into the whole “pokémon battles are to Galar what football is to England” parallel. I mean, it’s ever present, and I love how the aesthetic of the game overall is kinda a look between football and punk (with even the gym specific uniforms resembling football jerseys). But I wished that they had included even more things, stuff like rivalrys (not only the one represented by Marnie and her hooligans) but maybe even more between the gym leaders or the different cities, like, Wyndon it’s one of the best cities design in all of Pokémon, and besides the League, there’s so little to do there (and what else there is, you can do it other cities). Also, if there was a chance to make a Pokémon World League or Championship, it definitively was this game (maybe they thought it would be too repetitive, since they had a similar bit in Sun/Moon with the Battle Tree). In that way, it’s great that the anime capitalized something that I wished the game had done.

- The soundtrack is really good and has some absolute bangers. We all know about the gym leaders battle theme, or Marnie’s theme (and Team Yell’s while we are on the subject); but I had no recollection that Circhester’s theme was such a great tune. And that’s just to name a few.

- Overall, like I said before, I think it was a fine experience. But coming back to the game it’s impossible not to feel a bit underwhelmed that it was basically a transitional game towards the experiences of Legends: Arceus and Scarlet/Violet, or that many of it’s best concepts and ideas were better used and capitalized by the anime. 

#pokémon #long post #random musings

[a-lil-perspective]

Thinking about later that night when Hunter and Cyare are settling in and Cyare is just thinking about how sweet Crosshair is with her babies and she suddenly has the overwhelming urge to find him a partner and she’s got to talk it out with Hunter. XD

—

She’s nestled against Hunter’s chest, her head falling back into his shoulder as he dutifully soothes away the ache, rubbing circles into her swollen belly while at the same time pressing warm, open-mouthed kisses along her neck and shoulders; all the places that have her melting into him.

“Better?” he murmurs against her skin.

She’s irrevocably at peace, having achieved the highest level possible for someone eight months pregnant.

“Much,” she breathes, settling back against him with only warm thoughts pervading. He reads her like an open book.

“Whatcha thinkin’?”

He’s in his own little paradise too, behind her, doting over his unborn child, rich hands cresting longingly over her swell. He’s always his most settled when he’s feeling for baby.

“Just thinking about a certain sniper Uncle. He’s so good with the girls.” Her pining is thick in the air, and she pauses to let it settle in order to get the full effect. “We need to find Crosshair a companion.”

Hunter chuckles noncommittally. “I’m not sure he’s ready for that.”

Cyare cranes her neck to look back at him, wearing the most solemn expression he’s ever seen. “Is anyone ever truly ready? And don’t say you,” she wags a finger in his face. “We met at the most inopportune time.”

“Yet here we are, having our second baby.”

Cyare hums. “You’re too ambitious for your own good.”

“You don’t seem to mind it.”

“Getting off topic, Sarge,” she flicks his forehead, and sighs. “All of the boys are wonderful with them but with Crosshair it’s just… I don’t know… it’s different,” she searches. Her hands creep their way into Hunter’s. “He’s so protective and nurturing in a way I recognize in someone else.”

Hunter laughs, more incredulous this time. “Crosshair and I are very different.”

“But you both share the same core instincts, just in ways individual to you. I see it because I have my own, as a mother.”

Hunter thinks on that. “You think Crosshair will ever be a Buir one day?”

“I don’t know; it’s hard to say,” she clicks her tongue. “I think a lot would have to happen, first. But he would be a wonderful Buir. I tell him all the time.” Cyare chuckles to herself. “I don’t think he believes me. Or wants to believe me.”

“Cross is bashful when he wants to be.”

“Entirely self-assured, I say. He knows he’s good. But, regardless,” she intertwines their fingers. “Whatever path he chooses, more than anything I just want him to be happy.”

Hunter pulls her close, voice cracking against the shell of her ear. “Me too.”

#tw pregnancy #tw relationships #tw parenthood #I have ~feelings~ #that won’t stop coming #I felt this was monumental to write out #it be important becuz like Hunter and even Cyare start out with a very narrow minded pov about their sniper guy #see and Hunter’s got a bit of a savior/superiority complex here that I’m playing with ever since the BB show manifested it #and I think it’s his kryptonite becuz he inadvertently puts strain on all his relationships #but Cyare especially learns as time goes on to better understand Crosshair and realize it’s okay if he doesn’t fit certain molds #and that he’s not any worse off if he remains partner-less for awhile #she starts to focus more on what makes him happy not what SHOULD make him happy #just his happiness in general is top priority #and u see the start of that shift here at the end #n like you can see that cyare is very much his advocate #one of many of hunter’s shortcomings I think #it’s just #so nuanced #and I have a huge ass fic about all that stuff that I really wanna finish for y’all #but I’m too busy writing side shit like dis #ba’vodu crosshair #ba’vodu bad batch #soft sniper sunday #cross’buir #papa hunterverse #papa hunter #sergeant hunter #cyare #crosshair #it’s a lil thing

[smokestarrules]

My Interpretation of Pen : Chikara : Katana (SPOILERS)

So I’m gonna be honest. When I started to watch this movie, Junna was my least favorite out of the main nine. I LOVE HER, but she was the one I was least interested in. HOWEVER. I am certainly interested in her now. Holy shit. 

Now, even in the very beginning of this, after she learns who she’s going to be fighting, Junna is already angry. Understandably so; after all, in Wi(l)d-Screen Baroque, Nana had callously slaughtered them all, and she’d severed Junna’s cloak without even giving her a glance. This is the person she’s been living with for the past two years (and for Nana, far longer) and she hadn't even looked her in the eyes when she defeated her, because, seemingly, she hadn’t cared. 

These two are the pair that had the least amount of conflict in the anime, and this Revue plays on that previous stability; the setting is outside of Seisho, the same place Junna had cheered Nana up after her defeats against Hikari and Karen. And with Nana being the one in control initially, this is clearly a strategic move. 

Pen : Chikara : Katana begins very similarly to Wi(l)d-Screen Baroque had, with many of the same tones. Nana’s barely even acknowledging Junna as a person anymore, and she’s certainly not acknowledging this Revue as anything but a continuation of her previous one. Nana attacks directly at Junna’s weakest points immediately; showing video evidence of Junna’s shortcomings and failures and shoving them in her face as if to say my victory is inevitable. 

And yet...

This isn’t Nana. Nana’s color has never, ever been red, and this particular shade of it has never been anyone’s but the Giraffe’s and his deadly Stars. This is the Giraffe’s influence showing freely in her actions and thoughts, and it is him who has pitted them against each other once again. Nana and Hikari are the two who seem to be the weakest against his influence, and that’s because they are two of the most caring. 

It’s safe to say that Junna begins this Revue terrified. This is the person who recently demonstrated enough skill and shine to defeat them all, so how she is supposed to win on her own? There’s that, and there’s also the rift that Nana’s torn between them in showing no mercy, and worse, no recognition. 

This entire Revue, Junna is set up to fail.  She begins on her knees and weaponless, Nana standing behind her one sword drawn and the other sitting in front of her. Of course, they can’t bleed in these Revues probably, but Nana’s sword is still stained red as Junna runs, because in her mind, she’s already won. 

But Junna is, above all things, a fighter. Even when desperately outmatched, she is not one to quit, and so she fights back, caging Nana like a rabid animal. This is the Revue of Hunting, and now both of them have established themselves as both Hunter and Prey. Junna’s already ran, with Nana following, but now Nana is the one trapped. And with that, it’s actually Junna who’s rewarded with the first few lines of the song. 

But Nana’s not done yet. 

“You were beautiful. You were foolish, blazing, and beautiful.” (N) Note the past tense. Nana is perhaps the one who uplifts the rest the most out of anyone, and she knows exactly how to tear them down. 

“You were dazzling, Hoshimi Junna.” (N) And when the moment comes, she doesn’t go for Junna’s cloak because she doesn't need to. She said it herself, these are not the same auditions they’ve fought in before; you make your own rules inside to determine how someone wins. Cloaks aren’t necessarily the winning thing here, and so Nana goes after something far worse; the physical sign of Junna’s own brilliance, her gemstone. This is a direct attack against Junna’s entire drive; this is Nana saying you are not good enough to succeed anymore. She doesn’t have to break Junna’s cloak, because with this blow, she’s broken Junna. She even leads her second blade in front of Junna, and I think she left it there so that Junna could cut her own cloak with Nana’s weapon, entirely hopeless. 

Which.......  almost works. Junna is broken, and the music returns to how it began; rumbling and tense, waiting for Nana to declare her victory. Nana even acknowledges Junna’s crying as a parallel to her own breakdown in the anime, which had happened in this very place -- the grounds of Seisho. 

But then Junna realizes that she can’t keep relying on other people’s words. She takes Nana’s blade, yes, but not to cut off her cloak, no, instead, she does this.

And here the tides turn. She takes Nana’s blade and rebuilds her brilliance with it. She says “Try and see if you can kill me, Daiba Nana!” she challenges Nana in return; she refuses to lose. 

Immediately, the stage is flooded with yellow, and Junna takes over the song almost effortlessly. She’s still knocked down, but she gets back up again and keeps fighting. And Nana? Nana’s unsettled. She demands her katana back, she insists that Junna’s out of her league, but Junna keeps. getting. up. 

“All you do is parrot borrowed lines. Your star is just a piece of space trash.” (N) Again, doing anything she can to discredit Junna, to defeat her drive, but Junna’s done listening. 

“Gotta try to kill me, right!! Don’t you!” (J) Junna is refusing to go down unless Nana makes her stay down. If Nana wants to win, she’ll effectively have to kill her. 

“Her” Junna wouldn’t stand on her feet and declare you’ll have to kill me. “Her” Junna wouldn’t have kept getting up after being knocked down, time after time. This isn’t Nana’s Junna anymore; she doesn’t need to fall back on Nana anymore. She can push forward on her own now. And then everything goes blue. Nana’s not in charge anymore. Junna doesn't need the role Nana’s given her; she doesn’t need to be “Nana’s” anymore. 

And in the end, Nana’s the one without her cloak. 

And look, see how their colors intertwine now; Nana’s yellow (note, a much more saturated one than the sickly color from her Revues in the anime) focused on Junna and Junna’s light, dull blue on Nana. Nana’s been defeated, and she has to learn to move on. Of course.. there’s always going to be another stage for the both of them, they just have to be patient. 

“Let the curtain fall. We’ll meet each other in due time.” (J) - Beaten, Nana lets Junna finish the Revue without another word. She’s deserved it. And once again, Nana cries at their parting, cementing the connection between this Revue and their old conversation when she let herself break down. 

They’ll be okay. 

#hhhhhh them #RS #revue starlight #shoujo kageki revue starlight #revue starlight spoilers #nana daiba #junna hoshimi #junnana #smokey speaks

[mandoinevarro]

NO APPOINTMENT, NO MEETING

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 4

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Words: 9.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: so ok descriptions of blood (it’s only one sentence and I don’t think it’s too bad but just in case), remembering trauma/triggering memories, angst. now for the fun part: SMUT, one (1) thigh spank, a sprinkle of dirty talk, a dash of praise kink, spitting, oral (f receiving), vaginal sex, maybe cockwarming but for like two minutes

a/n: happy 2021!!! only one chapter left after this one so enjoy. for the hornies who only want fun and sexy times: scroll to the bottom and work your way up, smut is like 3/4 in.

……………

In the blue morning light, Nevarro is almost beautiful.

The deserted lava fields spread in flat terrain as far as the eye can see, bumps and dips where magma cooled creating waves like a black ocean. Among the tide, obsidian turtle shells shimmer like dark mirrors, where Din Djarin studies his face. It startled him when he crawled from the tent to take the pram inside; when he glanced at the ground and the ground glanced back. His face cloudy and warped by irregular volcanic rock, he barely recognized it. It’s not rare for his features to blur in his memory sometimes, especially when he’s out working for days at a time unable to catch a glimpse of himself. Vanity is not one of his many shortcomings—hiding your face for decades is a mighty vaccine against it.

But today something’s different. The reflection peering up at him belongs to a stranger. Relaxed eyebrows, a hooked nose (has the curved always been so pronounced?), lips that faintly curl up. Content brown eyes. His mirrored counterpart is a sentient being below him, plump with blood and oxygen. Alive.

He looks happy.

However, morning weighs heavily on Din, he can see it in the bags below his eyes. It stings like a hangover, like the only hangover he ever had, back when he was an eighteen-year-old idiot and used the credits of his first bounty to get a flask of spotchka from some seedy bar. He remembers sitting in his crammed quarters at the old Covert, chugging the bottle on his own, methodically forcing himself to swallow against the burn. Waiting. Waiting for the alchemy to kick in, for the magic toxins that flushed drunks’ faces, lubricant that oiled their scowls into easy smiles. Waiting to feel what everyone else felt, just for a moment.

Lifting his head, Din peers ahead. Shadows of the city’s buildings creep above the horizon like a bad omen. The opposite of a promised land. Hunchbacked buildings stain the blue-gray sky, abruptly interrupt the intricate lava patterns, Nevarro the planet versus Nevarro the city. Din’s stomach crumples. One, maybe two hours by foot. One, maybe two hours, and last night will fade into a distant memory, a collection of ghost sensations.

But not yet. Right now, last night is still real. You are still real.

Crawling back into the tent, he licks his lips for the millionth time today. He can still taste you: that thick, salty-bitter taste, so much better than he could’ve imagined. He hopes it stays on his lips for a long time; or, at least, that he can replace it soon.

Inside, you’re curled up with his cape, a blooming bruise above your shoulder peeking out, the baby’s pram hovering next to you. He sits down, careful not to awake either of you, and runs a finger down your shoulder, feels the skin prickle. He buries his nose on the back of your hair and inhales: rain and earth as usual, but his soap too, a part of him that clings to you. Lips on the crook of your neck, Din smells himself on you, wonders if you’ll want to wash his scent away, or if you’ll want it to stay on you. You stir, your soft exhales gain a rasp. Din smiles. You do snore, after all.

He’ll have to wake you soon. He knows. He knows. You need to talk about last night. You need to have the frank conversation that you’ve both been postponing for way too long, back when you floated in dead space, no deadlines, no rush at all to make decisions. But things have changed, and he knows what he wants now, and he knows it can’t wait. Yet every time his fingers brush your shoulder to nudge you awake, he pulls them back. He’s never seen you so peaceful, not moving except for your expanding and contracting chest, the light fluttering of your lashes. All the fight in your body gone, those tall bridges around you down and inviting. So different from when he met you.

If there’s one thing Din’s good at, it’s sniffing out trouble. He had to be, if he wanted to make it in the Fighting Corps. In the Bounty Hunter’s Guild. He can sweep a room with a mental black light, spot the people who flare up white and bright, the ones he needs to stay away from—or approach, depending on the situation. And that day at the cantina, the first time he laid eyes on you? You glowed with it. Talking big game in Karga’s booth, laughing with your pretty smile and shuffling cards, you beamed with trouble, bright as radiation and just as dangerous. What needed to happen was clear as day. The Mandalorian needed to turn on his heels immediately, strut out of that bounty hunter hive without a second look, and never, ever, ask about you.

He’d been there before.

Mandalorians, despite common belief, are not made of beskar. Not on the inside, at least. They’re all warm blooded organics, burdened with flesh and internal organs and skeletons; pain and pleasure receptors. Older Mandalorians cautioned younger ones when they came of age and finished their training, when they were ready to become providers. Tall stern warriors, his superiors, warned that there would be temptation, situations that would make him doubt the Way. “Even the briefest taste,” Din’s former Alor said with that cavernous voice he had, “can be the point of no return.” And he was right.

Outside the Covert, there was so much…stimuli. Voices and colors and movement, a twenty-four-hour beehive, the galaxy buzzed and vibrated to no end. It was equally wonderous and grotesque, like a circus. The strenuous noises that rattled his ribcage, the strong smells, the different food, his senses had never felt more exhausted. The faces…stars, the faces. How muscles stretched in a big smile, the glint of teeth, the deep creases between eyebrows that signaled anger. Always moving, always changing, Din hadn’t seen so many uncovered heads since he was a child. His first few weeks outside he’d stare at people for hours until they scurried away or tried to fight him. Tried.

Then, when the initial shock wore out, he noticed other details. The way children’s eyes filled with admiration when they’d look at their parents, how that dimpled girl in Alderaan would blush and stutter whenever he bought something from her stall. And Din would wonder, despite all warnings, what it’d feel like to be one of them. To share so much of himself with the outside world. With time, curiosity morphed into obsession, obsession into desperation, and soon enough he found himself with Rand and the others, running rampant in an already chaotic galaxy.

One war, two decades, and a thousand regrets later, the curiosity died down. The helmet helped him tune out the outside world, made it easier to retreat into his memories. The galaxy seemed duller by the day, emptier. Lonelier, though he didn’t dwell on it.

That is, until he met you.

Until his resolve circled the drain and he asked Karga who you were and where to find you, walked into your store without an idea of what he’d say. Behind the counter, eyes shining and that silky voice asking what you could do for him, you reset the galaxy for him. Every time he visited you felt like his first day outside all over again.

But last night—that was stronger, set in stone. It felt like commitment. Something was born last night, something burgeoned in his chest and took root. Din can feel the fullness in his body, like he grew an extra limb, similar to the swell that tangled in his insides when he went back for the kid. He doesn’t have a name for it yet, but it reminds him of the day he swore the Creed. The fresh sense of purpose, the carved-out path in front of him, knowing what needs to be done:

When the siege is over, he’ll take you with him.

“Are you watching me sleep?” you mumble, cotton mouthed. “Kinda creepy.”

Din chuckles, then remembers. Stars, his heart stops beating for a second. Dread and natural reflexes throw his palm whip fast over your closed eyes. Maker. What the hell was he thinking, sitting next to you without the helmet. Maker, one second too late and you could’ve opened your eyes and—

“Didn’t see anything. Promise,” you say with a smile and pull his cape over your face. “Cover up.”

He pats around for the helmet (where the hell did he drop it last night?), finds it abandoned by your feet. When he fits it around his head, the familiar padding hugging his skull, he swears it feels heavier than it did yesterday.

“You decent?”

“Yeah.”

You lower the pseudo blanket, sleepy eyes and easy smile. As if you purposefully want to make it harder for him to strike up a conversation. But do I really need to— Yes. Yes, he does. He has to know where you stand and ask the big question: If you’d be willing to leave with him once the siege is lifted. Stars, his hands are sweating. But he can’t imagine you’d say no. Not after last night.

“Listen…”

As if on cue, whimpers and sniffles float from the closed pram. Great timing, kid. The baby’s ears droop like wilting leaves when Din places him on the ground, and the little bundle waddles with his eyes cast down until he reaches your ankle.

“What is it, kiddo?” you ask softly, your voice gentler than Din’s ever heard, sitting up as you hug his cloak tighter around your shoulders.

“I think…” Din begins, watching the baby sniffle and hug your bandaged calf. “I think he’s apologizing.”

A pair of eight-ball eyes blink at you, shiny with unshed tears, and Din feels an ache deep in his chest. This sweet little kid, all he’s been put through…

“Oh, don’t worry,” you coo, as one of your hands wriggles out the cloak and cradles the baby’s cheek. Your thumb brushes away a fat tear. “I’m tougher than your dad.” You wink at Din: Just kidding. But it’s true. Living in this planet for so long, all on your own. “Tough�� is a survival skill for you, not a choice.

Also…dad. He should probably correct you. Din is not the kid’s real father, even though he’s caught himself thinking about the baby as his son once or twice, when he’s not too aware of his inner monologue. But he can’t bring himself to tell you the truth. Actually, he belongs to a race of wizards that I’ve been quested to deliver him to. Can’t adopt him if I’ll eventually give him up. Not when the kid’s shedding quiet tears into your leg and you’re doing your best to soothe him. Nevarro’s not child friendly, and Din can’t imagine you’ve got much practice with baby stuff, but he can tell you’re doing your best. And that’s enough to spread warmth through his chest.

What a troop you must make: Mandalorian bounty hunter, black market dealer, magic green baby. You could set up a three-person circus and retire. Yet the image tugs at a memory tucked away in his mind, something familiar but blurred.

His rumination’s cut short when Din notices the kid’s pudgy hands extending strategically on either side of your right leg, his eyelids beginning to flicker. Shit, shit, shit.

“She forgives you,” he tells the kid hastily as he scoops him and lays him on the open pram. He doesn’t need to be the little womprat’s real father to tell he was about to whip out his favorite party trick: healing witch powers. So far it doesn’t look like it permanently harms him, but it does weaken him, and Din can’t take chances. Plus, he skipped the part about the baby having supernatural powers when he told you his story, and there’s not a hell of a lot of ways one can explain fresh wounds disappearing.

“So,” you say after the baby’s settled in his pod. “What are we going to do,” you start, and Din’s throat knots with dread and excitement, “about the jammer.”

Oh. Stars, straight to business

“You said you have one.”

“I said I might have one,” you answer, grabbing for your discarded skirts. You fumble with them under the cloak, one hand clasped tight around it. It’s funny—after everything you’ve shared, you won’t undress in front of him during the day. “I mean, jammers aren’t picky like motors, they’re more one-size-fits-all.”

“But we still have to rewire it,” Din completes, wiping dry drool from the kid’s cheek with his thumb.

“Right.” Holding the cloak with your chin while you clasp your tunic, you seem to slowly draw your way out of a maze. That restless abacus in your head adding and subtracting. Your brows relax, and Din knows you’ve figured it out. “But I’ve got my equipment in my workshop, and we’d save time not having to remove it from a ship. And, no offense, but the Crest’s jammer was an antique. Way more complicated than newer models.” You finish dressing and hand him the cloak. “Only problem is the potential trooper stakeout outside the store.”

“I’ll take care of troopers.” Din takes the cloak and hesitates. It’s day nine, that time bomb still ticks in his head. Could it be that easy? Could you really do all this in one day? “What if we don’t finish on time?”

“Then,” you say, “we’ll figure something out.”

We, Din thinks, and smiles. Somehow, that’s all the reassurance he needs.

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Nevarro couldn’t look more deserted if tumbleweed rolled in the streets. The city’s a populated ghost town, no man’s land that’s filled with men. Well, men is a strong word. How did Viszla put it that time? We live hidden like sand rats. Yes, rats seems more fitting. Packs of them, scurrying around the former Covert, stealing Mandalorian armor to be bartered for scraps. Karga didn’t have to spell it out when he told him about people finding the Covert. Mando is familiar with the ways of the Outer Rim: Anything unclaimed is up for the taking, and beskar’s too tempting to resist. Knowing doesn’t make his blood boil any less, though. If Din focuses, he can almost hear their squeaking echoing from the sewers, the scavengers of this gray rock serving themselves to the abandoned armor of his people.

Movement to the left. The Mandalorian draws his blaster and bars you with his forearm, to see…a tunic. A short tunic. Tiny red lights. A Jawa. He exhales and sheathes the blaster. Stars. With the vembrance turned off, he has to rely on bare eyesight to scan for danger.

The Jawa drags a sleigh behind him. On it lies a dead or unconscious trooper (it makes no difference to these creatures), its gloved fingers drawing traffic lines on the mud and ash of unpaved streets. Red stars below the cowl focus on you for half a second, the bounty hunter’s hand approaches his blaster, and…

…and the Jawa waves at you, says “hello” in its squeaky language. You wave back, smiling, and the lump of shadow continues on its way. A neighborly gesture that in this context is plain bizarre.

“Old friend of yours?” Mando asks, walking again.

“Associate,” you correct, running a finger along the kid’s left ear until it twitches and he giggles. “Jawas scavenge parts straight from the wreckage, eliminate the middle man. And they don’t report to the New Republic.”

You mean steal from the wreckage, Din almost says, but bites it back. He supposes he can’t judge you for trading with Jawas. Prospects on the Outer Rim are bleaker than ever, and everyone’s got to eat. Especially during a siege.

Maker, sometimes he can’t believe he convinced himself to leave you here. Marooned in the type of place Core World citizens only talk about with shaking heads and disapproving voices. The type of place that makes people feel better about their lives, because hey, it could be worse, at least I don’t live in Nevarro. Granted, Din didn’t know then there’d be a siege. After the fight, after he bid goodbye to Cara and Karga, he hovered on the atmosphere for longer than was safe, gazing down at your store’s roof from the Razor Crest’s cockpit. His head a seesaw, weighing his options and unable to make a decision. You were still so close. He could fly back down to the surface, knock on your door, and take you away with him like he did with the kid.

Would you say yes? Reject him?

But most importantly: what about his quest? What kind of life would you lead travelling with him, a fugitive of the Empire and the New Republic? Life for Din has been defined by survival. Every day he’s had to get up and fight; fight to an inch of his life, fight with concussions, frostbite, shattered ribs. Knife wounds, blaster wounds. Personal wounds. He didn’t want that for you. You’re young, clever, resourceful. After that day, maybe you’d decide Nevarro was too dangerous. Maybe you’d pay your passage on a cruiser and start over in the Core Worlds, make your luck own there. Find a good man, if that’s what you wanted.

So he started the thrusters—the same ones he bought from you so long ago—and jumped into hyperspace with a semi clear conscience. This was best for everyone. You probably wouldn’t have accepted his offer, anyway. For five months he lived with his decision. And then he learnt about the siege.

In the sky, a string of river pearls forms a pattern like a necklace. Imperial cruisers, tie fighters, every ship that Guideon commands, solemnly presiding over Nevarro, itching to shoot down runaways. They’re too far up in the atmosphere to make out anyone in the surface, but Mando grabs your arm and coaxes you behind him all the same, his grip on the pram tighter. The memory of that imp’s blaster on your forehead is still too fresh. The dried blood on your legs.

Din glances back at you briefly. You catch his eye and smile—not grin, not smirk—but smile, a pretty, kind smile that would put to shame any of the imaginary Naboo girls you were so worked up about two nights ago. He should know, he’s been to Naboo, and none of the women there had your kaleidoscopic face, those hints of life that send his pulse on a sprint. The Mandalorian wonders what else you could be hiding under that sharp tongue, behind those clever eyes.

“Mando,” you call and point at a blackened mass to your right. “Nursery’s this way.”

All buildings in Nevarro emerge from volcanic rock, pushing away from clumps of hardened magma. They’re half-manmade, half-volcano hybrids—it’s a useful layout that gives their structure grip against constant earthquakes. It also, however, makes the buildings look like tumors growing on the navel of an ill planet. Your store’s the only one that’s never looked malignant, more like a sprouting flower than a parasite.

And now, the cantina too. Burned to a crisp, blacker than night, the former Church of Nevarro seems to have been swallowed by its unwilling host: the volcanic rock it was built upon. It’d be near impossible to know there’s a cantina inside, if not for the wide window peering inside. And it’s far from impossible for you or Mando, who know by heart where all the doors stand. He pushes one open for you, and together you walk inside.

“Thumb on the bottom, middle and ring fingers on the top, index to the side,” instructs Cara from behind the cantina’s crisp black counter. “The other side.”

Greef Karga sits on a stool opposite her, fumbling with a deck of cards. “Got it. Then what?”

“Then…” The veteran moves aside a flask of ardees and places a matching deck on the bar. “Pressure with your index, release the thumb.” She acts out her instructions and creates an arched ribbon spread on the surface. The Mandalorian can’t remember the last time he walked into the cantina and didn’t see the hypnotic patterns on cards, didn’t hear the wing-flapping noise of their shuffle. Although if he thinks about it, it makes sense that sabacc is the local sport around here. Dumb luck is the only god in the Outer Rim, where inhabitants gaze perpetually at their uncertain future and never look back. Tomorrow they’ll get a better hand, yesterday’s lost credits are forgotten. Everyone here seems to shed their past like snake skin.

“Nice spread, Dune,” you call. Greef and Cara follow your voice, realize they have visitors. “You should job hunt at Canto Bight.”

“Oh yeah?” replies the ex-shock trooper with an impish grin, both elbows on the counter and a rag over her shoulder, all bartender swagger. “What do you know about Canto Bight, hot stuff? Heard you’ve never been off this rock.” She spies a sly glance at Mando, enough to confirm that she’s annoying him on purpose, openly flirting with you. He squares his stance, rolls the helmet to pin her down with the visor, but (he really should know this by now) it does little to intimidate her.

“No trash talk before nightfall, ladies,” quips Karga, walking towards the pram. “And certainly not in front of babies. Hello, little one!” Said little one coos and lifts his skinny arms to be lifted by the Guild Leader, who sits back down delighted at having the baby’s favor, the little rascal on his lap. “He likes me!” Greef Karga smiles wide, flashing those white glinting teeth that’ve always reminded Din of a wolf’s. He’s not happy to leave the kid here, but he can’t take him if there’s a stakeout in your store. Beggars can’t be choosers and so on. But Cara’s here, and Din knows he can trust her with the baby. Though not with you, evidently.

“Tell you what, Mando,” Cara continues, apparently not done peacocking around you. “We arm wrestle, just like last time. Winner gets a flask of spotchka and the opportunity to take the lady to Canto Bight after you lift the siege.”

“Help us lift the siege and I’ll consider winning that flask.”

Dune lets out an long whistle, giving you a complicit look. “Big words.”

Your eyes rake along the Mandalorian’s armor slowly, boots to helmet, a dark tint in your eyes. Din flushes, the oppressive heat of his clothes suddenly thicker.

You shrug and answer, “Big man.” Your fingertips dance idly around the nape of your neck, which makes Mando think about last night, about his tongue on your neck and the purple bruises he sucked, the salty taste of flesh, the heady one between your legs. The memory steers blood into…into awkward places. Which, knowing you, was your intention. Maker, he needs to talk to you about teasing him in public.

“Help you how?” asks Greef, lifting the baby into the counter, whose six little claws hold on to two of his gloved fingers.

“Look after the kid, we won’t be more than a few hours.”

“Sure thing!” booms Karga, at the same time as Cara says, “Fuck no.”

You fold your arms at the veteran. “You scared of an infant, Dune? It’s only one of him, and…” you squint at the cantina’s black shell, like something’s out of place in its burned remains, “…two of you. Where’s—” you start, before glancing at Mando and swallowing the second half.

“Duma?” supplies Karga, tapping the corners of the deck on the counter. “Don’t know, probably boiling beskar to make broth. Rumor has it she’s running out of supplies, fast. Did you ever take her up on that deal?”

Your eyes shoot vibroblades at him, your mouth a flat line.

“What deal?” Mando asks.

“Nothing,” you reply, still glaring warnings at Karga, who sighs, shakes his head, and tickles the baby’s tummy. The kid giggles and kicks half the deck off the counter. “Nothing important. We should get going.”

Outside, you guide the Mandalorian through a maze of back alleys, the ugly underbelly of a planet that’s already the galaxy’s own underbelly. Mando glues a palm to his blaster’s grip, lifting it only as muscle memory to turn on the vembrance and activate the setting to scan footprints, frustrated when he remembers his own piece of equipment would immediately snitch on him. Yet you glade past dark corners that beg for their own knife-brandishing mugger with the grace of someone frolicking in D’Qar’s moorlands, postcard-calm.

Once in your store’s backdoor, the Mandalorian ventures a glance at the front street. Empty. Like the rest of the city, it’s like curfew was declared, not an imp in sight. Certainly not a stakeout in process. Behind him, you push the door open, the busted security panel no more than a prop to discourage robbers.

“What?” you ask when he doesn’t walk inside.

“There’s nobody here,” he answers, studying the connecting alleys like a web of arteries, waiting for a trooper squadron to materialize and ambush you.

“It’s quiet too quiet?” you tease with a lopsided grin. “Lay off the thrillers, Mando. Come on.”

You step inside, he hesitates. “Could be a trap.”

Hands on the doorframe, leaning forward, your face almost touches the helmet. “Then you’ll shoot them and we’ll be back to square one. Not much of a choice here, Mando.” Those pretty eyes, your shining, wet lips. It’s a siren’s call he knows he shouldn’t answer.

The Mandalorian follows you inside.

It takes him a moment to recognize his surroundings.

Your store hibernates in the dark, stale air floating around its vault. Your store, which used to buzz with drills and neon lights and life around the clock, looms like a beast’s hollow belly, crypt-still. Lights off and furniture wrapped in sheets, it looks abandoned, the way all those family houses in deserted villages were hastily vacated during the war. He wonders how long you’ve been out of business because of the siege. Because of him.

You walk across the reception in tomb silence. In the reception signs hang next to the front desk—store policies that gave Mando more than one headache—dark and colorless, like they turned in their badges and no longer preside over this place. Only “NO IMPS” twitches, one or two agonizing flashes of neon green, before it shuts down like its colleagues. Six rules in total, although in Din’s opinion there’s a seventh that foregoes the need of a sign: “NO QUESTIONS”.

That’s a rule that everyone in Nevarro—bounty hunter or not—subscribes to. It’s the rule you followed when the Mandalorian walked into your store, still crafting some half-assed excuse about thrusters when he came face to face (helmet to face?) with you. You never asked about New Republic guidelines or what he wanted them for. Not even for his name. No questions when he came back two weeks later. No questions as weeks passed and then months, as tension thickened between you until his internal barometer cracked.

No questions when his thinning resolve broke one night. That night. He pushed you onto your workbench, you undid each other’s belts, pawed at each other’s sides. No questions when he slid into your wet heat, when he had to stop for a second to avoid a heart attack. No questions when he finished inside you, blood roaring in his ears, your sighs clouding his visor, your hand gently pushing him back.

And then, his question: “Where are you going?”

“Upstairs,” you answered, pulling your trousers back around your hips.

It dropped on his head like freezing water. Upstairs. Upstairs to your apartment, to rest. Alone. Meaning your encounter was a one-night stand, a shortcut to let off some steam. Stars, you were basically swinging the front door wide open for him, putting away a couple of wrenches and switching off the lights to signal the night was over. The Mandalorian didn’t need questions to know he’d overstayed his visit.

But…what if he’d spent the night anyway? Maybe the next morning he would’ve been upfront with you, confess he’d wanted you for so long and that he wanted it to evolve past one furtive encounter, that he wanted it to be real. No, he probably wouldn’t have. As a bounty hunter—as Mandalorian—there are things he simply can’t have. Things that are better off unspoken, better off—

“Tucked away,” you say behind him, making the Mandalorian jump.

“What?”

“The planner.” You walk behind the front desk. “I was saying I don’t remember leaving it here. I thought it was tucked away in some box.”

Oh.

It is strange. A light sheen of dust covers the counter, yet the planner is glossy clean, a painted depiction of the Manarai Mountains on its cover. A souvenir from Coruscant. He wonders who brought you that. It tugs at something sweet but sad in his chest, the fact that you have to rely on others’ cheap souvenirs to explore the galaxy. That’ll change as soon as this mess with the siege is settled.

You flip through the planner, empty for the most part but for a few scribbles on the first pages. It’s dated 5 ABY, four years ago. The Mandalorian knows from experience that your appointment rule works mostly to turn away unsavory clients. Or to get on his nerves.

“Look at that,” you murmur as if reading his mind, your finger pointing at nothing on a page. “You don’t have an appointment, Mando.”

“We don’t have time for this,” he answers, though he knows he’ll make time for it anyway. It used to drive him up the wall whenever you refused to see him using that stupid excuse. But, as with everything with you, it was more complicated than that. It took longer than he’s willing to admit to understand that it was a game. That you liked him riled up, after the push and pull, the hot and cold, the challenge. You had a taste for difficulty. Although it didn’t take as long to figure out that he liked it too. “Just let me in.”

“I don’t know,” you drawl, glancing at the dull signs on the wall. “Rules are rules.”

The Mandalorian has played this game with you enough to know what you want. He thinks of all those memories in this building. You, pinned between his armor and the doorframe; him, sitting on that battered couch upstairs with your hands on his knees. Even those calm nights, when you’d only sit and talk and make him laugh, and sometimes he’d get a laugh from you too, if he didn’t try too hard. All the sweating and the panting and the talking that these walls have witnessed. Maybe there’s time for one last memory before you both leave this planet for good. Not maybe—there’s definitely time. If this were an ambush, you’d be dodging blaster shots by now.

“So bend the rules,” he says slowly, gripping his edge of the counter and dropping his voice to the low register that gives you goosebumps. “For me.”

Your eyes twinkle like copper at the fact that he’s playing along. “And what do I get in return?”

This time, he doesn’t hesitate. “Whatever you want.” Perhaps he’s known for a while, in the back of his head where he could ignore it, but last night the idea rushed to his front lobe. He’ll give you anything you want.

“I want…” you begin, mischief shining in your eyes, before a shadow clouds them. Slowly, your face goes soft, a special kind of longing in your pupils. You swallow, your voice becomes throaty, and the words sound truer than anything Din’s ever heard: “I want you. I just want you.”

He almost trips on his feet when he rounds the counter, his head already swimming. The hunter crowds you with his body, backs you up against the counter until you’re caged and looking up at him, hooded eyes and parted lips. Hot stuff. Cara’s shallow pet name. When he heard it he thought it was inappropriate. But now. As your mouth nestles on his clothed neck and breathes hot, damp air through the fabric—a mild sensation for most people, he guesses, but almost a mating call for him—he realizes it’s not untrue. The name fits you like a glove, hot stuff. It’s just…incomplete. If he’s learnt anything these nine days is that there’s so much more to you, enough sailor knots of emotion and personality inside you to loop around the galaxy if unraveled.

“Touch me,” you breathe, rubbing up against him, searching friction. “Please, please, touch me. There’s nobody here, we—we have time.”

Gloved palms on your waist, down to your hips, lower to your ass, Din tries to fondle you as best he can. He pins you between the counter and his hips, your leg curls around his back and holds him closer. His erection starts to bulge against your belly, your breaths start quickening, your hearts start pumping faster. The tell-tale signs that indicate you’re both ready to go hit all their usual beats. But something’s missing. There’s a step you’re skipping, something…something he’s not doing right.

Tentatively, you press a small kiss on his covered neck, and he can only feel its frustrating whisper, a promise of more.

A lightbulb flicks on.

Mando holds your hips and spins you around, the desk’s edge on your waist. “Bend over,” he grouses next to your ear, his voice sand-coarse. “Don’t turn around.”

Gloves off first. One palm cradles the back of your neck, feels you shiver. His left hand runs down your back and around to your tummy, savoring all those warm, secret places on you, the way your body opens up to him on instinct. The power trip when he cups your heat through your skirts and you moan into the counter. You nestle your hips on his lap, and he stiffens on command, a tug between his legs that he knows is far too insistent for foreplay. Stars, it’s like he’s conditioned to get hard in this store.

“Don’t—” he chokes out “—not so fast. Or I—I won’t—”

“What?” you pant. Din hears the grin laced in your voice and knows it’s bad news for him. He drops to his knees and both hands walk up your bandaged calves, squeeze the tops of your thighs. “You…you don’t…” He throws your skirts over your back. You inhale sharply at the cold air—or at his hands pulling the soft flesh of your backside. When he removes the helmet, your pitch sounds broken up, more desperate. “You d-don’t want…”

It’s a small victory when he parts his lips against your clothed core and it’s you, for once, who chokes on words. Small victory, but he’ll take it, especially after the way his cock twitches in his pants when he smells you. He kisses you again, just a peck over your clit, and your legs shake. Fucking…stars. If this is how you feel when you tease him…well, he gets it. You mewl and push back on his face, but he hardly thinks you want it that easy.

“Stop moving,” he tells you sternly, with a voice he’d use on quarries.

A shiver runs down your spine. “But—” You break into a whine when his open palm slaps the side of your thigh. It’s probably the surprise rather than the sting that makes you inhale sharply, and a combination of both that dampens the cotton between your legs.

“Stop moving,” he repeats, mouth pressed against your core so you can feel the vibration; that, he learnt from you. “Or you don’t get my mouth.”

Above him, you let out a displeased little grunt, too throaty to mean much. But you open your legs wider and brace yourself on the front desk, grant him full access to you. His index hooks on your underwear, moves it aside, and he buries his lips deep into the softest part of you. Din barely hears you gasp. He circles both arms around your thighs and pulls you closer, until his tongue is buried between your folds and you just have to take it. Fuck, it’s just…decadent. The taste, the smell, how soaked you are already, your little purrs and whimpers when he sucks on your lips. They’re not things he ever thought he’d get to feel. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“Mmm, stars, Mando,” you sob, sneakily rutting your hips like you just can’t help it. He allows it, but only because he’s so rock fucking hard he’s practically doing the same thing. His cock trapped down one pant leg, he squeezes his thighs to try and soothe the ache. “Move—move up a b-bit.”

“No,” he grunts, and licks a slow line from the spot right below your clit to the back of your slit. It wasn’t so long ago that it was your mouth on him, you teasing him mercilessly inside this very store, him moaning and grunting and losing his mind. That’s how he wants you: sloppy, desperate, begging.

“Maker, don’t t-tease,” you moan, but it only encourages him. His tongue slides deep inside you where you’re hotter than sin, enjoying how your walls swell and tighten around it. You’re so fucking wet, he could push into you right now and relieve the pressure building between his legs. But not yet.

“Beg me,” Din groans, mouthing at the inside of your thighs and sucking tiny bruises there. You moan above him, deep in your throat, and he wonders which one of you is more turned on right now. “Put—fuck—put that smart mouth to use. Beg me.”

For a moment all he can hear is your labored breathing, the wheels turning in your pretty head, laying out a plan to make him give in faster. Then, soft and sweet, you hum, “Mando.”

One word. Probably the word Din hears the most, so generic and impersonal that everyone from friends to strangers to enemies call him that. That word coming from your lips makes his heart sprint, his cock pulse and scream at him to hurry up. Stars, but if it was his name—his real name—on your lips, soft and purring like you pronounced his nickname, he knows he wouldn’t be able to hold back a second longer.

“You always make me feel so good,” you continue, arching your back a little to test the waters. “You’re so—so good with your mouth, stars. Want you to kiss me again—kiss me everywhere. Taste me like yesterday—” Your breath catches when he sucks on your inner lips again, closer to where you want him. Maker, if you keep talking like that… “Used to th-think about it all the time, how—mmm—how your—your tongue would feel. Never, ngh, never thought you’d use it th-there, though.” Din laps at your cunt, drinks from it. Fuck, he can’t remember the last time he got this hard. An airy laugh before you continue. “You can be so d-dirty sometimes. I’d let you do—do anything to me.”

Really, Din doesn’t know what pushes him to do it. He doesn’t know what makes him pull back and spread you open with his fingers, stare at your glistening, deliciously swollen folds, and spit at their very top. You moan raggedly above him, a complete mess of sobs and whimpers, as Din simply stares. He watches the trail of spit run down your slit, the lower it goes the more precum he feels sticking to his trousers. Half-drunk on your words and your slick, Din thinks: What did you do to me? Maker, you have him wrapped around your finger.

Saliva trails down until it teardrops on your clit, clings to it, and he doesn’t need another sign. His lips latch on to your bundle of nerves and suck. You sob and whine and cry, rocking your hips hard against his mouth, and he continues sucking through his teeth. Your knees give out, but he holds them before you can hit the ground, holds you in place as he feels you give him everything, your pussy clenching around nothing. Slick trails down his chin, all the way to his neck, and—shit. He’s going to burst in his pants just from feeling you cum in his mouth.

It takes every last ounce of self-control he has left to detach his lips from your cunt and stumble to his feet. You’re still shaking, still panting, but he can’t hold it back a minute longer. Fuck, not even a second longer, he needs to have you right now.

It’s a struggle to get a hold of his fly, fingers trembling and teeth grinding. When he finally pulls the zipper down, the sound snaps your head up.

“Are you—Mando, are you going to—”

“Yes,” he grunts, digging into his waistband for his cock, lining it up against your cunt. Stars, he’s so pent up, it hurts to touch it. “Is it—is it o-okay, can—can, I—”

“Oh, fuck, yes,” you mewl, pushing your hips so tightly against his groin the head of his cock catches against your entrance. Fuck. “Please, please, please, put it inside, let me feel your big, thick, co—”

One hard shove, deep enough that he feels himself poke your cervix, and he’s cumming—hard. His spine doubles over and he grunts and moans into your hair, giving you short, stunted thrusts as he fills you to the brim. You were already so swollen before, now you feel unbearably tight, squeezing his cock so harshly his eyes roll back on his skull. And his balls keep pulling up and giving you more of his load, his teeth grinding so hard they might crack. One last thrust, nice and deep so his cum stays inside you, and his palm presses down on your eyes. Din uses that hand as leverage to turn you around and tilt your head like you showed him, just enough so he can reach your lips. And he kisses you.

Your bodies spasm and throb against each other, you clench around him involuntarily and he flinches, too sensitive to handle the aftershocks of your orgasm. Still, he could stay like this for days. Gently sucking on your tongue, running his along the roof of your mouth, feeling how your lips curve against his in a smile. Then, an alarming thought. Maybe this is the only way to do it that feels right now—sex, he means. With the helmet off, his lips on yours, his nose on your hair. Bare hands drawing circles on your hips. Every sense devoted to you. Even the briefest taste can be a point of no return.

You peck his lips and flutter sweet, short kisses around his jaw, working your way up to his ear, where you whisper, “We’re running out of time.”

The jammer. Those words are quickly becoming the bane of his existence. “I know,” he whispers back, but presses one last, long kiss to your lips that feels inexplicably sad, like a kiss goodbye. Din shakes the thought off his head. He’s too pessimistic sometimes.

You both hiss when he pulls out, slowly so he won’t hurt you.

“Keep ‘em closed,” he tells you before removing his hand from your eyes. For all he knows you could open them right there, and there’d be nothing he could do about it. Somehow, however, he’s certain you won’t. His trust is rewarded when he pulls the hand back, and your eyes are screwed shut beneath it.

It takes an awkward choreography to straighten yourselves. You try to pull your own underwear back on, but in your position it’s near impossible. So Din kneels behind you once more, fishes his helmet from the floor, tucks himself back into his trousers, and lifts your panties until they hug your hips. You push your own skirts down before Din’s upright, which results in the long fabric covering him like your furniture. You share a quick laugh before standing straight and facing each other.

“You can open them.”

Now, he tells himself, watching your sated smile and blinking eyes. The words are on the tip of his tongue: When this is over, would you like to come with me—

“If there’s a jammer here,” you say, before he can get a word out, “it’s in the workshop.”

You walk around him and open a door behind the reception desk to reveal the staircase that leads to your apartment. Din’s still telling himself that he’ll just ask you later, when you climb one step—and stop. You turn around like you can sense he’s about to ask, for the second time in this store, where you’re going.

“Gotta get some stuff from upstairs, but I’ll be down in a second.” Your voice wobbles, your foot hesitates on the step. You’re nervous. “But if you find the jammer before I come back, don’t…don’t leave.”

“Of course not.” Maker, of course he wouldn’t leave without you. Do you really think he would?

The workshop is darker than the reception. A single window, currently boarded up, so he has to use the helmet’s light. The cone of white light creates a sinister effect, like creatures lurk everywhere it doesn’t touch. Rubber tubes hang from the ceiling like lianas, circuit boards glimmer green like leaves, and yellow sensors blink from several components. Your own little ecosystem watches him dig into boxes of clutter to search for a jammer. Stars, he’s never known how you manage to find anything here. It’s probably best if he waits outside; he wouldn’t be able to find his own ship in here without you.

He’s turning to the door when the helmet’s light catches on a dark glint, like it reflected on a mirror. It stops him on his tracks. Din’s not sure what prompts his feet to carry him toward your worktable, where the mystery item lays center-front. He sees himself reflected on the dark T-visor. It’s a helmet. It’s a blue Mandalorian helmet.

At first he’s confused. Surprised to see a Mandalorian helmet here—and is it even a Madalorian helmet? Yes, yes it is. His brain lags behind his eyes, goes through different scenarios, each less likely than the last.

Is there another Mandalorian here? Did the Alor bring this? Is the Alor a client?

And then, truth.

It falls abruptly on his back like atmospheric pressure, gravity that crushes. A hot rush of blood enveloping his head, poisoning his thoughts, a ringing in his ears so sharp he thinks he might pass out. A million thoughts in less than a second—convoluted, scrambled, furious. Then an image, so clear that the Maker himself might’ve played it for him like a holo: Thieves, scammers, criminals scurrying through the tunnels of the Covert, the empty halls where his people built a refuge, where they could feel safe. The pile of beskar armor unguarded—the high price that brave Mandalorians paid to help Din, help the child—served in a silver platter for these scavengers, these fucking honorless lowlifes.

His gloved fingers grip your worktable so hard his knuckles might crack—or the table. But the Mandalorian can’t feel the pain on his joints, not when his bloodstream’s turned to acid, when it feels like somebody jammed live wires into his head.

This fucking place. This planet with its fucking people, their fucking cynicism, this fucking landfill for hazardous waste, this piece of shit skughole—

Above, the Mandalorian hears footsteps. Your footsteps. You.

He looks down at the helmet, the empty T-visor limp and black, dead. You did this. Thinking of you clears the red cloud from his mind, trades it for a gray one. A headache creeps behind his eyes, his shoulders go slack. He feels hollowed out. Like a spoon reached inside his chest and scooped away everything essential, left him a carcass. Like something died here today.

You did this.

And then the helmet is not a helmet, but a severed head. A head with a pool of blood around it, guts sprayed all over, and there’s the corrupt smell of blaster residue coming from his neighbor’s house, the taste of copper after biting his tongue running, the durasteel giants shooting red death, the deafening explosions, his parents’ screams, his school going up in a cloud of smoke, his father holding him, whispering one last sentence that he can’t hear through the sounds of war and carnage, his mother’s cheeks stained with tears and dirt and blood, their blurring faces, the darkness, the fear.

Holding the helmet, Din feels tears sting in the corners of his eyes, then hot on his cheeks. Nobody understands, why can’t anybody understand? The warrior that owned this helmet is lost forever, condemned to live like a phantom, empty without the Creed, without the Way. It’s worse than death. It’s the curse that most of the Covert was forced to carry, to walk this galaxy like living dead, violently stripped of everything that mattered. And the relic of their sacrifice sits in your workshop next to the rest of your junk, ready to be sold off to the highest bidder, somebody who’ll want to hang it in their wall like game they hunted, and how could you do this to him, how could you, how could you do this—

“Find anything yet?”

When the Mandalorian turns, his helmet’s white light locks you in place like quarry. Like guilty quarry.

You squint and raise a palm to shut out the bright beam. “Stars, Mando,” you laugh. “Are you trying to blind me? Turn that off.”

Your words are muffled by the rushing blood that wraps around his ears, loud as a waterfall, but he can understand them. The Mandalorian grips the helmet tighter between his hands and keeps the light on so you can see what he found, what he knows about you. The ugly, festered truth about you.

Once your eyes adjust to the bright light and they’re able to stay open for more than three seconds, you give him a quizzical look. The visor gives you nothing, so you drop your gaze to the hard evidence between his hands.

And you have the nerve to look even more surprised. Furrowed eyebrows and everything to add to the performance.

“Where did you get that?” you ask.

A thousand responses climb into his head in a savage, foul clutter, like army ants. I should ask you the same, where do you think?, how much are they giving you?, was it worth it?, what’s wrong with you?, what’s wrong with this fucking planet? He opens his mouth, but they swarm in his throat all at once and tie a knot around his windpipe. More tears on his cheeks, another attempt at words—nothing.

Finally, quietly: “How could you do this to me?”

The crease between your brows digs deeper, and there’s genuine worry in your eyes. Of course you’re worried, he just caught you red fucking handed. “Mando, I really don’t understand—”

“Me neither,” he hisses through his teeth, “because this is a Mandalorian helmet, and you’re no Mandalorian.” The first insect out, the rest follow like a waterfall, crawling out his mouth. “How long did you wait after I left to steal this from the Covert? An hour? Five minutes?”

Trapped under the light, where you can no longer hide in shadows, you look stricken. The harsh light shines on circles under your eyes, creases where you frown. Bleak features he never noticed before.

Your voice is low and icy when you say, “I never stole anything from the Covert.”

“Scavenge, loot, I don’t care what you people like to call it.” How could you, after everything, how could you.

“Listen to me,” you say steadily, but your eyes are hot coals and your jaw is set, your own anger rising. Good. Masks off. He wants to see who’s been hiding under his noses these nine days. All those fucking months. “I didn’t take a thing from the Covert. I have no idea where that helmet came from.”

The Mandalorian is barely listening. He’s heard more than enough lies for two lifetimes, he sure as fuck doesn’t need yours. Instead, he focuses on the one thought that manages to float in the red sea of anger and despair. He holds on to it like an anchor, clutches it until his palms bleed, but truth hurts.

“Duma.” He doesn’t ask this time around—he tells you. He knows and there’s nothing you can do about it—nothing he can do about it. Greef Karga’s words shine painful light on fog. Boiling beskar…did you take her up on that deal? “You’re selling it to her.”

“Stars, of course not.” The stoniness of your features melts for an instant, hurt revealed underneath those layers. You look devastated, tired. Maker, you’re good. Those hours of sabacc are sure paying off. “Why won’t you believe me?”

“How can I believe you?” he snarls, his head suffocating in dark quicksand—grief, anger, betrayal all clogging his nostrils, making his head throb. How could you how could you how could you. “When I know what type of people sprout from this planet, I make a living hunting them. I know you—” his voice breaks, but the words keep flowing and he hardly hears them “—I know the kind of company you keep, I know you have no principles, I know you can’t commit to shit—”

“Commit?” you snap, face hardening cold and twisted like the magma outside, but he knows too well what lies beneath the surface. Lava, hot and bubbling, your anger as raw as his. Rawer. “You wanna talk about commitment? I waited for you for five months!” The light from the helmet no longer makes you squint, but it turns your eyes red and watery. “You left. You left me here to starve through a fucking siege that you caused—”

“I came back for you!”

That gives you pause. Then you shake your head. “No, you came back because that piece of shit official asked—”

“He asked to meet me in Belderone.” Belderone, same sector as Nevarro, not even ten minutes away in hyperspace. “Told me Nevarro wasn’t safe because there was a siege, so I insisted we meet here.” The memory drains him. How worried he was about you, the type of worried that stirs bile in the stomach. How guilty he felt. “To see you again. Make sure you were okay.” The Mandalorian looks down at the helmet in his hands, a strange mirror staring up at him. Harsher than the one from this morning. His ears ring, his mouth tastes sour, his rising headache plateaus into an unbearable, incessant throb. A ghost limb aches somewhere in his body, all over it. He wants to leave your store, your planet.

How could you?

Mando doesn’t raise his head to look at you when he walks out the workshop. You don’t stop him when he reaches the main door. You don’t stop him when he walks out to the street.

The sky is jaundice-yellow when he steps outside. Gone are this morning’s blue hues, suffocated by the sickly coughing of a million volcanos, by their fumaroles and their sparks. For all the Mandalorian cares, this planet can burn.

On his way to the cantina to pick up the kid, he stares at the marker that identifies the entrance to the city: that crooked, arthritis-ridden arch. Beyond it, he spots the outline of a ship. A sleek civilian shuttle, probably a rental. The official isn’t stupid enough to fly a Republic starship past siege lines, so if the tiny shuttle fooled Guideon’s platoon in the atmosphere, well, it’ll have to do it again. Tomorrow, they’ll just have to tempt fate and avoid tempting the batallion of Imperial cruisers. Or fly out in the Crest and hope they can jump into hyperspace before imps pulverize them. All he wants is to put as many lightyears between him and this planet.

Din’s head pounds when he walks inside the cantina. The only thought hammering against his skull: How could you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 5…’tis the end

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch @corrupt-fvcker @seratoninforyouseratoninforme @multifandomlife22 @justanotherblonde23 @abysshaven @equalstrashflavoredtrash @16boyfriends-and-me @ihaveashield @dinispunk @bananaagurl @mstgsmy @absurdthirst @cowboy-kylo @roxypeanut @heyitmelexie @readsalot73 @krazykatkay456 @elusive-danger-noodle @lola-wolf @nikkiparthena @lifeisapitch15 @teaofpeach @auty-ren @anewrule @hyp-oh-critical​ @pascaliprincess​ @geannad​ @coaaster​ @frietiemeloen​ @yourbucky084​ @brynnstudies​ @elfwoodfae​

im pretty sure i forgot someone so please message me if i did!

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #mywriting #rule maker rule breaker

[fics-of-culture]

Angelic Affections

Requested by anonymous

Gabriel x GN Reader

Summary: When Gabriel’s favorite human gets in an accident, Gabriel is forced to deal with his fear of loosing them as well as his own shortcomings. Slight angst with fluff ending.

Words: 2,876

You hummed softly to yourself as you stood in your room packing up your go bag. Your brother Sammy had stormed into the kitchen abruptly interrupting yours and Dean’s breakfast not 20 minutes ago with a new case. 

“So get this,” Sam said as he stormed in, laptop in hand. “A string of mysterious deaths all revolving around an old, seemingly abandoned house in Nevada.” You groan in frustration, pushing away your half eaten cereal. How hard was it to get a nice morning with your brothers without having to worry about some ghost or ghoul interrupting it? 

“Haunted?” Dean asked, only half paying attention. He took a sip of his coffee, looking awfully comfortable in his robe with his feet propped up on the table the two of you were seated at.

“Seems like it.” Sam replied, scrolling through an article on his laptop. 

“You know the drill,” Dean slowly dragged his legs off of the kitchen table as he stood. “Wheels up in thirty.” 

“You’ve been watching too many procedural cop shows, Dean.” You chime in as you stand up as well, turning to head to your room. Sam chuckled as Dean just scoffed indignantly at you.

“You know I hate that shit.” He muttered to himself. You just send your older brother a shit eating smile before heading out of the kitchen and into your bedroom. 

You turn towards your dresser to pull out a pair of socks when your eye catches on the picture frame resting on top. It’s a polaroid of you and Gabe dressed in terrible matching Christmas sweaters grinning like a couple of dorks in front of a fireplace. You smiled at the memory. Gabe had gotten you a polaroid camera for Christmas last year after you complained that the angels had never had their photos taken before. 

“I don’t see why that is an issue.” Cas had said, as oblivious as ever. The three of you were sitting on a couch in the DeanCave. You sat in between the two angels, body angled to face the befuddled angel.

“Well what if there’s a moment in your life that you never want to forget? It’s like being able to preserve the happiest times in your life.” Cas cocked his head at you as Gabe listened intently. You would’ve expected him to tease you for being so passionate about this, but he seems content just to watch the conversation unfold.

“An angel’s memory does not degrade like human’s do. We have no need for such reminders.” You just groan in frustration as Gabe chuckles beside you.

“That’s not the point, Cas.” Castiel just kept looking at you with that confused expression. You let out a sigh before shaking your head, defeated by Cas’s lack of understanding.

“Good luck with that one, honey. I think Cassy here is a lost cause.” The archangel places his hand on your knee as Cas casts a small glare towards him.

It wasn’t long after that incident that you opened one of your presents during Christmas to find the vintage camera. Upon opening it, Gabriel immediately insisted that the two of you take a photo. You put in the film as Gabe knelt beside you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you against him.

“Come on! Let’s take the picture already!” Gabriel exclaimed impatiently. He had been hyperactive all morning (You suspected that he had been sneaking Christmas cookies when you weren’t watching) and it was becoming difficult to keep up with him.

“Give me a second! I need to set it up first.” Gabriel simply tugged the camera out of your hands. Truly the angel didn’t have a patient bone in his celestial body. He flicked the camera on and you only had a brief moment to smile at it before the picture was taken. The flash had caught you both by surprise and had you blinking the spots out of your eyes for the next few minutes. But when the picture came out, you couldn’t deny that it was perfect. You had taken several photos of your boys that day, but only that photo had gotten its own frame and a special place upon your dresser. 

Suddenly you feel a presence behind you. A warm breath brushes against the back of your neck and the hairs on your arms stand up. Despite knowing that you should be attacking the intruder, a part of you felt calmed by the presence behind you. So instead you just waited to see what would happen. 

“Whatya lookin’ at there, sugar?” You let out a sigh of relief as you recognized Gabe’s voice whispering in your ear. You can’t help but feel a blush stain your cheeks as you noticed just how close he was standing. You turn around and shove him away from you in retaliation for sneaking up on you. You avoid his eyes as he shoots you a playfully offended look. 

“I was looking at that dorky expression on your face.” You tell him as you gesture to the photo. You continue your task of packing as Gabe picks up the picture frame to take a better look.

“Well excuse me princess, but I see two dorky faces in this picture.” You just rolled your eyes as he shakes the photo in your direction. Focusing back at the task at hand, you bend over your bed to place your socks in your pack. With your back turned to the trickster angel, you miss the way his eyes slide down your form before quickly turning away to place the photo back down. 

“I still don’t see why you wanted that picture taken so badly. I’m pretty sure my hair wasn’t even combed!” You turned to look at your angel. His whiskey colored eyes were crinkled in amusement.

“Does an angel need a reason to want to take a picture with his favorite human?” You playfully rolled your eyes as he said this. It wasn’t a new occurrence, him referring to you as his favorite human. He seemed to work it into every conversation the two of you had, as though he felt the need to subtly remind you how much you meant to him. The two of you hadn’t always been this close. In fact, when the two of you first met, you regarded him mainly with suspicion. This suspicion quickly turned into a deep seated hatred for a time after he forced you to live through your brother dying over and over again. It actually wasn’t until Gabriel gave his life that you started to think that your hatred may have been misplaced. Although you had barely known him, a part of you had mourned your tormenter turned savior. As you had falsely assumed that you would never see him again. Cut to 8 years later when Ketch delivered an incredibly alive Gabriel to you. You had spent the next few days taking care of the broken archangel. For some reason, you were the only one Gabriel would allow to get close to him. Although he refused to speak, you could feel a tension rising between the two of you. It all came to ahead when Asmodeus broke into the bunker and almost killed you. Gabriel miraculously got his mojo back and smited Asmodeus where he stood for even laying a finger on you. You and the newly healed trickster had been “joined at the hip” as Dean puts it ever since.

“Speaking of which, I’ve got my favorite human’s favorite show queued up on my laptop right now. What do you say we snuggle up with some popcorn and lay in bed all day.” You giggle as Gabe wiggles his eyebrows as he steps closer to you.

“Honestly that sounds amazing, but we have a hunt.” Gabe just groans in disappointment before dramatically plopping on your bed. “And after last time, Dean says you’re not allowed to come with us anymore.” You watched as Gabe made himself comfortable on your bed.

“Hey, that wasn’t my fault! You brother just doesn’t have a sense of humor.” You zipped up your pack and picked it up. You looked back at Gabe, noticing the candy bar that miraculously appeared in his hand.

“Just stay out of trouble and we can watch tv when I get back.” Your angel just let out an indignant huff as you placed a kiss on his forehead and headed towards the door. “And no eating in my bed!” You smile softly at the disappointed groan you hear behind you.

“Stay safe, sugar.” You hear him chime out before you walk out.

“I always am.”

-

Gabriel had spent the last week lounging around the bunker waiting for you to get back. Well, lounging and rigging up a few surprises for the boys. But despite the inevitable boredom that comes with staying in one place too long, Gabe couldn’t find it in himself to leave until he saw you. This hunt had come up at the most inopportune moment possible. As well having a good Netflix and chill (Gabe knows you hate it when he says that but he just can’t resist), the archangel had also planned to talk to you that night. Yes, the larger than life angel/trickster had finally worked up the courage to confess his feelings to you. Gabriel’s face scrunches up at the thought. Usually he’d be content to avoid any and all conversations involving feelings, but somehow you managed to wiggle your way under his skin and he needed you to know how much he cared for you. He couldn’t help but care for you after you nursed him back to health. You had seen him at his most vulnerable, and you didn’t leave him or try to take advantage of him. You just sat quietly with him. Taking care of his injuries and pulling out his stitches. It wasn’t until sometime after he was healed that he realized how much he loved you, and how super boned he was for falling for a Winchester. So he planned to confess over tv and snacks, but of course the life of a hunter is never that straightforward. So naturally you were whisked away on a case, leaving Gabe behind to wait impatiently for you to get back. The trickster had actually been setting up a fun little surprise in the moose’s shower when he heard the bunker door slam open.

“Well it’s about time.” Gabriel stated as he appeared before the Winchesters. It wasn’t until that sentence left his lips that he properly surveyed the scene before him. You were being held in Dean’s arms as the two brothers pushed by him without saying a word. It wasn’t the sight of you being carried that jarred him into silence. Hell, it wasn’t even the copious amount of blood covering you and the older Winchester that shocked him. (He had seen you covered in blood on multiple occasions.) It was the way your skin looked pale and cold, as though you were already dead. Somewhere in his mind, it registered that the brothers were headed to the infirmary, but before he could even think to follow, Castiel appeared before him. “What happened?” Cas could faintly hear Gabe ask. At this moment, the archangel Gabriel looked less like a divine being and more like a broken man. Cas had trouble looking into his eyes at that moment. The desperation behind them forcing the guilt to creep slowly back into Castiel’s mind.

“We thought it was just a simple haunting. It turns out a group of demons were using the site to lure hunters. The Winchesters fell right into their trap.” If Gabriel comprehended his brother’s words, he did not show it. For the first time in the hyperactive angel’s life, he just stood there. He did not move, he did not breathe. If a stranger were to look at him, they might mistake him for a statue. Cas continued on. “I managed to heal her in time, but I believe she will need rest.” With that, Gabriel was suddenly moving again. Swiftly turning to head towards the infirmary. He needed to see you. To see for himself that you would be okay. But he was quickly halted by a hand being placed on his shoulder. “I… do not think you should see her like this.” This caused Gabe to snap. 

“And why’s that, Cas? Because you couldn’t protect her? Cause you couldn’t protect my… friend from a couple of rouge demons?” Gabriel was now standing toe to toe with Castiel, angelic energy flooding the room. “You failed her Cas. You don’t get to tell me what I should and should not do.” With that, Cas’s hand slid off Gabe’s shoulder and Gabe flew away towards the infirmary. 

-

Waking up in the infirmary was a… surprise to say the least. Your head ached and your throat was painfully dry. You tried to sit up and call for someone but when you opened your eyes you noticed that the room was empty. Which was an odd sight because usually your brothers would take turns watching over you whenever you got injured. You assumed that something must have happened… until you heard the voices outside. 

“No! You don’t get to storm in here blaming everyone else for your shit!” Dean was shouting at… someone? You couldn’t really tell who or what the conversation was about. It only took you a moment before your questions were answered. 

“Ha! my shit? You’re the one who almost let your sister get killed. Again.” Dean was arguing with Gabriel. Which in itself is not surprising, but it’s very rare that Gabriel truly shows anger during these fights. But you can tell by the way his voice is quivering that he is upset. 

“She’s a hunter,” Dean continues. “This is our job. So no, you do not get to blame me for this when really, you're mad at yourself for not being there to protect her.” The conversation goes quiet after that. You hear a sigh and footsteps walking away. Slowly, the door to the infirmary is pushed open. It’s safe to say that you’ve never seen Gabriel this sullen since he’d gotten his mojo back. His head hangs down to the floor as he quietly shuffles into the room. His eyes are sunken and laced with unshed tears. You’re not quite sure what to say. Luckily, you don’t need to because at that moment, Gabriel lifts his head and meets your gaze. 

“Y/n?” He speaks your name so softly that your heart almost breaks. “How long have you been awake for?” He rushes to sit by your side. 

“A couple of minutes.” You say quietly, your voice still hoarse from disuse. Gabe silently hands you a cup of water that was sitting on the side table. 

“Why didn’t you call anyone?” You took a sip from the cup before handing it back to him. 

“You guys seemed… busy.” Gabriel grimaced a bit as you said this. 

“You heard that?” Gabe sighs as you nod your head in confirmation. He rests his hand on your knee as the two of you sit in silence for a moment. You try to crack a joke to release some of the tension.

“It’s nice to know that you’d care if I died. Sorta assumed you’d be halfway to Vegas right now.” That statement draws a little chuckle out of your angel. 

“You know, I’ll smite you if you ever repeat this to anyone but… Dean was right.” Gabriel fixes his warm eyes on you as he speaks. “I am furious with myself for not being there. You’re my human. I should’ve been there to protect you.” It’s almost jarring to see Gabriel looking this vulnerable. You’re not quite sure what to say. So you don’t say anything. In a moment that catches the both of you off guard, you surge forward to wrap your arms around the broken looking angel. He lifts his arms after a moment to hold you back and you just rest against his chest for a while. Just allowing yourself to be held by your angel. You feel him press a kiss to your head and you sigh in contentment. Despite the soreness of your body, Gabriel’s presence feels like a relief. 

“I love you, you know.” You freeze as you feel him whisper the words into your hair. You draw your head up to look Gabe in the eyes once more. You can tell from the way he’s avoiding your gaze that he’s nervously waiting for your response. You lean in slowly and Gabriel sits frozen, waiting for your next move. You can’t even feel breath coming from him. Slowly, you place a chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

“I love you too.” You whisper back once you pull away. The two of you don’t stay separated for long as the angel pulls you back for a more heated kiss. The two of you break apart after you realize that you desperately need air. Gabe chuckles as you gasp for breath. 

“Well I’ll tell you one thing, honey.” He says as he pulls you flush against him. “You’re never going anywhere without me ever again.”

#reader insert #spn #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural reader insert #gabriel imagine #gabriel x reader #spn gabriel #spn gabriel x reader #gabriel

[galaxy98]

SaSan Week

JUNE 20TH-JUNE 26TH

Throughout the history of Thra, some Skeksis and Mystics would leave an impression on certain clans. For the Stonewood, it was the Archer and the Hunter. For the Dousan, it was the Heretic and the Wanderer. But there was no other pair that had ever came close to the amount of intrigue and mystery than the Sifans and their connection with the Mariner and the Swimmer. The impact they left on the clan and their culture is so well known that many hope to achieve that level of success. But what happens when the two of them are alone with themselves. The Hunter and the Archer have an animosity with each other and none of them would hesitate to kill the other if they had the chance. The Heretic and the Wanderer have both grown to love each other, despite the shortcomings they had to deal with due to their impulses. But for these two specifically......well....the answer is somewhere in the middle.

Why did I create this ship week?

For those who may not be familiar with me, I’ve somewhat been championing the inclusion of SkekSa and UrSan in particular for 2 reasons

1. They have very little canon material, which makes them ripe with story potential

2. Same thing as #1 except it’s related to fanon

It’s because of this, I decided make the foundation of this ship week to be centered around interpretation and scenarios. Which leads to the next point.

Days/Themes:

Day 1/Calming Tides: We’ll start things off with something a little bit simple. “Calming Tides” is where any participant could create any fluff/wholesome scenario involving these two. I like to think that when the both of them unwind for the day, they get the chance to meet each other for the evening. Maybe they catch up on certain things that happened in their lives? Maybe they exchange gifts? Either way, the sky is the limit. Or in this case, the sea.

Day 2/Humor: While one could argue that their relationship is a very serious commitment, it it very likely that these two engaged in pranks or clap-backs with each other. Especially when said relationship is in an “off” period.

Day 3/Singing Time: Singing isn’t exactly the core trait of their identity. But when they show off such talent, they are bound to excel at it. Whether it be from singing shanties to their fellow crewmen, or singing a song in a language that was once thought to be forgotten.

Day 4/Oasis: This day, specifically, is for any participant to place the emphasis on the atmosphere in their work. For example, SkekSa and UrSan dancing on top of the Vassa as the clouds clear the night sky. Or, SkekSa and UrSan resting on the sands of Cera-Na as the three suns set.

Day 5/Open Heart: Open Heart is for scenarios in the angst or bittersweet variety. Sometimes, there comes a point where certain feelings just come out. Whether through fighting, contentious debating over what they think is best for the gelfling, or having to deal with the self-loathing, there comes a time when they just need each other and nobody else. Let’s say if UrSan finds SkekSa in drunken state. For the Swimmer, it either means that a crew member of hers had died, dealing with the complications of the Skeksis court, or just having a bad day in general. All it takes is for UrSan to tuck her under arms and then....SkekSa would just let it all out.

Day 6/Past, Present, Future, or What If?: According to Mother Aughra, there are multiple timelines and scenarios that could constantly change. In the case of Day 6, participants are given a choice to pick a certain time in their relationship or possibly choose the wildcard choice with the “What If?”. Like what if SkekSa joined with UrSan in the rebellion? What if UrSan became the Master and SkekSa became the Empress?

Day 7/”To be I instead of we”: As we close off SaSan Week, we conclude this day with SkekSa and UrSan in their true UrSkek form. This is like Day 6, except it deals a lot with their “complete” identity.  Because there’s a reason as to why she gravitate towards Sifan culture. SaSan sees her own culture as monolithic and something that crushes any kind of freedom that comes in their path. It’s very likely that she is ashamed of the fact that she is an UrSkek. Almost to the point to where it becomes self-loathing. Being separated was once thought to be the best thing to ever happen to them, because they finally get to carve their own path. But in the end, they are two halves of the same soul. SaSan can’t change being a UrSkek, but she is still her own individual, regardless of norms. Individuality is everything people, myself included, strive to achieve in the world. But so is loving others and learning how to love yourself.

Rules

-When participating in the ship week, remember to use the #sasanweek and current year, or tag @sasanweek​

-You are allowed to use a medium of your choosing. I’ll even likely take a one-shot comic or an audio clip

-Trigger warnings are necessary depending on the work. Especially when it concerns Day 5.

-Outright NSFW is not allowed

If you have any additional questions that you would like to ask me, then DM me @simkim704​ and we’ll sort things out from there.

Thank You and I can’t wait to see what this fandom comes up with!

#The Dark Crystal #the dark crystal age of resistance #tdc:aor #skeksa #ursan the swimmer #sasanweek2021 #I'm glad that I went through with this idea #skeksa the mariner

[emersonfreepress]

What would the ro's be like in a zombie au?

whyyyyy anon whyyy. I'm actually gonna write this in like.. slightly different terms, you'll see. any time I even briefly think of a zombie au I'm just like

I WANNA WRITE IT SO BADDD

i don't even allow myself to entertain it for very long because getting into that would be the worst thing ever for my productivity with the alpha omg 😂😂 so I'll put like the ideas that pop into my head for writing a zombie au, to work some of that creative frustration out 😆

so in this very general, absolutely noncommittal idea of mine, the main cast are older and the setting is in and around a civilian settlement led by the Emersons.

and as a refresher, i like my zombie aus to have fast zombies and fast infections ^ ^ 28 Days Later/Train to Busan style babyyyy, we the Sprinting Dead up in this bitch 😆

= = =

Gabe is, predictably, looking for what's left of his family. Following rumors of safe havens and bunkers and such. Starts the story as someone who tries to be diplomatic, if not outright pacifist, but as times get tougher and resources dwindle, he'd become one of the most cutthroat motherfuckers in the wasteland. Low-key though, low-key. People won't trust you if they know you’re capable of throwing them to a horde for strategic reasons. Like if Rick turned into Shane (for those of us familiar with early Walking Dead--idk did that happen eventually? i gave up before we even met Negan lol). The end justifies the means :) Damn, I can legit see Gabe going full evil in a zombie au omg 😂😂 i want to write it so fucking bad

Preferred weapon for zed encounters: rifle

Preferred weapon for human encounters: handgun

Faith in humanity: fucking zero

Zombie kill count: plenty; the type to kill every zombie he has spare ammo and time for

Human kill policy: When it benefits him or the people he’s looking after

Survival rating: B+; he can make it out of some pretty dire situations through sheer will to live and ruthlessness

- - -

Kile has arrived--clearly, this is the timeline they belong in. They start their journey with Gabe (and their doggo) and stick to him like glue, even reluctantly so when Gabe eventually has them join the settlement. This can only go one way, though: Kile's just too much of a wildcard for the group and hates being told what to do. (Especially now that society has fallen, wtf) They'd make their exit alone and unannounced aside from a brief head’s up to Gabe. It's slightly bittersweet, but also? They get to loot and hunt and sneak around and kill fucking zombies, all by themself. Kile is a loner, a hiker, and a hunter to begin with so they do beyond fine on their own. However, once the inevitable violent human threat comes for the settlement, Gabe is sent out to convince Kile to come out of isolation, just this once please, to be the camp’s super soldier help defend the camp.

Zed weapon: p much anything they can get their hands on, ranged or melee, blunt or sharp, w/e; improvised weapons

Human weapon: hunting knife

Faith in humanity: never had any to begin with

Zombie kill count: lol infinite?? any zed they come across is double-dead if they have the time for it

Human kill policy: at Gabe’s direction or when provoked enough/threatened

Survival rating: A-; they trust no one, live in isolation, and prioritize survival above all else. only reason it’s not higher is they would risk their life for Gabe or their furbaby and also... their own Rambo-esque antics def attracts the occasional horde lmao

- - -

Jack... this poor boy, he doesn't deserve a zombie au 😂 He's one of those people that first believes zombies are just sick people, too squeamish to keep up with TV news coverage at the onset and too upset to consider anything else. He'd hunker down at home, staying holed up even while his neighbors evacuated, and probably be discovered while the main group is looting the same place as him. When people try to tell him the real state of the world, he'd be in denial until he absolutely couldn't be anymore. idk, probably after Kile shooting a bunch of non-lethal holes thru a zombie to make a point (attracting more in the process lol).

He’d almost immediately join the medical team at the settlement and as word spreads about how easy he is to talk to, he quickly becomes the literal on-site therapist. It's a role he embraces but... idk if it's an emotional burden he can bear. He's very emotionally resilient! But he ain't a professional lol imagine a whole settlement of traumatized zombie survivors seeking you out for counseling, yikes. He also can't say no to a person in need, so instead he quietly spirals into a very private depression while continuing to help others!!

Zed weapon: Oh gosh, do I really have to?

Human weapon: ...Kindness?

Faith in humanity: Unrealistically high

Zombie kill count: Single digit

Human kill policy: Not ever, unless completely unavoidable and to defend the defenseless

Survival rating: C...? idk, that feels generous. D+. To be protected at all costs!!

- - -

Jessie also had the initial reaction of hoping zombies could be saved, but she woke up from that dream swiftly. The science-minded person that she is, esp with her interest in biology, leaves her determined to find anybody who's got the intellect, expertise, and resources to start doing actual work toward a treatment, cure, vaccine—anything. Nothing would get her to finally unabashedly embrace her love of science (and innate leadership skills!!) faster than a zombie apocalypse! In fact, it’s thanks to her that the Emerson settlement’s got a small but growing team of scientists doing as much research as humanly possible to best educate the others on the outbreak and zombie behavior. Def no zombie experimentation going on though lol. ...Not yet, at least.

Zed weapon: rifle

Human weapon: rifle

Faith in humanity: High! We’ll find a solution! Don’t give up hope!

Zombie kill count: Double digits, but less than 30

Human kill policy: Only in unavoidable self-defense or defense of others

Survival rating: B! She has experience with ranged weapons, farming and gardening skills, first aid, camping experience, and a can-do attitude with a healthy dose of realism!

- - -

Rain remains cargo as I said in the last post about this 😆 They'd be very good for keeping clothes repaired and making useful modifications in the settlement, but their life up to this point has been very sheltered and privileged. We're talking somebody with a chauffeur and a personal chef before the outbreak! They would contribute to quality of life and homemaking efforts more than anything—an overlooked aspect of these scenarios tbh! After as many months of dragging their feet as possible and being nigh impossible to track down when you need them, they eventually become involved in meal planning and even help out with medical stuff if they're asked.

Zed weapon: how do you reload this thing again?

Human weapon: switchblade or other concealable sharp-pointy

Faith in humanity: Very low

Zombie kill count: 0! Can you believe it!

Human kill policy: Well if it’s you or me, of course I’m choosing me.

Survival rating: C. Being so tiny helps them find good hiding spots and their self-preservation is high enough to keep them from unnecessary risk-taking. Plus they're very stealthy! Self-defense is a major issue though, so hiding is always their best option.

- - -

Rupan/Rohan scouts for and leads scavenging missions and is Curt's right hand on the recruitment team. The two of them together are the perfect combo of diplomacy, debate, and deception--although R is more honorable about the last one and will only deceive for strategic reasons. When they aren’t looting and recruiting, they’re doing peacekeeping inside the settlement. Most social disputes end up getting brought to them for mediation and they’re pretty dang good at making and enforcing calls. One day they’ll wake up to realize they’ve basically become a sheriff and feel the need to puke their guts up and do something, anything, to reassure themself they’re still punk 😂

Zed weapon: SMG

Human weapon: shotgun

Faith in humanity: Believes in fundamental goodness but knows better than to trust first impressions

Zombie kill count: decent, more than 40; you won’t catch them having a field day tho, they’re trying to gtfo of most zed situations

Human kill policy: Violent threats have to be taken out. And they aren’t, at all, immune to a revenge rampage either...

Survival rating: B-. Can handle themself both with humans and zeds but is vulnerable to hostage situations and truly difficult sentimental/interpersonal decisions!

- - -

Vivian/Vincent manages inventory and stock and they run it so efficiently it’s scary! They're the perfect pick: a hawk-eyed tyrant and tattletale 😂 Despite constantly butting heads with just about everyone on every imaginable thing, they quickly become an important part of the inner circle of decision-makers for the settlement at large. Terrible at stealth, jumpy, and squeamish at the sight of blood and gore, they literally never go on missions unless they're 100% needed for their expertise on a supply run. (They would deny all of these shortcomings are that big a problem, meanwhile R is definitely acting as their bodyguard lol.) When they do tag along, they're prone to becoming the damsel in distress. Seriously, it happens near every fucking time. It's like they just attract only the most improbable and perilous zombie attacks and hostage situations 😆

Zed weapon: shotgun

Human weapon: handgun

Faith in humanity: Medium; seeing people work together at the settlement helps restore it a bit

Zombie kill count: Double digits, under 25

Human kill policy: Violent threats have to be taken out. Well, no, not by me! Get one of the ruffians to do it!

Survival rating: C-. They’d be higher if they weren’t such natural zombie bait.

- - -

Heidi is running the settlement, well-organized to the degree of actually managing to bring bureaucracy to a post-zombie apocalypse settlement 😂 People are free to come and go, but getting in if you don't live there requires trading something of value (fuel, med supplies, food, etc), temporary surrender and registry of firearms and explosives, and you gotta GTFO at the time and date specified upon entry! You can stay long-term if you contribute to the community in a tangible way—and each person admitted is approved by Heidi personally. Yes, every individual. No, she has no free time. And she is not known to be lenient with rule breakers—you want rule bending, you’ll have to go to Curt for that. People kind of hate her, but it can't be denied that she runs a tight ship. She kind of throws herself into the work to avoid the harsher reality at large and hasn't left the settlement in a long time. She's out of touch with how bad things have gotten in the wastes, but she knows better than to take reports at anything less than face value--even when she's skeptical.

Zed weapon: rifle

Human weapon: handgun; dagger

Faith in humanity: Medium. It fluctuates, honestly

Zombie kill count: Double digits, less than 20

Human kill policy: Violent threats must be taken out if they can’t be reasoned with. Spare those who surrender, eradicate those who don't, keep an eye on the newbies. Not tryin’ to nurse any vendettas around here lol

Survival rating: B. She's good with a firearm, masterful at persuasion, and savvy enough to calculate risks appropriately. Also far tougher than her prim exterior and demeanor suggests!

- - -

Curt leads the recruitment and reconnaissance teams! When a new person or group shows up in the area, Curt's the one who stalks watches them, decides if they're worth approaching, and if they should be approached with an invitation, a simple acknowledgment/announcement of their presence, or an outright armed warning to leave the area. He also keeps tabs on morale and general confidence inside the settlement, alongside R. When he isn’t leading those efforts, though, he’s flirting with settlers and squirreling his way out of manual labor and other chores. He’s also secretly growing weed at his place--don’t tell Heidi or Vi ‘cause they’ll wanna yell at him and ration it UGH.

Zed weapon: SMG, explosives

Human weapon: handgun, dagger

Faith in humanity: Pft, sorry, what now?

Zombie kill count: ...way more than you’d expect

Human kill policy: I don’t start confrontations, but I sure as fuck end them.

Survival rating: A! He’s good at playing hapless idiot when it suits him to be underestimated, good with firearms, and capable of being ruthless and decisive in life or death situations! Plus he has no qualms about ditching the settlement if he decides it’s not working out for him. Just don’t tell Heidi lol

#the rest are under the cuuuut #had to stop myself from writing too much SEVERAL times #love me a zombie apocalypse #lovely anon #answered #ROs #whoops got carried away lol #spent most of my work day finally finishing this ask because VIVA PROCRASTINATION #someone help ._. #phew #feels good to finally get it out of my system tho #now I can promptly never ever write it 😂 #AUs #fave #scenarios