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exhaustedpirate · 9 months

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parent for hire

here is the fourth chapter! enjoy! (also some bad news: I am going on holidays for two weeks so, I won't be posting during that period - the fifth chapter will be up on the 25th of September! I'm sorry!) If you want to be added to the tag list, let me know! As always, @kmomof4 is my saviour and I am starting a religion in her name, join me!

Chapter Four - Arendelle

word count: 13,205 words

rating: Teen and Up

tag list: @cocohook38 ; @bluewildcatfanatic ; @piraterefrigerator ; @sotangledupinit ; @booksteaandtoomuchtv

read on AO3 | prologue | one | two | three

"You failed, Huntsman."

The Queen's mostly elegant demeanor seemed to crack before his eyes. His heart in her hand was held in a tight grip, the pain constant even as he kept standing.

"I aimed towards the man, I didn't see the other until it was too late," he tried to explain.

"But, you're in luck," she interrupted. The drastic change in tone, as well as her wide grin, startled him. "Your mistake might just be my fortune."

"What?"

"You better hope she dies, or you'll take her place," Regina sneered.

Still confused, he watched as Regina turned back to the mirror who replayed the figure being hit by the poisoned arrow time and time again.

---

About a year after meeting Nemo, the Captain had let him sail the Caspartine alone. Killian had been flying supervised for a few months by then, observing for much longer, and the older man had felt confident that he was ready.

It had gone successfully, Killian focused on the helm and the winds, while trying to ignore his Captain's orders towards the other crew members. He was determined to do it right.

Killian remembered how his fingers had gone numb around the helm, his jaw clenched to prevent his teeth from chattering. He remembered the warmth he felt when Nemo had placed a heavy jacket over his shoulders - a heat that warmed his chilled body but also his heart. He remembered the care when Nemo urged a pair of gloves on his freezing hands.

But most of all, he remembered the hand on his shoulder that banished the cold.

Killian had witnessed first hand just how frigid the northern air could be when sailing up in the sky, but down here, trekking up the mountain, he could feel none of it. His blood burned hot with fear.

His coat was wrapped around Emma as her body slumped more and more over Henry's body on top of Roger. She spent more time unconscious than conscious now. Her mask had come off mere hours after she’d been shot, claiming shortness of breath. Once she could breathe a little bit easier, she made a mocking comment about the Lost Ones' sense of style, but promptly passed out before either of them could ask what she meant.

With her mask gone, Killian found himself often distracted. To be able to see her eyes, to witness the emotions she thought she was hiding reflected in their fetching green depths, had already been enticing enough. But now, to be able to see how her lips glistened as she ran her tongue over them, to be able to see how they wrapped around her words, was perhaps too much. And then there was the sharpness of her jaw, the soft skin of her cheeks, the way the cold made them redden and the way her nose matched. He tried to keep it to himself - now was most definitely not the time - besides the fact that she hadn't shown any interest toward him.

It was easier to focus on the problem at hand when, without the cover of her mask, he was able to see the amber lines of the poison running up her jaw. When he could see how her eyes dulled. When he could hear the shortness of her breath.

Henry tried to use his magic to generate warmth for the two of them, successfully, but they were still tired, hungry. They had made only one stop since the beginning of their journey since Killian and Henry had agreed that they wanted to reach their destination as quickly as possible. Their rations had depleted earlier that day.

Their one stop was two nights ago. Killian's feet were freezing in his boots and their last blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, his hand blue around Roger's reins.

Thankfully, Roger was accustomed to harsh weather and long journeys and provided a somewhat comfortable place of rest for his companions. He also seemed to be in touch with Killian’s concern.

"How long until we get there, Killian?" Henry's voice was a mumble from under the weight of the blankets.

He took another glance towards the white landscape and, for a moment, he feared he was hallucinating due to lack of sleep. But no, the round boulders scattered over the valley were still there on his third blink.

"I think we're here."

Henry's head emerged from the mountain of blankets, his eyes shining with hope as he saw the valley. Carefully, Killian helped Henry dismount, intending to keep a slumbering Emma comfortably on top of the horse.

"Where are they?" Henry asked, looking around.

Killian took a moment to tuck a blanket around Emma, getting distracted over the small uptick of her lips. His fingers ghosted over her cheek.

"It's the Truest Believer!"

A voice echoing in the valley broke through his thoughts of the softness of Emma's skin. Killian moved quickly to stand in front of Henry, sword drawn.

The boulders began to stand - legs, feet, arms, faces appearing on all of them. As surprised as he was, Killian sighed, wondering how he would fight a dozen rocks with one sword and two days without sleeping.

Scattered exclamations filled the air before the rock closest to them, which was also the largest, urged them all to be quiet.

"My apologies, friends,” he said, addressing Killian and Henry, “My family is quite excited to see the prophecy come to life. I'm Grand Pabbie,” he said with a small bow, “Welcome to our valley."

"Rock trolls," Henry exclaimed in a whisper, now standing next to Killian.

"Please excuse our suspicions, many people have tried to harm the boy," Killian explained, grip still firm on his sword.

"Yes, yes, we understand." The patriarch stilled his approaching family. "You are safe here."

Killian looked towards Henry with an expectant look, having learned to trust the boy’s instincts by this point. Henry looked back at him with a smile and a nod. He was relieved, to be truthful, he wasn't in much of a shape to fight against boulders. Well, to fight at all.

He watched, still wary, as Henry took Grand Pabbie's extended hand, to the cheers of the others throughout the valley. Killian put away his sword.

A groan caught his attention and he moved quickly towards Roger to check on Emma.

"Grand Pabbie, you need to help us," Henry pleaded. "Our friend has been poisoned."

"Yes, of course. Could you bring your friend to me?"

"Killian-" Henry began, turning toward him. Killian nodded.

She was still unconscious, her skin hot despite the cold, dark orange lines reaching her eyes. His hand trembled, but no longer with fear, as he carefully pulled away the blankets surrounding her body. Killian eased her into his arms, holding her close. He slowly crouched on the ground, taking care to lay her down gently at the leader's feet. He didn't stand, wanting to keep close to Emma, barely feeling Henry's hand on his shoulder.

Grand Pabbie spared her the briefest glance before a grim expression took over his face. Killian's heart pounded in his chest.

"Yes, this poison is vicious,” he said. “Fortunately, it didn't hit her heart. Unfortunately, our magic is not strong enough to remove it. We-"

It was like jumping into the cold waters of the ocean, his heart stopping in his chest. "What?!" Killian's shout echoed through the valley. "Are you saying you can't help her?!" He stood quickly, ignoring his body's protests as he did.

"Killian…" Henry called in a quiet voice, his hand grabbing onto his arm. There was a taste of defeat in Killian's mouth, of despair.

"My friend,” Grand Pabbie interjected calmly, “that is not what I said. I said our magic is not enough to heal her, but with the Truest Believer's help, we will save your companion. You mustn’t lose hope."

Later, Killian would feel guilty over his outburst. Later, Killian would apologize. Now, all he felt was the prickling of tears in his eyes.

Aware of Killian's emotions, Henry tightened his hand on his arm, hoping to reassure him.

"I can help?" Henry asked as he took a step forward.

Grand Pabbie turned his attention to the boy, a wide smile on his face, leaving Killian to take deep calming breaths.

"Of course you can, my child. Come."

Killian stood, eyes focused on Emma. He watched as Henry and the elder troll approached Emma's unconscious body.

"This poison was created by nature. We must return it to whence it came, to create balance," he explained. He took Henry's hand and placed it over Emma's chest, while the other he placed on the ground. "Feel it, listen to it, and guide it."

Henry nodded, determination glinting in his eyes before he closed them in concentration.

Killian took a step back, his hand clenched to his side. Hope and despair battled for dominance within him, threatening to drown him. He wanted to believe that Henry, under Grand Pabbie’s guidance, could heal Emma, but the despair in his heart over the threat of losing her too soon wasn’t so easily vanquished. Roger's breath tickled his face from over his shoulder. There were times the horse felt more human being than animal, and this was one of those times. His hand stroked Roger’s head, willing his breathing to regulate.

A glow surrounded Emma's body and Killian watched as the yellow liquid drained from her until there was none left. The dark orange lines that had covered her face disappeared with it and Killian could breathe again.

"Very good, my child," Grand Pabbie complimented, the other trolls cheering in response.

"Thank you," Henry breathed, sounding tired but happy. Moments later, his frown made an appearance on his face. "Why isn't she waking up?" he asked, echoing Killian's concerned thoughts.

The elder troll quickly placed his hand on the boy's arm. "The poison was very powerful, it took a lot from her. She needs to rest."

Henry nodded before he looked up at Killian, who nodded in response.

"As do all of you," Grand Pabbie added, after taking a better look at the travelers. "Come, I know the perfect place."

Killian cleared his throat. "All we need is a safe place to set up camp."

"Nonsense. You've traveled this far, you deserve comfort."

Killian wanted to reject the offer. He wanted to keep them safe, but not with strangers. But one look at Henry's posture, at Emma's still unconscious body, and Roger's clearly tired posture, prompted him to put his pride aside.

"Lead the way," he said as he took Emma back into his arms. He placed her upon Roger's back, silently pleading with the animal for just another few minutes of effort.

Killian led Roger by the reins once more through a path created by happy rock trolls on either side, as he followed Henry and Grand Pabbie.

He wasn’t sure how long they walked until they were standing in front of a cottage surrounded by snow. He’d spent the time focused on Henry's back, on Henry's voice as he introduced them to Grand Pabbie and explained what had happened to them, keeping his troubled thoughts at bay.

With a surprisingly gentle touch, the elder troll knocked on the door. A moment later, a redhead opened the door, a sharp sword in her hand. Killian quickly grabbed the hilt of his own, but he stopped himself when the young woman let out an excited exclamation once she saw Grand Pabbie.

The young woman and Grand Pabbie exchanged delighted hugs and proclamations of excitement as Killian took a deep breath, releasing his sword. The exhaustion pulled at him, but his mind stayed alert with his worry over Emma and Henry.

Before the redhead's excitement died down, a tall, white blonde haired woman entered the room. It was obvious she was also happy over Grand Pabbie's presence, but she expressed it much more reservedly than the other woman.

"Elsa, Anna,” Grand Pabbie said, pointing to each of them in turn, “these are Henry, Killian and Emma. They have traveled far and need a place to rest."

"Of course, we'd be happy to help." The one called Anna smiled widely, with an especially friendly smile towards Henry, who smiled back in turn. "Right, Elsa?"

The white haired woman, however, kept her eyes on Killian. She seemed to be searching for something - trying to understand something, perhaps - he wasn’t sure, before she turned back towards Grand Pabbie. The elder troll smiled gently.

"These travelers wish you no harm," he assured her. “You have my word.”

Elsa nodded at his words. "Anna, can you take their horse to the stable?"

"Yes, yes!" She quickly placed a hood over her shoulders and stood in front of the horse. "Don't worry, friend,” she said, patting him on the nose, “you won't have to share beds with anyone." Anna chuckled at her own joke, Henry joining her. "What's his name?"

"Anna…" Elsa began.

"What? He must have a name," Anna justified herself before she turned towards Killian. "Right?"

A warmth filled his chest as he exchanged a look with Henry, both of them remembering the same thing.

"His name is Roger," Killian answered.

"A great name! Hi, Roger." Anna continued stroking the horse's head, who seemed to enjoy the attention. It seemed they were fast friends.

Killian patted the horse's neck, before easing Emma off of him. He looked towards Henry and the boy rushed to collect their things off the horse.

"What happened?" Elsa asked, her eyes focused on Emma.

"Our friend Emma was poisoned." Grand Pabbie answered her question directly but with tact. "You understand their need for rest."

"Yes, of course. Come in, please." Elsa urged them inside after a nod at Anna, who took Roger's reins and led him towards the stables.

"Thank you, my dear." Killian heard Grand Pabbie behind him as he moved toward the door. "I'll see you later." The sound of rolling reached him and he turned just in time to see a large boulder rolling down the hill.

He turned to Henry, who watched as well, an amused smile on his face. Killian tried to match it, but he wasn’t sure he was successful.

Elsa quickly closed the door behind them, urging them to follow her towards a room with a fireplace and a very comfortable looking bed. Although, to be honest, any bed would look comfortable to Killian at this point.

"You can let your friend rest here, while yo-"

"We're staying together," Killian interrupted her. "Please,” he said a bit more gently, “you must understand."

"Yes, yes, of course." Elsa nodded. "I would want the same if it was my sister. We must keep the ones we love close."

Killian wanted to correct her, explain to her the nature of their relationship, but what would be the point? It wouldn't change anything about the fact that Killian wanted to protect them, needed to protect them. He wanted nothing more than to keep them close to him. Exactly as Elsa had just said.

"Do you have food?" Henry's question brought his wandering thoughts and his steps toward the bed to a sudden halt.

"Henry…" Killian chastised.

"It's alright,” Elsa assured them, “You must be hungry as well as tired." Elsa smiled, keeping her eyes on the boy. "I'll bring you some food. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

With a satisfied expression, Henry turned to Killian who could only shake his head with an amused smile. Regardless of his lighter mood, Henry still followed him closely as he placed Emma on the bed, quickly making sure she was comfortable. They fixed the hood around her head, unsure of how she would feel if she knew they had removed it without her permission. Still, Killian caught a glimpse of her blonde hair and couldn’t help the thoughts that filled his brain.

Thankfully, Elsa returned soon after, distracting them with the food in her hands. Now that they were safe and the adrenaline that had been sustaining him for two days was fading, Killian felt exhaustion pull at him. He sat on the bed while Henry rushed towards Elsa's offering. His back leaned against the wall as he eased Emma's head onto his lap, needing to keep her close. His eyelids drooped. It was impossible to keep them open.

"You must eat." Elsa’s gentle admonishment startled him awake and his eyes focused on the bread she held. He smiled and nodded in thanks, forcing himself to eat. She watched him for a moment before she nodded, satisfied with his progress and returned to the table where Henry sat.

It didn’t take him long to finish and he could stay awake no longer.

He had no idea how long he slept, but the sun was rising when he finally woke up. He had flashes of remembrance from the night and day before - something soft being placed behind him, a particularly loud laugh - but overall, he’d slept soundly since arriving. There was a weight on his side and he turned to see a sleeping Henry laying against his chest on the opposite side from where Emma's head was placed. His hooked arm was around the boy while his hand was settled on Emma's chest, over her heart.

He looked down to see her still resting, the steady beat of her heart under his palm reassuring. Looking across the room, he found it empty. The fire in the fireplace was slowly dying and he could see a cloth covered plate on the table.

Something metallic and cold on his thumb caught his attention. He wasn’t sure how he didn't notice it last time. His exhausted mind must have clouded his senses. It was his ring, nestled against her chest on its chain. He wondered when Henry gave it to her.

Memories of strong winds and waves tossing him around in the midst of the wreck invaded his mind. Memories of being rescued by a kind hand mixed with the feeling of freezing cold and dimming green eyes were replaced by the warmth he felt now with his hand on her heart. He couldn’t help but believe that the ring, and thus he as well, had a hand in saving her.

He watched as her eyes fluttered open, his heart beating faster in sync with her own. Green and frightened eyes skipped around the cottage, trying to make sense of her surroundings before they landed on his. There was only a moment before recognition filled them and her lips parted on a sigh. Their hearts calmed as one.

"Thank you." He smiled, a small, tired smile but nevertheless, sincere.

"For what?" Her voice was raspy from disuse.

"You saved me…" She looked away from him for an instant, he saw her remember the attack. "You saved me," he repeated, wanting to make sure she felt his gratitude.

Her smile was demure as her hand slowly found his. Her mouth opened and closed multiple times and Killian felt his heartbeat pick up once more in expectation. A million thoughts that he couldn’t quite understand swirled in her eyes, probably much more than she wished.

Belatedly, he sensed Henry beginning to move by his side. A shout of surprise filled the quiet room when the boy realized Emma was awake. The bed quickly became a tangle of limbs as Henry excitedly climbed towards her.

Their hands separated at some point and he immediately felt the loss. Loss that quickly turned to affection as he watched Henry grip Emma tightly, her eyes closed as her nose buried itself in his dark hair, a relieved and happy smile on both their faces.

"I'm so happy you're okay, Emma!" The boy's voice was muffled from where he huddled against Emma's body.

---

An earth-shaking scream echoed through the room as all of the non-magical mirrors shattered around Regina.

"Huntsman!"

She needed not to yell for him as he had not left the room. But that's not what he was focused on - his eyes stayed on his beating heart in her hand even as she gestured towards the very much alive hooded woman in the mirror.

"She lives…" Regina's low tone was perhaps more deadly than her screams.

The Huntsman’s shoulders untensed. For so long, he had been at the Queen’s hand, he had hoped her evil hadn’t corrupted him. He was at peace, a life was spared in the woman’s quest for revenge.

Regina took no time squeezing his heart in her grasp, the pain bringing him to his knees. He tried to silence his pain, not wanting to give her the satisfaction.

Unexpectedly, a growl echoed through the room. The pain in his chest stopped altogether and his eyes opened. A familiar large wolf jumped toward the Queen, his heart falling from her grasp. It was only out of instinct that Graham caught the glowing red heart before it hit the floor. He rose to his feet and followed the wolf out of the castle before the Queen was able to return to her senses.

The evil queen’s enraged screeches echoed from the castle as they reached the forest.

---

Henry’s initial shout of joy brought Elsa and Anna into the room. Elsa was already ready for the day, while her sister drug her feet behind her, her face barely visible around the mountain of blankets she carried.

"She's awake, Elsa, she's awake!" Henry tumbled out of the bed, full of energy and grabbed the woman's hand.

"I can see that." Elsa smiled patiently as she followed him to the bed.

Killian stood from the bed, holding out his hands to help Emma. He couldn’t help but worry that she was still too weak. Her smile was thankful as she took his hand. He could swear his fingers felt electric under her touch.

"Emma, this is Elsa and her sister, Anna."

Emma's hand left his and he clenched and unclenched his fist, hoping to hold on to the feel of hers for a bit longer. She smiled uncomfortably towards the two strangers.

"I'm glad to know you're feeling better," Elsa said with a smile.

"Yeah, you were sleeping forever!" Henry teased as he came to Emma's side holding her hand.

"Oh, I'm sorry…" Emma's eyes widened as she turned towards Elsa.

"No need to apologize,” the woman assured her. “It was our pleasure to help you."

"Yeah, we don't really have any visitors," Anna grumbled, standing close to her sister.

"Oh…" Emma turned to Killian in search of an explanation, but he merely shrugged.

"Killian slept a lot as well," Henry informed Emma with an overly loud fake whisper. She turned worried eyes towards him as he scratched behind his ear.

It was obvious she wanted to say something. She probably wanted to chastise him for pushing himself to utter exhaustion. But it wasn’t as if he would have allowed her to suffer longer, simply so he could rest. But before she could, Elsa interrupted, clearly trying to appease the situation.

"You must be hungry."

"Yes!" Anna nearly shouted impatiently, prompting a laugh out of Elsa.

"I meant our guests."

"Oh, yeah… well… them, too."

Henry and Killian both joined in before Killian turned towards Emma. He was just in time to see her shoulders relax, her whole posture calming as he watched. The sisters, as isolated as they seem to be, were wonderful hostesses and made them feel quite comfortable in this new and strange environment. They shared a small feast with the newcomers.

Henry quickly stretched over the table for a slice of a wonderful-looking cake. His excited lunge almost tipped over a glass bottle of water. Emma's fast reflexes managed to stop the wobbling bottle.

"Henry!" she scolded, her apprehensively tight lips visible due to the removal of her mask.

"Apologies, he's young," Killian directed towards the two siblings before turning a stern look at the boy.

"Yeah, sorry," Henry slowly sat back on his chair with a frown. "It just all looks so good."

"Thank you for apologizing, Henry." Elsa gave him a soft smile. "But as you see, no harm done."

"Here," Anna said, extending a big slice of cake on a plate. "You get the biggest piece."

"Thank you so much!" Henry excitedly shot a wide smile towards the young redhead before diving into the slice in front of him.

"Thank you," Killian directed towards the sisters.

"No need to worry," Elsa smiled. "Your son has much better manners than my sister." Her smile turned teasing as she glanced at her sister.

"Hey!" Anna complained half-heartedly.

"Oh, he's not our son."

"They are not my parents."

"We're not related."

Everyone spoke at the same time before silence settled over the table. Elsa looked between them, surprised, while Anna stopped with a fork in her mouth, glancing between them. Henry looked between Killian and Emma as the two of them tried to avoid everyone's gaze.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to assume," Elsa broke the silence with a calm expression. "I just thought…"

"We are on a quest," Henry began, ignoring the looks from the silent couple. "They are…” Henry trailed away, his brow furrowed, and looked at them, a question in his eyes. “Uh… sorta… my parents? Except, not really?"

Henry's confusion broke the tension as Killian chuckled and Emma followed. Elsa and Anna followed their lead, relaxing as well.

"What he means to say," Killian said, ruffling Henry's hair who pushed away his hand even with a smile on his face. "is that we are on our way to take him to another realm."

"So I guess you could say, we are escorting him," Emma added with an amused smile at Henry.

Killian laughed, turning his head to Emma. While before he had considered her distracting with an uncovered mouth, he had no words now that he saw her smile. All he could think of was how he could make her smile again, how he could make her laugh.

"Grand Pabbie told us," Elsa began, her tone more nervous as she held everyone's attention, "that someone would appear at our door. Someone we would have to help and that would help us in return."

"Yeah, he told us of the Heart of the Truest Believer," Anna interjected with a mouth full of bread.

There was a tense silence at the table. Despite Killian's trust of the Rock Trolls, they didn't know the sisters' intentions. He could see Emma hold on tighter to the knife.

"Grand Pabbie helped us heal Emma," Henry reminded him as well as actually informing Emma. "He knew about me."

Killian observed the two women in front of him at Henry's confession of possessing the Heart of the Truest Believer. He could see the confirmation of her suspicions in Elsa's face while Anna seemed to let her sister take control of the conversation, content to focus on her food.

"We assumed so," Elsa nodded, smiling reassuringly at them. "No one comes to our door besides the rock trolls."

"What are your intentions with the Heart of the Truest Believer?" Emma asked, her tone formal even as he noticed her fist clench even tighter on the knife.

"We just want your help."

"With what?"

"Our kingdom," Anna answered, before looking at Elsa for permission. "We were run out of Arendelle by that stupid Hans."

"Anna," Elsa said calmly, her hand over her sister's. "A neighboring prince with an inflated sense of his own importance used a power he didn’t understand to take our kingdom. And he succeeded."

There was anger and frustration in her voice by the end and he could swear the temperature in the small cottage dropped twenty degrees, chilling his blood and raising the hairs on his arms. Anna's hand clenched over her sisters and the room warmed instantly.

"You have magic," Henry interrupted the moment, leaning forward on the table.

Elsa turned a look towards Anna who smiled reassuringly. The blonde then turned back towards them, both her hands turned up while her eyes closed. It wasn't long before small snowflakes began pouring from the ceiling. He heard Emma's sharp intake of breath and Henry's excited squeal. He was torn - he felt like he should be more worried over encountering another magic user, but the fact was, he was nothing but impressed at the show of magic.

"That is amazing!" Henry exclaimed.

Elsa grinned as her eyes opened. She closed her hands effectively ending the falling snow.

"If you have magic, how did you lose your kingdom?" Emma asked with a frown.

"Have you ever heard of the tale of the Snow Queen?" Elsa asked.

The three of them shook their heads.

"Oh, can I tell it?" Anna asked excitedly, not waiting for her sister's answer. "She was an Arendellian Queen that had ice powers and used it to vanquish all her enemies, but she couldn’t control her powers and she hurt her loved ones driving her to madness. She was trapped in a magical urn to protect the kingdom."

Killian and Emma couldn't help but look at Elsa, the similarities not lost on them.

"She was said to have ruled before we were born," Elsa explained. "My powers caused a lot of apprehension at first from our people. But, I have control of them… my powers, I mean, and after I protected our kingdom from an enemy attack, they accepted me as their queen."

"How does this Snow Queen fit into all this?" Emma asked.

"The prince we mentioned, Hans, released the Snow Queen from her prison and took control of Arendelle with her by his side," Anna answered.

"Her power was too strong," Elsa continued. "We had no choice but to run."

"If you guys joined us, I'm sure we'd be able to defeat her," Anna concluded, looking at their visitors.

"Yes, we'll help you!" Henry interjected with a wide expectant smile towards Killian and Emma.

Magic. After a decade keeping as far away from it as possible, he had been thrown right in the middle of it. Not only was he traveling with magic users but he was also being thrown into a battle to save someone's kingdom from another magical being. What had his life become?

Henry took their silence as a negative response. "We have to help them!" His eyes were pleading as they looked between his two companions.

"It's alright if you don't want to take the risk, it isn't your responsibility," Elsa acknowledged.

"We'll help you." Emma took control, locking eyes with him. "They helped us, now we help them." Her tone was confident, her eyes matching the conviction in her words.

Killian nodded after a moment. "Cygnus directed us this way."

Henry's whoop of celebration broke the tension of the moment as Anna joined him. Elsa shot them a thankful look and nodded her acceptance. He was sure this was the right thing to do, he just hoped he would live long enough to witness their victory.

---

After the meal, Elsa took Emma towards a separate room to bathe - both Killian and Henry agreed that she should go first. While she was gone, they took the opportunity to see Roger as they stored their things in the satchels.

"Lad, I- I want to apologize for how I behaved during the journey. I-"

"I understand, Killian. You care for her, too." Henry looked at him with a smile as he stroked the horse's head.

Killian was speechless, but he couldn’t deny it. He thought he’d been more circumspect about his attraction to Emma, but he obviously hadn’t been if Henry could see it.

"I care for you, too, you know," Killian said instead, a subtle apology for his behavior at the table.

"I know that, too." Henry grinned, making Killian laugh.

"Go inside and bathe," Killian instructed, hoping for a few moments with his thoughts.

Henry nodded, taking a step towards the exit of the stable before he halted. Without warning, Henry's body collided with Killian's in a tight hug.

"Thank you for taking care of us, Killian." Henry’s words were muffled against his chest as his arms wrapped around the boy.

"You're quite welcome, my boy," he replied, his voice quiet, full of emotion.

Henry turned a bright smile towards the older man before he rushed towards the cottage.

Maybe his situation wasn't as bad as he thought, even with the constant battles he was being volunteered for. Maybe seeing Henry's smile was enough. Maybe fighting alongside Emma was enough. Maybe he should admit that he cared for them. Maybe.

Roger's head bumped into his back, interrupting his thoughts. He turned to the animal with a smile.

"Guess it's time to play the hero," Killian smiled, patting the horse's head. "What do you think?"

Roger knickered in agreement and Killian chuckled. Maybe it would all be alright.

---

Arriving back at the cottage, Killian found Anna and Henry in excited conversation, talking of their adventures and telling stories. Elsa and Emma were in much quieter conversation as they prepared provisions for the journey. They really were wonderful hosts.

Killian left them to their preparations and made use of the metal tub of warm water in the back of the cottage. After such a cold environment, the warm bath was incredibly comforting. After scrubbing himself down he donned his clothes and looked around the room. An assortment of scattered papers on a nearby table caught his eye. He shouldn't, he knew he shouldn’t… it wasn't his room and he definitely shouldn't look over personal items, but something drew him in, something he couldn’t explain.

Drawings. Some abstract, blue cold lines overtaken by red. Others clearly depicted a castle, a cold room, a summer garden with beautiful flowers.

And then he saw them. Familiar blue eyes. Eyes set in a cold blue canvas, in warm red lines. There were so many of them, in different styles, in different colours. And then he saw his face. Clear lines on an old canvas. He could see every curl in his hair, the warmth in his blue eyes, the caring smile on his lips. After a decade without him, he was finally face to face with his brother - his brother as a young man, when they were still indentured, but perfectly recognizable.

Killian startled as the door opened, but he was much too slow turning his eyes towards the blonde woman. There wasn’t time to pretend he hadn't just been looking through her drawings. He didn’t really want to.

"I came to see if you were alright." Elsa's voice was quiet, her eyes stuck on the drawing in his hand, her hand still on the doorknob.

"Did you draw these?" His voice matched hers, unwilling to break such a delicate moment with accusations.

She took a few steps closer to the table, the door left a few inches open. Her eyes never left the drawing in his hand even as she stood on the opposite side of the table. She nodded.

He carefully put it down as if it would disappear at any moment.

"Who was he?" Killian asked her in a whisper, even if he already knew the answer.

"I didn’t know his name," Elsa answered. "That was my first drawing of him."

"Who was he?" he repeated, his voice more sure, more desperate.

"A long time ago, when I was much younger, I used to escape from the castle with Anna," she began, her eyes on the many drawings on the table. "We used to play by the shore. During the summer, I would freeze the water so we could skate on it. Anna loved it.” Elsa’s eyes were far away, lost in the memory. "One of those days of summer, my powers failed me. Anna was moving too fast and I couldn't keep up. She fell in the water. I screamed for someone to help, anyone. We couldn't swim, I couldn't help her. And then I heard someone jump in the water. I saw him reach my sister, bringing her to me. I pulled her into my arms, but she was having trouble breathing. I needed to take her back to the castle. I thanked him and he smiled. But before I could say anything else, someone shouted for him and he was gone.”

"Seeing the danger I posed to my sister threw me into a difficult time. My powers were out of control. The only thing that helped was to draw. I drew him, I drew all of this,” she said, motioning around the table. “That, along with Anna's help, brought back my control. I wish I could have thanked him."

Killian's heart was about to pound out of his chest. He remembered that day.

"He was my brother," Killian said after a moment of silence. He heard Elsa's sharp breath and felt her eyes on him but he couldn't take his eyes off the drawing, off his brother's eyes. "I saw him jump off of the ship. I was so confused, I couldn't understand why he would do that when he knew we would get in trouble.

"The Captain heard the splash and thought Liam was trying to escape… which was ridiculous… he wouldn't have gone without me," he continued, taking a deep breath. "I can still feel the dagger the Captain held at my throat. That was why he left so fast, he wanted to protect me. It didn't really work, though, we both got some thorough lashes that day."

"I don't understand."

"We were indentured servants all throughout our childhood and teen years," Killian explained. "The Captain owned us and he thought Liam was trying to escape."

"I-I'm so sorry." Elsa laid her hand on his in comfort.

"It's in the past, lass," Killian smiled a small, reassuring smile. "I never thought I'd see his face again."

They both took a moment to look at the drawing, letting the silence comfort them. Killian freed his hand to run it carefully through the lines.

"What was his name?" Elsa whispered.

"Liam."

"Liam." Elsa smiled. "That's a beautiful name."

Killian smiled back with a nod. He saw Elsa lick her lips in a nervous gesture and he anticipated her next question.

"What happened to him?"

Killian cleared his throat, hoping to control his emotions. "There was a storm. I was the only survivor."

He felt more than saw Elsa move around the table. Despite his efforts, there were tears in his eyes and he finally let them spill as he felt Elsa's arms around him.

"He would be proud of you, I'm sure," she whispered.

He couldn’t help the watery chuckle. "I hope so."

An understanding smile passed between them as they backed away from each other.

"We're ready!" Henry's excited call from the door broke the moment. Killian caught a glimpse of dark green from behind Henry. "Is everything okay?"

"Of course, my boy." Killian smiled reassuringly. "Time for an adventure, right?"

"Yeah!"

The child was full of excitement as he returned to the other two women.

"You should have this." In Elsa's hand was the drawing of his brother. "And you can't refuse, I'm the queen."

Her eyes were full of the emotion from their conversation but a teasing smile lifted the corner of her lips.

Killian chuckled. "Of course. Who am I to defy royalty?"

She joined him with her laughter. He carefully took the treasure from her hand, looking at it for a moment before following the creases of the paper to fold it before placing it in the inside pocket of his coat.

"Thank you, Elsa." His voice was quiet but there was no mistaking the emotion behind his words.

She nodded in response. With a deep breath, she took a step towards the door. "They should be waiting for us."

"Yes, let's go."

Leaving the room, he found the other women all ready for the journey. Anna’s sword was by her side, and as opposed to her sister, seemed to be a lot more prepared for the cold weather. He was saddened to note that Emma had put her mask back over her mouth, despite the fact that with the cold and possible battle before them, it would probably be much more effective there.

---

With their things already on Roger's back, they started walking back down to the Rock Troll valley. Apparently the news of their allyship with the Arendellian royalty had already reached their stone ears since their path was now lined with cheering trolls. Henry obviously enjoyed it despite the discomfort of the others.

Standing at the end of the valley, Grand Pabbie brought them to a halt before ushering Anna away from the group. Turning towards Elsa, she shared their confused expression. Those same expressions only became more pronounced when Anna returned without any sort of explanation.

"Let's go kick some princely ass!" she cried in response to their confused looks, as if the only thing the group needed was some motivation.

Having no choice but to trust Anna and Grand Pabbie, they put the puzzling conference behind them and continued on their way. They could still hear the crowd of trolls cheering them on for a few miles after exiting the valley.

It wasn’t long after that they could see figures in the distance, the dark of their armor contrasting with the snowy landscape. The army made no move toward their small party, allowing them to approach. They’d obviously been expected. It only took a few minutes for them to arrange themselves at the edge of the improvised battlefield.

"I'm so happy you finally showed up!" A strong voice sounded from the group ahead of them. It came from the only figure on top of a horse, their red hair clashing against the gaudy crown he wore upon his head. Killian had to assume that it was the self-proclaimed king- former prince- that took the throne from the two women beside him.

Beside him, there was a woman dressed in a white dress, not suitable for such weather. It was obviously the Snow Queen and that she shared not only Elsa's ice powers, but her comfort with the cold weather, as well.

Behind them, two rows of five foot soldiers stood with weapons at the ready. It was safe to say that Hans didn’t think much of the threat the displaced royals posed, not with the Snow Queen by his side, anyway. But Killian was confident, they had succeeded so far.

"We thought we'd give you time to look your best, Hans," Anna jeered from his side. "Looks like we should have taken a little longer… well, maybe a lot longer."

Henry tried to disguise his laughter with a cough even if he wasn't fooling anyone. Killian didn't have experience in military battles, but he was quite sure it did not involve throwing mocking remarks between armies.

"You think you're funny, but I am the one with the crown," Hans grinned as he sat up straighter on his horse. "And you aren’t getting it back."

"That crown looks stupid on your stupid head!" Anna shouted back with a satisfied grin, making even Elsa hide a laugh.

"You're at a disadvantage!" Hans' face twisted in anger. He probably expected to be seen as intimidating and was failing miserably. "You're going to lose!"

"Enough talking!" Elsa interrupted, taking a step forward. "We're taking back what's ours."

Killian obviously couldn’t see the faces of the soldiers through their helmets, but he had learned years ago how to read a person's body language. It had saved him many times over. The army behind Hans was uncomfortable, unwilling - they were being forced to stand against their true sovereigns.

"Close your eyes and feel the ground," Henry's quiet words towards Emma just reached Killian’s ears. "Feel where their feet stand on the ground and focus."

From the corner of his eye, he could see Henry reach for Emma's hand. Before he could figure out what was happening, a bright wave of magic passed harmlessly through their party. Once it reached the open field, it began to stir the snow on the ground, startling the enemy army.

"Stand your ground!" Hans shouted over the rumbling sound the wave made as it approached them.

Killian watched as the soldiers raised their swords in front of them and he saw the Snow Queen raise both arms in front of her. The wave of magic created by Emma and Henry passed by Hans and the Snow Queen harmlessly before hitting the soldiers. They all fell to the ground - completely immobile. Even if he didn't already trust Emma, he would know that it wasn't a deadly attack.

"I see you wanted to make the fight more fair," Hans grinned, kicking his heel into the horse’s side for it to begin moving slowly before turning back to the woman next to him. "Go on, show them what we can do!"

Killian's grip on his sword tightened as he watched the Snow Queen raise her arms once more. The tension rose in his allies as they prepared a defense. But no one could have predicted that from a tornado-like flurry of snow, a behemoth of a snow monster would stomp out, letting out a bellow that shook the ground.

"Why do they always have to bring out these mountain-sized monsters?" Killian bemoaned as he unsheathed his sword. He and Henry shared an amused look, even if the concern in their eyes tamed their merriment.

The monster was still for a moment, apparently awaiting instructions. Hans' face could only be described as victorious. He raised his arms up, triumphantly.

Killian heard Anna gasp from behind him. Turning to her, he saw her wide eyes focused on Hans. Before he could ask her about it, Elsa turned to their group.

"Emma, Henry, keep the monster away from us. I will deal with the Snow Queen. Ann-"

"I will help Killian with Hans," Anna quickly interrupted, standing closer to Killian.

"I thought we were done talking!" Hans called with a grin towards the opposing group. He nodded towards the Snow Queen, and as she raised her arms, the monster began stomping towards them.

With a nod of acknowledgement towards the true queen, Henry and Emma began rushing towards the monster, white energy in their hands. At the same time, a beam of light blue magic exploded from Elsa’s hands directed towards the Snow Queen. It looked powerful and Killian felt their small circle tremble with the force of her magic. It should have been strong enough to overpower just about anyone, but unfortunately the Snow Queen was not just anyone. Her responding beam of white magic clashed against Elsa's, the trembling aftershock making all of them stumble.

Trusting Elsa to hold her own against the other magic user, Killian looked towards Hans. The wannabe king's face was almost purple with anger - clearly he had expected to win this battle with barely any effort. Killian suspected that his successful overthrow of Arendelle had gone to his head.

"Killian," Anna approached him. "I need to get close to Hans, can you knock him off his horse?"

Killian smirked. "It would be my pleasure."

He gave a sharp whistle towards Roger. As he approached, Killian swung into the saddle with a practiced move. Hans, noticing his approach, turned his horse towards Killian. They both unsheathed their weapons as they neared each other.

The three-part battle roared in the clearing. Killian heard the growls of the giant snow monster to his left, and felt the ground rumble with the monster's every step. The air around them sparked with energy making the hair on Killian’s neck stand at attention, and the temperature dropped as the icy beams of magic clashed against each other. But he couldn’t worry about any of that now, he had to focus on his own part of the battle - Hans and the sword he wielded.

Killian met Hans' attacks strike for strike, desperate to protect his companions. He had grown to care for the child and the hooded warrior, as well as for the young Arendelle royalty.

Suddenly, a snowball hit his adversary in the face, a shout of victory sounding from behind Killian. Surprise and then outrage replaced the frustration in Hans' face. Killian grinned, knowing Anna threw the snowball. Wasting no time, Killian kicked his opponent right off of the horse.

Anna ran towards them as fast as she could as Killian dropped down from Roger. Acting fast before Hans gained his feet, he disarmed the usurper just as Anna reached them, her momentum when she slammed against Hans, sending him face-first to the ground once more.

"Hold him down!" Anna cried and Killian moved quickly to do as he was told.

"Let go of me, how dare you?!" Hans' demands were ignored as Killian dropped a knee onto the man's back and held his wrists behind his back.

Killian looked towards the battlefield and was glad to see both Emma and Henry alive and well and their enemy reduced to half its size. Killian watched curiously as Anna reached for the false king’s wrist, ignoring his yells of outrage.

"Aha!" Anna exclaimed as she grabbed hold of Hans' right wrist. Killian watched as she unknotted a pale yellow ribbon.

"What are you doing?! St-" Han's shouts were interrupted as Killian pushed his head into the snow. Not for long, unfortunately, but enough to silence him for the moment.

In the silence, their attention was captured by Elsa and the Snow Queen. Their beams of magic had stopped, the older woman's eyes focused on Anna's hands - or more specifically, on the ribbon in her hands.

There was silence in the clearing as Anna slowly approached their enemy, her eyes on the Snow Queen's, whose focus was on the ribbon.

"I was told this was yours." Anna spoke in a soft voice. Killian noticed Elsa slowly following her sister, most likely hoping to protect the young princess.

Despite Anna’s non-threatening posture, a flurry of snow formed around the two women. He heard Elsa call for her sister. He wanted to go and help but he had to keep Hans in place. The defeated prince's mocking laughter was interrupted yet again by another face full of snow. He watched as Emma held on to Henry's shoulders keeping him protected from the growing tornado of snow.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped. Anna stood, alive and well, her hands holding onto the Snow Queen's, who held Anna’s just as tightly, a soft smile on her face.

Anna turned to them, her own smile wide. "I told you Hans would lose!" she announced victoriously, the Snow Queen trying and failing to smother a chuckle at Anna's comment.

His relief was like a weight off his shoulders as he watched Elsa embrace Anna, once her younger sister stepped back from the Snow Queen. But that distraction was all Hans needed to throw Killian off him and charge against the sisters, dagger in hand.

Magic flew but none hit their intended target, until finally a bright white ball of magic hit his arm, making him drop his weapon. The Snow Queen's hand was raised.

"I am the rightful king of Aren-" Hans screamed in fury.

Before any of them could do anything, Anna's fist connected with the angry prince, shocking him to silence.

"Knock it off, Hans." Anna grinned, shaking her hand from the contact. "You lost."

"May I?" The Snow Queen's voice was calm, even as she stared daggers into her former ally.

Elsa looked concerned but there was nothing but confidence in Anna's expression when she nodded. They all watched as their former enemy raised her hand to Hans and froze him in place.

"Not to worry," the Snow Queen assured them, the tone of her voice regal and polished, "He will thaw in a few days."

Anna visibly relaxed with the woman's explanation, and the rest of their company followed her lead. Emma even removed her mask.

"Then we should take him to the dungeons and warn his brothers of his prison sentence," Elsa said, a question within her crystal blue eyes.

"Oh!" Anna seemed to suddenly remember that there was information that needed to be shared with the rest of her group. "This is Ingrid, she's our aunt!"

There was stunned silence among them. The Snow Queen's smile was sheepish but emotional as she looked at the two princesses. Killian looked towards Emma and Henry, who seemed to be as shocked as him.

Killian cleared his throat. "I'll just prepare our new snowman for the journey."

"We'll help!" Emma quickly added, grabbing Henry's hand to bring him towards Roger. They all wanted to give the Arendelle women some space, even as they were insanely curious about the story behind Ingrid.

While Emma helped Killian drag the frozen Hans towards Roger, Henry moved toward the women instead, unable to contain his curiosity and listening to their conversation.

"Are you hurt?" Killian asked as he handed a rope to Emma.

"No." Emma looked at him, her eyes locking with his for a second before she returned her attention to their task. "Just tired. Using magic is exhausting." He couldn't help but chuckle.

"Hopefully, we'll be able to rest after this," Killian said, holding up Hans' legs for Emma to pass the rope under. She smiled and his heart skipped a beat as he smiled back.

They made quick work wrapping the ropes around the block of ice. Henry, apparently having heard enough of the royal’s conversation, joined them jumping up and down in excitement, obviously not nearly as tired as Emma. Killian expected the boy to crash once the adrenaline was gone.

"Ingrid is their aunt!" Henry excitedly recounted. "Hans made a deal with a dark wizard to get control of Arendelle and they gave him control of Ingrid! Apparently, Elsa and Anna's mother thought her sister had died but now they are reunited! The ribbon was what was controlling her and Anna released her!"

"Breathe, my boy." Killian smiled.

The child finally took a break to breathe under the amused looks of Emma and Killian. They both moved to tie the ropes to Roger's saddle, the boy following behind, still too thrilled with their circumstances to calm down.

"But isn't it great?! A happy ending!" Henry continued, approaching Roger to pet him and feed him. "What about you guys? What are your happy endings?"

Killian's hands stilled at the same time Emma's shoulders tensed.

"My happy ending," Killian answered, his attention on Roger making sure all of their provisions were safe, "will be to finally get revenge on the monster who took my hand."

"Oh." Henry looked down for a second, a frown on his face. A weight descended on Killian's chest at having put the frown on his face, but he deserved the truth. "What about you, Emma?"

Killian watched as Henry looked at Emma, frown still in place but unmistakable hope in his eyes. He looked at Emma who kept her eyes on her already tightly-knotted rope, as she pulled her mask back over her mouth.

"I don't believe in happy endings."

Killian watched Henry's frown deepen. Their words had made it clear that the adults' lives hadn't been idyllic and for them to have the same sort of hope Henry was able to foster effortlessly was difficult, if not impossible, but it didn't stop Killian from feeling guilt over crushing the boy's heart.

"Will you be accompanying us back to the castle?" Elsa's voice broke the silent moment, the concerned frown on her face showed she was aware of the tension. "It should be a day's journey."

Killian managed a small reassuring smile towards the blonde woman. "Aye, we would be honored."

"Are you sure you can trust her?" Emma's voice was firm, her eyes on their new companion.

"We can." Elsa's voice matched Emma's, tamed by the soft smile on her lips. "She's family." Emma nodded.

"Shall we go?" Killian asked, placing his hand on Henry's shoulder.

The child looked up at him and Killian attempted his best reassuring smile. He could feel the boy's shoulders gain some firmness and he nodded. It wasn't solved, he didn't expect it to be, but it would be okay. He lifted the boy onto the horse, taking his place next to Roger's head, leading him by the reins.

Killian watched, through the corner of his eyes, as Emma handed Henry a treat from their satchel - an olive branch of sorts, he expected - before joining him on the other side of Roger.

---

They walked through the afternoon. There wasn't a quiet moment during the journey with the high emotions and reunited family and adventures to retell. The sun was setting when they decided to camp for the night.

They had found a nearby river to fill their canteens and shelter from the cold weather. The stars were high in the sky when they finally settled around the fire Emma lit.

Despite the earlier tension, Henry settled comfortably between Killian and Emma. They had huddled in front of a tree for warmth, justifying their close proximity as protection from the cold. Thankfully, Elsa and Ingrid really didn't seem to be bothered by the cold and there were more than enough blankets for everyone.

"What is that?" Henry asked quietly.

Killian looked down to where Henry was pointing. His coat gaped open and the edge of the sheet Elsa had given him peeked out of the inside pocket. There was a smile on his face as he removed it. His eyes found Elsa's on the other side of the fire before the blonde returned to her conversation with her family.

"This," Killian began, opening the paper carefully, "was my brother."

"The one that gave you the ring?"

Killian noticed Emma’s eyes on him as he handed the drawing to Henry, pleased to see him be as gentle as Killian had been, clearly understanding the drawing's importance. Emma subtly raised her hand to her chest, to the place he suspected the ring laid.

"Aye, his name was Liam."

"Wow," Henry breathed. "You have the same eyes."

Killian smiled. The drawing was as close to a perfect rendition of his brother as could be. They shared their mother's eyes even though Killian's face shape was closer to his father's.

"What happened?" Emma's voice surprised him, so soft he almost thought he imagined it.

But she was looking at him with understanding, like she already knew the story wasn't a happy one. Also like she was surprised she had actually asked the question.

Killian took a deep breath. It still hurt to remember and as much as he didn't want to retell it, he felt like Emma should know. He wanted Emma to know.

"We were aboard a ship during a storm," Killian began and his heart filled to the brim when he felt Henry inch closer to him. "Our Captain was a fool and forced us to keep on course. He believed the rumors about a jewel that you would find at the eye of the storm. All it did was kill everyone on board, I was the only survivor."

"You told me." Henry's voice was quiet, to match their quiet setting. "You said that Liam gave you the ring and that it was the only thing you had of your family."

He should have expected a question like that. Henry had been kind enough to not ask before when they spoke of the ring, but now, he wanted to share it.

"Aye," Killian sighed. "My mother passed when I was very young. I remember very little of her, mostly her smile and her eyes and the lullaby she would sing us at night. And the ring on her finger."

"And your father?" Henry frowned, apparently expecting something equally as sad. Emma's eyes were downcast, obviously thinking the same.

"He sold us when Liam was around your age. I was a few years younger." Killian's tone was resigned, accustomed to the anger he felt towards his father. "That's why we were on that ship."

"But- But why would he sell you?" There was a clear tone of outrage and hopelessness in Henry's voice. That hurt more than remembering the people he lost.

"I stopped asking myself that a long time ago, lad."

"But he was your father." Killian's heart broke when he saw the shine in Henry's eyes.

The same expression, the same tone of voice, the same words - watching Henry now was like looking at himself as a child. How many times had Killian asked himself the very same questions?

"I know, my boy." Killian wrapped his arm tighter around the boy, trying to provide the comfort he had wanted back then. "My brother used to say that a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets. I choose to believe that my father's selfish ways got him exactly what he deserved. That's how I make my peace with it."

There was silence in their little huddle. He felt Emma's warmth closer than before; she had moved closer to them. Despite the heavy moment, he felt lighter with that knowledge.

"I never knew my parents." Emma's quiet voice broke the moment and Killian felt Henry's shoulders tense up again. "I was abandoned and ended up in Neverland."

"What's Neverland?" Henry whispered.

"They say Neverland is a paradise, a place where lost ones can have anything they can imagine." Emma's voice was bitter. "In reality, it's a jungle you can never escape from, ruled by a power-hungry demon."

"How did you escape?" Killian asked.

"No one ages in Neverland," she began, her eyes on the fire but leagues away. "That's what Pan tells you. But I started to notice how, when the other children began growing, they would disappear. So, when I came of age, I knew I had to leave."

"What happened to the others?"

Emma turned to the boy at his question at the same time Killian did, her mouth open in hesitation. They shared a quick look, Killian reading the truth in her eyes. He knew she was wary of telling the boy the truth and he didn’t blame her one bit.

"I don't know," Emma muttered in a half-lie. "They simply disappeared from the island."

"Is that when you met Tinkerbell?"

Emma sighed, glad that Henry dropped the subject. "Yeah, she helped me get out of Neverland and told me about you."

"So," Killian started, hoping to relieve the tension. "Is Neverland responsible for that fetching outfit of yours?"

Emma let out a surprised laugh while Henry frowned in confusion at the strange word. Her mask was off again, her hood loose on her head leaving hints of her blonde hair in view.

"Actually, yes." Her hands ran down her sleeve. "We didn't have names in Neverland, we all looked the same. Pan kept us covered to keep us the same. He only wanted to see our eyes, we were to never let anyone see our faces."

In the subsequent silence, Killian thought about the times she had allowed them to see her face. The trust inherent in the action filled his heart. How did these two strangers become so important to him?

"How did you know your name was Emma, then?"

Emma smiled at the boy's question. She opened the satchel by her side, removing something small and soft and weathered. "Because of this."

She opened the torn piece of a blanket on her lap, her thumb caressing the embroidery of her name in purple yarn. "I have had this with me since I was a baby, the only thing my parents gave me. Tinkerbell saved it for me. We had to cut it so I could travel with it.

"All the other children had names of animals. Pan called me a Duckling when I finally joined the Lost Ones and when I grew up, I chose to be a Swan."

"And you became our Swan," Henry added, leaving Killian's side to stretch his arms around her.

Killian smiled, his hand caressing the boy's hair in pride. He watched as Emma's smile reached her watery eyes. Her arms went around Henry tightly.

"Thank you, Henry," she whispered, dropping her cheek to his head for an instant.

Their arms loosened around each other, neither ready to let the other one go. Killian watched as Henry licked his lip and kept his eyes on the piece of blanket on Emma's lap.

"I don't remember my parents," Henry said quietly. "I think I remember their voices, I think they loved me but I don't remember them. The fairies told me that they were gone but they never told me how or why. They just kept telling me that everything was as it should be and to have hope."

Killian frowned, Emma matching him. All this mystery behind Henry was catching up to the boy. He deserved answers. Answers neither of them were able to give him.

"I know that it isn't easy to have hope." Henry spoke in a low voice, his face hidden from them while his fingers gently caressed the tattered blanket. "Growing up with the fairies was easy and safe. I didn't have friends or much to worry about. These past days have really been a change.”

"I know you two had very different lives from me. I understand now why happy endings aren't the same for everyone, but," he continued, finally sitting up straight between them, his hands on each adult's arm. "I choose to believe that they are possible and that we will all live happily ever after. Even if you don't, I'll believe it for you."

Henry's eyes were full of determination and hope, the very definition of a Believer. There wasn't much either of them could say and he watched as Emma's eyes shone with the fire's light. Killian moved his arm so that he could hold the boy's hand in a tight grip and he watched as Emma did the same.

Aware that their emotional moment had an audience, Killian looked over at their companions. He should have known not to worry about their judgment of their scene because, as he did, he saw Anna had turned into a pile of blankets sleeping soundly between her sister and aunt. Ingrid and Elsa’s focus was on each other as they talked.

“I think that’s a new one, don’t you think, kid?” Emma’s voice brought his gaze back to her.

Emma had her gaze on the sky and was pointing with her free hand to a specific cluster of stars. Henry’s dark head followed her hand with his eyes, inhaling a surprised breath. Killian caught Emma’s eyes and she grinned at him, mischief shining in her green eyes.

“Can you tell me about those, Killian? Please?” Henry looked back at him with pleading eyes and the beginnings of a pout.

“Who am I to deny such a request?” Killian grinned, his fake put upon tone failing to hit the mark.

Killian sat back against the tree and his smile grew as he felt Henry settle at his side with his eyes back on the sky. Emma mimicked Killian’s position, no longer hiding her interest in the stories he told about the stars.

He looked at the constellation Emma had indicated, trying to remember exactly what he had been told about that one. The stars formed two figures turned to each other. Its position in the Northern sky and the fact that they were upside down told him that the constellation belonged to the Enchanted Forest - the clear skies above allowing them to see them.

“Those stars tell the most famous love story of the Enchanted Forest,” Killian began, his arm on Henry’s head, running his hand through his hair. “It is said that decades ago, a princess ran away from her kingdom after her evil stepmother tried to kill her. She became a bandit who stole from the rich and helped her people. And her people helped her back - she gave them her love and provided for them and they gave her their loyalty and protection in return.”

“And then there was a shepherd who became a prince,” he continued. “After a deal made with a wizard, he took his late twin brother’s place as prince and was arranged to marry a princess from a neighboring kingdom.”

Killian made sure to keep his voice low, hoping to help the boy fall asleep. With his arm, he pulled Henry closer, so the boy could use him as a cushion. He felt the weight of Emma’s body on his arm as she had been leaning against the boy as well.

“They met when the bandit tried to steal from the prince’s carriage. It is said that she punched him on the jaw when he finally caught her.” He heard a breathy laugh from Emma and caught her eye with a smirk. “Did they live happily ever after?” Henry’s mumble from where his head rested made them smile.

“They went through a lot of adventures, fought villains and won, and when the bandit was cursed with eternal sleep, it was the prince’s kiss that woke her. Together, they defeated the bandit’s evil stepmother and became king and queen, ruling side by side.”

Henry’s hum was muffled by Killian’s chest and he turned to Emma, who was still looking at the stars.

“Is he asleep?” Killian whispered to her.

She turned to him with a smile before leaning forward to check Henry’s face.

“Like a rock.” She chuckled, Killian joining her. “You know how to tell a story.”

The corner of his lips rose as he looked up at the stars. “My brother used to tell me stories when we were young. He had to whisper them to me so the other sailors wouldn’t listen.” He continued running his fingers through Henry’s hair. “They helped me sleep so I hoped they would do the same for Henry.”

Killian turned to Emma to find her looking curiously at him.

“I know I’m not part of some prophecy nor do I have magic,” he confessed, locking eyes with his companion. “But I care for the boy and I will protect him with all I have.”

She smiled. And that smile was new. It was a simple upturn of her lips that made his heart beat so fast he was worried she might hear it.

“I feel the same way,” she whispered, looking down. “He is a special boy and not just because of any prophecy.”

Killian nodded. When her gaze met his again, she appeared rattled, her eyes filled with trepidation and wariness.

“I should check our course,” Killian noted, looking away. He heard her sigh and decided that there had been enough heavy conversation for a night. “Do you mind?” He gestured towards Henry.

“Oh.” Emma reached over to lay a hand on Henry’s head, her hand brushing on his exposed chest and he was certain that the temperature had risen around them about ten degrees.

Taking a steadying breath, Killian focused on his satchel as soon as Henry was lying comfortably on Emma’s chest, his mouth open in sleep. Looking up at the sky, it was easy to identify Cygnus in the middle of the other stars.

He was glad for having the distraction of reading the star and on charting their course so he wouldn’t feel Emma’s gaze on him or on his hand.

“It’s pointing Southwest now, to Misthaven,” he announced with a frown. “It’s taking us back down the map.”

“Why is that so strange?”

“We’ve been to the Enchanted Forest before, that’s where our trip began.” He folded the map to put it back on his satchel. “I told Henry that Cygnus would take anyone to where they were meant to be. I can’t help but see the truth of that.” He nodded towards where Ingrid and Elsa still sat talking quietly.

“Do you think there is something that we need to do in Misthaven then?” Killian noticed how Emma’s arm reflexively held Henry closer.

“I think,” he answered with a reassuring smile, “that we have been victorious so far. If there is one thing I believe in, it’s us.”

“I was tasked to protect him,” Emma reminded him.

“And you will.” His tone was confident, sure.

“You think so?” Her voice turned softer. He heard the surprise and doubt in it and it pained him.

“I’ve yet to see you fail.”

Her eyes searched his. He saw the moment she realized there was no lie in them. His eyes landed on her mouth as she licked her lips, unsure, afraid.

“We should get some rest,” Killian said, hoping to relieve the tension of the moment. He watched as her shoulders deflated. “It’s been a long day.”

Emma nodded. They were silent as they both found more comfortable positions. Henry hummed in displeasure at the disturbance but relaxed soon after. With a nod towards the still awake Arendellians, they fell asleep.

---

In the morning, they were awakened by the sun shining on the snow around them. Killian found his arm around Henry and his hand on Emma’s side. She awoke with Henry comfortably nuzzled against her chest. There was barely any distance between the three of them.

Their eyes met over Henry’s head and he could see panic in her eyes. As quickly and subtly as he could, Killian moved away from them.

“It was a cold night,” he justified, hoping she would know he didn’t think anything of it. Even if the fast beating of his heart reminded him of how he couldn’t lie to himself.

“Yeah,” Emma whispered in reply.

They resolved to let Henry sleep a bit longer. As he stood, he caught Elsa’s eyes as she woke and looked between him and Emma. He tried to remain calm.

“I’m going to fill our canteens,” Killian said, clearing his throat when his voice betrayed his feelings.

“I’ll go with you.”

Killian thinned his lips in consternation when he heard Elsa’s voice.

They were silent until they reached the river. Killian crouched to fill his group’s canteens before reaching for Elsa’s.

“I assume that,” Elsa began, “just as I was wrong about your relationship to Henry, that there is more than meets the eye about your relationship with Emma?” Her tone was non-judgemental and Killian focused even harder on the water, not meeting her gaze.

“We are simply allies. We want to protect Henry.” Killian’s tone was final but that didn’t seem to impress the Queen.

“That doesn’t mean that you don’t have feelings for her.”

Killian stood up with a sigh. “It doesn’t matter, we have to focus on protecting Henry.”

“Closing your heart isn’t the solution.” Elsa’s voice betrayed that her advice came from her own experience and his shoulders relaxed with that realization.

“We only met a few days ago and I don’t want to frighten her.”

“But you care for her.”

“I- We understand each other,” Killian confessed. He seemed to be doing that a lot. “She’s afraid and, honestly, so am I. As much as I care for her, I don’t want to pressure her.”

Elsa nodded. She understood, he could see it in her expression.

“We aren’t far from the castle. If we leave soon, we should arrive by lunch time.”

He nodded, glad she had changed the subject even as he regretted having to leave them.

“Our course has changed, we won’t be able to accompany you there.”

“Oh?”

“We are headed Southwest, to Misthaven to be more precise.”

Elsa nodded once more. “There is a port not far from here if you keep heading West.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” He bowed his head with a thankful smile.

“Take care, Killian, I expect to see you and the others again.” He could only nod with a small smile while Elsa took hold of the bottles for her group. “Come, let’s tell the others.”

---

Henry wasn’t shy about sharing his displeasure. Their trio didn’t want to separate from the sisters.

“But, we were going to Arendelle,” Henry pouted.

“Yes, lad, but we need to follow Cygnus, remember?” Killian’s hand on his head didn’t assuage his grouchiness.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Emma and Elsa smiled at the boy’s dramatics.

“I trust you will be safe?” Emma asked, glancing briefly towards Ingrid, who’d moved away slightly to give them space, but then looking towards Elsa for confirmation.

“Yes,” Elsa answered emphatically. “We are getting our kingdom back.”

“I want you to take Roger,” Killian interjected, even if his voice wasn’t completely sure.

“What?” All eyes turned to him in shock.

“Well,” he explained, scratching the back of his ear. “There is the matter of the prisoner,” he said, gesturing toward the still completely frozen prince, “and second, we’d have to come back for him.”

Elsa smiled and Anna opened her mouth, as if she was going to start saying something before being stopped by her sister. “You three are always welcome in our kingdom.”

He bowed his head towards her. “Thank you.”

“We’re really leaving Roger, too?” Henry looked up at him, his pout even stronger.

“We’ll take great care of him, Henry,” Anna assured him, with a smile.

“Okay.” Henry still didn’t seem happy but he stepped forward to hug Anna, his arms tight around her waist.

Leaving Emma and Henry to say their goodbyes, Killian appreciated the space to say an important goodbye himself.

Reaching the horse, Killian patted his head, his forehead on the horse’s. “Be a good lad for them, alright? I will come back for you, I promise.”

Roger nodded his head when Killian stepped back. His smile widened when the horse took a step forward to put his head over his owner’s shoulders. Killian’s arms went around the neck of the horse in a hug. “Thank you,” he whispered.

He felt a tug on his trousers. Looking down, Killian saw Henry look up at him. “Can I give him a hug, too?”

“Of course, lad.”

It was with a full heart that he watched as Roger did the same to Henry. “Thank you, Roger. I’ll miss you.”

Henry’s whispers urged him to look away. He found Emma looking at him, her hand on the horse’s back. She smiled, an understanding smile that earned another in return.

They worked together to relieve Roger of the satchels, sharing the load between the two adults even as Henry insisted he could carry something. They ended up entrusting him with the water canteens.

With final hugs and goodbyes, they parted ways with the Arendelle royalty, hoping that they would see each other again soon.

“Where are we going now?” Henry asked from where he walked between the two adults.

“We’re going to Misthaven.”

---

"We are headed Southwest, to Misthaven to be more precise." Killian Jones' voice sounded from the mirror, even as all that was shown was the rippling blue sky overhead.

"It looks like we have guests to prepare for, mirror…"

Her grin was wide and dangerous, her hands curled over the balcony’s iron frame as she looked over her deserted kingdom, thoughts of revenge swirling in her head.

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drbtinglecannon · 2 years

Text

Keston John describing Darius' orderly tendencies as "precision" was cute not just as a distinct word choice to describe it, but also Darius himself would absolutely refer to it like that

Like, imagine after Hunter moves in and in Hunter's own habits he immediately cleans dishes after using them, but at first (and maybe even intentionally after a while) it results in light-hearted bickering if something is put out of place.

The soft clinging of utensils jostling as the drawer opens is the only sound before --

"That's not where that goes, Bookworm," Darius calls from the living room.

Hunter rolls his eyes. The first few nights he found Darius' hyper attention to detail intimidating, now it's simply a mild annoyance. Even after all these weeks he still has no idea how Darius can tell if a single thing in his precious kitchen is placed in the wrong spot without even being present to witness it.

Living with Darius' neuroses has its benefits though.

Namely, he can be annoying back with only amusement as the end result.

Hunter pats Flapjack's head as a warning to not startle his companion, then throws a hand out to grab at a random cabinet door and toss it open as loudly as possible without damaging anything.

The following sigh brings a smirk to his face.

Hunter leans against the counter with his arms crossed as he waits the half minute for Darius to stroll around the corner into the kitchen. His guardian crosses his own arms and nods in Hunter's direction. "Is this how Mrs. Noceda kept her kitchen? Storing a ladle in the same cabinet as the mugs?"

"Yep," Hunter says with an exaggerated 'pop' at the end. He ignores the disagreeing trill next to his ear.

"How quaint," Darius drawls, then points to the swirling purple ceramic vase on the counter currently holding a few other large utensils. "The ladle goes there, exactly where you grabbed it from."

"Yeaaah, I was thinking it looks better in the cabinet."

"No."

"In fact, I think the entire kitchen could stand to be rearranged." Hunter pushes off the counter to look around fully, making a big show of hemming and hawing over specific details. "Such as, why are the knives in a block on the counter where anyone can reach them? I think they should go in the drawer thing under the oven. And all of the pots and pans should always be stacked on the stovetop, saves time from having to pull one out or put them away."

"Oh my Titan..."

"I also don't think there's a need to put glasses on one shelf and mugs on another, I mean they're all cups, what's the difference?"

Darius brings a hand to his temple. "Stop."

"Actually! Now that I think of it, why can't spoons, forks, and butter knives all be stacked in the same slots in the tray together? They don't need to be separated!"

Hunter finally turns to look at Darius and barely holds back from laughing at the utterly affronted expression he's met with.

"You're a heathen, get out of my kitchen."

"Eber would agree with me."

"Eber thinks piles of leaves and sticks make an adequate bed, his opinion on how my kitchen is arranged means nothing."

Hunter holds up his hands, careful not to jostle Flapjack too much in his excitement. "I'm just saying, maybe it's ok to put the ladle in the cabinet with the mugs."

"Get out," Darius points towards the stairs. "Go to your room and think about what you said."

"Oh no, not my room, where all my books and my scroll are!" Hunter clutches his chest with one hand and throws his other against his forehead. "Whatever will I do!"

"You'll stop trying to destroy my kitchen, that's what."

Hunter walks past Darius out of the kitchen and towards the staircase with Flapjack jumping from his shoulder to fly closely behind him. After a few steps, he leans down to yell, "I'm telling my team about your ridiculous neatfreak standards again!"

"It's called precision! I am being precise about how things are arranged in my home, like any rational person!"

"Uh-huh, sure!" Hunter calls out. He can hear the grumbling from downstairs all the way until he reaches his bedroom door, and only once he's closed the door behind him does he start laughing.

#toh #darius deamonne #toh hunter #i totally did not mean to write a ficlet but here we are. i might do another of darius w eber & raine over this same word choice #anyway totally subscribe to hunter gets adopted by darius & eber lives there too but i wrote this as earlier in their dynamic post canon #i think part of being comfortable & loving others is being annoying & being annoyed & i think hunter has earned the right to be a bit of #a brat w no real consequences yknow. ANYWAY wish keston got more darius specific questions but i still loved the bits he did get #the owl house #my writing #tinglecannon writing #oh also i decided post canon darius calls hunter 'bookworm' & 'birdie' as new nicknames cuz 'little prince' (while super cute) refs belos #fanfic #the owl house fic #toh flapjack #tc posts

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just-a-random-person24 · 1 month

Text

STARK'S MIND EPS 23-33 W/ FINAL NOTES I AM FINALLY DONE

Episode 23

“This is going to be as easy as rationalizing String Theory. Which is, not at all.” Freemind 🤝(not liking String Theory) Stark

“Maybe they maintain water slides down here.” Why would Black Mesa have water slides??

Tries to come up with a nickname for the Barnacles and fails to

Starting to enjoy shooting things at this point, definitely not something to be worried about at all

“It's like going for a nice drive, except the tool you're using is actually designed for murder.” Guns are in fact not made for murder and also that is not a normal thing people say

has done track and field before but wasn't that good at shot-put (adequate at best)

Worried about Eli but figures Kleiner can take care of himself

Episode 24

Doesn't know how to play chess

Aliens are now becoming more obnoxious than something he's worried about

Times he hit random switches/buttons without knowing what they do:2

Houndeyes can cause temporary hearing loss!

Apologizes to the corpses of scientists and promises he'll make it up to them

Episode 25

2 songs play in the background! Somewhere Over the Rainbow and Pure Imagination to be specific

Wishes that Lamarckian Evolution was true

Shoots at bugs on the ground, please don't waste your ammo my guy

Also once again mentions wanting a smoke

“I also don't feel hungry anymore, but that's probably not a good thing.” I had to look through so many different causes for something like this, other than nausea things like stress and depression can also cause something like this

As someone mentioned in the comments, all bullsquids are hermaphrodites!

Likes Long Distance Calling, apparently? Would not have taken him for a rock guy

Episode 26

Thinks him talking about his last words is foreshadowing

Little note but I like the sound effect used when putting the MP5 grenade in the gun. It's neat

“I don't even have the motivation to scream in anger.”

Doesn't understand what the guard means by ‘better clear your dance card, slick’ (I don't either tbh)

Just… this entire ending part good god. Love Anion's voice acting

“I refuse to believe they would go this far!” It's the military they would've done worse

Like I mentioned over in ep3, he uses repeated phrases to ground himself (specifically ‘this isn't real.’ and ‘I refuse.’ in this ep)

I think this is the first time in the series we see him genuinely mad

Passes out from the stress and exhaustion he's been experiencing at this point

Episode 27

Weakened to the point he can barely stand

“I'm sorry mom… I'm sorry dad… I should've come over when I had the chance…” HEY OW??

Fully accepts he's going to die as long as he saves people

He just sounds so exhausted in the beginning part of this ep

“No aliens can make me go deaf.” I mean, not permanently

Doesn't believe he's fighting all the aliens the res-cas has brought in

Sees the military wrote a message in scientists/securities blood and assumes its a cult thing

Another injury mentioned is a bullet wound on the cheek

Episode 28

loses his hearing on the left side (this whole ep made me think my earbuds broke when I first watched it)

“Now they're treating me like an actual threat.” They haven't before?

Ignores the maintenance body to focus on the view

Surface is becoming the militaries base

Episode 29

longest episode of the series (21 minutes)

no intro. Going straight into the episode

still suffering from hearing loss

This whole intro is just, such a good look into his current feelings

He's pushing away his own feelings to focus on saving people

Fly Me to The Moon plays for a bit

It sort of sounds like he's about to pass out while on the tram? (very incoherent and mumbling before snapping back awake)

Cannot tell whether or not he's tripped because of how light headed he is

r.i.p whatever hearing he had left (explosive right to the front of the tram)

once again, phrase repetition (‘I can do this’)

this is about Black Mesa itself, but they changed the line from ‘all I know, this guy's been killing my buddies’ (or smth like that) to ‘all I know, this guy's been killing marines’

I'm just gonna quote the whole line here and then go and talk about the bits I want to cause that will be easier than pausing and going

“You… You gun down unarmed, innocent people without a second thought. You think I'm the one responsible for the bloodshed? But only now are you stopping to think about what you're doing? But your uncertainty is irrelevant. Innocent people are dead because of you. Blood is on your hands. Nothing will change that. And for that, you all deserve to die. And look at this! You bastards tried so hard to stop me from getting here, from launching this rocket. You did everything you could, and it wasn't enough.”

“Innocent people are dead because of you. Blood is on your hands.” It sounds more like he's talking about himself more-so than the marines

“And for that, you all deserve to die.” Like in episode 26, he's just so mad. There's nothing but pure contempt in his voice

That entire line just, feels like a major shift for Stark's character and god I just need him to get therapy

“Me- sorry, Freeman, not getting here.” There's, no real reason to make the distinction? They want Freeman but you're still the one getting stopped

Again, not the episode itself but I really like the weapon holstering animation

Is not even sure that firing the rocket was worth it.

Takes a well deserved rest :)

Episode 30

He is not taking that rest.

Also, not about the episode itself but man Anions voice acting in this ep sorry I really like this ep

Wakes up due to a flashback (I think I hear someone faintly going ‘you'll pay for what you've done’ at the end of it)

This entire episode is just, such a good look into Stark's character

Has his full hearing back

“No matter how hard I try to press on. All I do is… A-All I see are…” He is… not coping

Tried to be the hero so he wouldn't go crazy because of everything

Not going through everything because he truly wants to save everyone, more-so trying to save himself

“I just came here to help my mom…” Oh my god 💔

Episode 31

The sound effects when he jumps off the tram?

Also sound effects for slipping on wet metal??

*Various underwater talking here*

he got his pseudo-bath finally

Immediately panics at seeing a hanging down wire thinking it's a Barnacle

“I'm so glad there's no aliens that are aquatic.”

so, so much underwater stuff

First reaction to seeing the shark (I'm not calling it its actual name) is to try shooting it and blowing it up instead of freezing in fear

Episode 32

Yeah no this room is weird in hindsight why is there a cage suspended in the air in the middle? With a crossbow and ‘tranquilizers’ in it??

Black Mesa has always been flexible with ethics! good to know

“Coping's not universally symptomatic.” I hate to break it to you man but you aren't coping that well either

Vortigaunts electricity isn't strong enough to kill a man when there's only one

He can do a pull-up finally 💖

Gman sighting 🧍‍♂️

“Lifeless cor-...” *kills a barnacle* “Lifeless corridor.” He needed to have his moment

Episode 33

Used to work at a moving company for his uncle Aaron

“Thankfully no one is around to hear this…” Has he been saying everything out loud this whole time???

okok stupid detail I really like is his glasses fogging up when he goes from the frozen room to the warm pipes

introduction to the assassins

“3 body's, technically 4.” What… is the ‘technically’ here? Himself? If he's counting himself then man :(

tbf, full body leather suits would be really inconvenient in practice. Imagine how squeaky it gets

doesn't like breaking promises

“Am I even evoking Occam's Razor correctly?” Occam's Razor is pretty much just ‘go with the simplest explanation rather than the complex one’ so, maybe? idk I'm tired

“I imagine it's hard to issue corrections when your lungs are more full of 9 millimeter bullets than they are air. Wait, is that going too far?” That's definitely not something normal people would say that's for sure!

get bonked

Final notes:🙏 go watch this series. OK no, for real, Stark is such an interesting little creature and it's so fun watching the quality of the episodes increase as the series goes on. Might comes back to these notes when reprise/the rest of the series comes out but, idk. Also there's no way he's getting out of Black Mesa without major hearing damage my fucking god

#stark's mind #mindverse #IT WAS SUCH A MISTAKE DOING THE LAST 10 EPISODES IN A SINGLE DAY #'OH IT WONT BE THAT BAD' I TOLD MYSELF #genuinely it wasnt but man #dont do that

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scripted-pleasures · 6 months

Text

Fourth Wing Review

1.5-2/5 stars

I would like to thank everything for giving me the strength to finish this book. It took less than a week and 14.5 pages of notes but we're done! To put it bluntly, this book was bad. Like, garbage. After talking about it for a while I get so angry that I lose the ability to form rational thought anymore. Anyways, I hope this is entertaining and/or informative! This will be hidden cuz it's a long one!

I would like to start off by saying that even though I don’t agree with the general rating of the book, I can say that I see how people enjoy this book. If this is a first fantasy book for someone, it makes an ok low barrier to entry for the genre. I think this would be mid-fantasy? I will say I wasn’t a fan of the romance, even if Yarros took her time and saved the Big Bang for way too late in the book to try to ‘flesh out’ the connection. (Spoiler alert: it was wack). For better or worse, I’m a lore person so in terms of a meaningful story with solid characters, plot, and setting, it’s no more than a 2. I do have to give credit where it’s due, and there were some parts that I enjoyed (mainly Tairn) and if I wasn’t going into this so critically, I’d give this a solid 3. The story is fine, though it is full of contradictions and weird sentences that are hard to ignore even if I was reading for fun. Violet was more interesting at the beginning of the book and things got kind of jumbled together toward the middle whenever the focus wasn’t on how horny Violet was for Xaden. The flying scenes were fun when they were actually written out. As for characters, Tarin is the best by far, no competition. I know that was bland but that’s how I felt if you wanted a short review if I was reading for fun. Honestly, this book is nothing to write home about.

Though, I am home, and I will be writing about it, so here’s the full 2 star (more like 1.5) review:

A major non-in universe problem with this book is the use of Scottish Gaelic words/names that are being bastardized. The name of the college, dragons, and some characters’ last names use Scottish Gaelic that, as confirmed by Yarros, are not pronounced properly and are instead pronounced however she finds easiest. There are wonderful creators on TikTok that have read the book and know of/speak Scottish Gaelic that air their own grievance on her use of the language and are a wonderful source of how to properly pronounce the names/words in the book. I urge all who read this to check them out.

Anyways.

I absolutely love the fact that Yarros is actively not following the rules that she set up!

The earliest show of this is on page 21 where there’s a quote from ‘Major Afrenda’s Guide to the Riders Quadrant’ that says “there’s a misconception that it’s kill or be killed in the Quadrant unless there’s a dragon shortage or a cadet is a liability”. A similar rule is found on page 27 where the Codex states that ‘it’s unlawful for a rider to cause another harm.’ Both of these rules are broken literally on the Parapet where Jack, an antagonist, throws someone into the ravine below and suffered no consequences. Jack also killed someone in training for funsies and nothing came of that either. Most importantly, there isn’t a shortage of dragons, there’s too many riders. The school says rider candidates volunteer yet make no moves to control the amount of applicants when they know the amount of dragons willing to bond in advance.

There was the rule that states cadets with rebel relics can’t be in groups of 3 or more, otherwise it’ll be seen as a capital offense (pg 77) though Xaden tells the group to travel in 3s

On pages 159, Violet was surprised that Jack knew information about feathertails and wondered where he got the information despite spewing the same information earlier in the book

Violet wanted to get Jack angry so that he makes mistakes in the match (pg 293) despite this plan backfiring on her against Imogen earlier in the book

On page 356, Violet is given her saddle and says “When did I ever give you the impression that I give a fuck what people think of me?” even though the page before she was bemoaning how people are going to know that she can’t keep her seat (despite her falling a dozen times every lesson)

Minor thing, but on page 475 Violet is trying to keep Liam on Taiwan’s back even though her shoulder got messed up earlier in the fight though that wasn’t brought up again

Okay, this isn’t a specific pinpoint but it looks like Bás Giath is the military, college, the national archives, and also the church….? That’s not very clear which is a problem

Other than the inconsistencies, Yarros has a bad habit of telling, not showing and even not writing or acknowledging whole scenes. This is shown on page 310 where Sgaeyl, Tairn, and Andarna are supposed to train together with Violet and Xaden. At this point we had seen Tairn and Xaden interact, Violet/Tairn/Andarna, and a wee bit of Xaden and Sgaeyl but not Violet and Sgaeyl or Xaden and Andarna, let alone all of them together. This lost scene along with the majority of the Squad Battle on the next page, mind you misses an incredible amount of character interaction and growth that this book desperately needs. This story also lacks depth in any place outside of Bás Giath/Violet which can be seen in the beginning and toward the end. The furthest back this story goes is 5 years when the Sorrengails moved to Bás Giath and there’s no mention of their life before that. Like, even a little bit. Toward the end when Mira, Violet, and Rhinonnan go to Rhi’s village, the interaction with the family is completely cut out, focusing only on a conversation between the Sorrengails. We do get to see that Rhinonnan has a nephew and that’s as far as the meeting of the main character’s ‘best friend’s’ family goes before they run into Xaden as soon as they step outside. Fantasy really isn’t the type of genre where things are secular if there’s no good reason for it for which this story has none. Quite literally nothing happens in this book and I have no idea how this story will stretch across 5 books. I had a Science Fair project once where the project was to watch paint dry in various conditions and that was somehow more interesting and full of substance than this book.

Extra tidbit: The fact that she wrote white guilt into this story, was willfully ignorant of the idea that an oppressed people would want to revolt and side with the ‘enemy’ (aka. The only people who are willing to stand up against their oppressors), and thinking that any sort of militaristic choices are made ‘for the good of the people’ while War College actively tries to kill the students fills me with so much rage. This book is huge on social media, meaning tons of people are being exposed to these views where the book says these are the morals of the characters you’re supposed to root for. Dangerous and irresponsible. There’s also the fact that Xaden and Rhinannon, both of whom are noted as darker/dark-skinned the whole book are hyper-sexualized, feeding into stereotypes, shows that Yarros and her editing team (if she has one), have never met anyone darker than a cafe-au-lait and it shows.

All in all, I rate this a 1.5-2 out of 5 stars. The only reason why I don’t rate this lower is because there were moments where I did have fun and there were flashes of what this could be. Had I not been reading this as critically as I was or read only fantasy/sci-fi books, I could see the appeal for this. Unfortunately, Yarros might give new readers the impression this is how fantasy, beginner or not, is supposed to be and that’s a disservice to the genre. I’m almost 100% sure Yarros has no plans for this story/universe because Fourth Wing can’t stand on its own, answers no questions, and brings no inquiries. I’m happy for the people who like this book, really, but this isn’t the best it can be and I hope you find actual literature after this.

#book review #book reading #fourth wing

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simpingwriter · 1 year

Text

Cal Kestis x Kyra Yarmot

'Revenge

and

Redemption:

In the Name of Love'

Pt.8

___________________

I. Hate. Action. Scenes!

I never had a plot evolve slower than that of this Book in particular, because if I would rush to the more interesting plot point next without anything happening in between, it would seem also boring because there is little to no substance between the reasons of said plot! AhHhHHH!

I am so sorry that this going at snail's pace and with my newly extended irregular update schedule this is going even slower. I wanna write the good stuff finally 😔

But enough of my reoccurring whining, bitching and moaning-

Enjoy! :)

Word Count: approx. 4.000 Words

___________________

Another strong shiver rolled down your scaly back and into your curled up tail as you hugged the small bundle of green closer to yourself, your tail used to press him against you, desperately attempting to keep him warmer than you as his smaller body would feel the cold much harsher than yours, despite your Species' disadvantage in the cold overall.

Outside the cave, a thunderstorm raged on for a good day now, constant sharp winds pushing the freezing cold drops of water way further into the small outcrop than expected when you sat so far inside already. So you shielded Grogu from it by sitting with your back to the entrance, desperately humming to him between your own fearful whimpers in a pathetic, clearly hopeless attempt at getting him to finally sleep some more. But he wouldn't. He would always stay up till he fell over with exhaustion taking over his tiny body, looking out for weeks now for Din.

You never managed to find the right words, you simply…simply kept on telling him..."Soon."

But there wasn't going to be a 'soon'. And you were afraid of the day Grogu would realize so, Din had been away before, but never without using the comms to check up on everyone in between...and never this long. At some point Grogu would notice it...that Din wouldn't find you, like you promised him. You hated breaking a promise, to you they had always been a childish constant of assurance.

If everything in life was wrong or a lie, at least you still had your promises, Master Tegra taught you to never utter a promise without intending to keep it, it was one of the first, basic rules he taught you even.

With a gurgling stomach you eyed the small rest of rations you had left from your tour through a nearby village a week ago, stealing whichever food you got your claws on, your stealth and agility paying off despite your body being barely fed enough to keep itself up and running. It was not a lot anymore, maybe enough for one day, but the storm didn't look like it was going to end in a day either, keeping you shut into your cold, cruel hiding spot.

You couldn't eat just yet…it had to be enough for Grogu too, he needs it even more than you. He...he was already so weak...

Just.

Two more days, then you might be able to get more food again, when the storm lets up enough so you can fly. You ignored the fact that you definitely wouldn't be able to fly anyqmore even now...you just had to try in two days, otherwise you wouldn't make it for long anymore.

And soon, you felt another moment of weakness wash over you as you barely managed to protect Grogu from your collapsing body, roughly dropping him to your side as you tumble onto your side, spiky rocks digging intonyour exposed, shivering skin...

so hungry...so thirsty...

The doctor's appointment with Puloria could've gone better yesterday, you still had to think with a sour expression as you finished putting your black leg protecrors onto your uniform – for what did you even need them?? Your scales resisted most weapons and other impacts! – disgruntled at the doctor's audacity to tell you that this – mating, that is – would be a bad idea. Who was she to tell you when you were ready and able to have kids with Cal?!

She even talked about the potential abortion options the Empire had for its people, fully ignoring not just you but even Cal being vehemently against her one-sided Conversation from the very beginning she let it shine through, to a point he pulled you closer to him, protectively wrapping his arm around your still flat stomach, like he was already expecting life to have started to form that needed his attention. Slowly your opinion towards her drifted from the slightly positive down to the slightly negative, especially when you remember the point of the conversation were she seriously thought about reporting you two to the Grand Inquisitor. Technically you weren't allowed to grow pregnant as an Inquisitor.

Put if you thought with the head of the Empire…wasn't this their perfect outcome? Wasn't this why they allowed your close relationship with Cal despite their rules saying else?! Fear…fear of loss. It allowed the Force user to tap into great power...the Dark Side of the Force.

"They would definitely get what they wanted then…" Cal interrupted your heated self-argument of thoughts when you walked down the hallway to the…of course, elevators. If this place was ever to be seriously attacked and the Elevators broke down, you're royally karked, stuck to either die alongside the whole Fortress or to break the windows and hope you can hold your breath for long enough.

"What do you mean, Cal?" "I already…I already am scared of the dreadful day someone stronger than you might come to challenge us. But...but what if that happens while you're also carrying out our own child?! I would…"

He would go…insane with grief, rage...hatred. You could feel the powerful turbulence even now already in his emotions, his strength would see an opportunity to grow bigger already. If something happened to you AND his own future child, he wouldn't leave the place standing, taking down everyone along with him and he made sure it's a promise.

"I won't let that happen, Cal. The Dark Side won't drag you down, not on my watch. Not while I am still here to keep you sane." And in a sense, it was true, being bonded to him, as a Kaluk AND as a Force User, enabled you to relatively clearly feel his own balance in the Force, just like he could feel yours, feel the constant rollercoaster and subtle struggle to keep it from overflowing like a glass of water you filled up too much. You're his tether, the weight leaning against the constant pull of the dark at his mind ever since he saw what the Republic did to all these innocent people for being different...stronger, a threat in their eyes..

He would have to learn to find this balance himself, not in case something happened to you but so his own potential wouldn't be as volatile anymore. Just like you, except that your line between the two – apparently – was much broader, less difficult to walk on. It was easier for you to keep and learn of the true meaning of the force, a neutral balance. And also easier to slip off and climb back on.

'Do you think a normal human can broaden his line just as much?' He asks silently in your head, something he rarely felt the active need for, only back when you were still stuck on the Mantis. But his question, you couldn't answer without having to take a mediocre guess. Sure, you read a good amount of books about the Force and all that was supposedly connected to it. But after the next author and the even next author suddenly started to contradict and "correct" things that seemed true and maybe even more realistic in the other, you began to even doubt that "great lore" of which all of your lifes more or less got built on for centuries and even millennia now.

'I wish I knew and i would tell you in a hearbeat, I really would, but i can't. I wish I knew all the answers to these questions for myself too, but I'm...clueless, my love.'

Disappointed, he only hums at your answer, not disappointed at you but at the fact that somehow your dilemma must be so rare to deal with that nobody else wrote about it. 'I think it's less about Rarity. But the Jedi wrote most of these stupid books. To them, there is absolutely NO TRUE WAY back from the dark, not without life long physical and mental damage at least.

Though, what is with you then? Your master believed in teaching you safe Dark Side Techniques to…for...for balance. He, unlike all these karking proclaimed Jedi-Scholars would've been able to at least make an attempt at helping you understand and explain your thoughts about it by now. You knew that. He was a wise man, far beyond and above the old, one sided, egoistic teachings of his fellow Jedi Master's. He was the last one you would wished death upon, from all the old Jedi, you missed his hearty, deep laugh when you finally managed to understand his philosophical lessons – which felt more like riddles half the time – of the day…

Damnit, old man, why…why you…

"I also would've loved to meet him then, any person of your old life, to be honest. They all were a part of forming the complex person you are today, the one i grew to love with every aspect and flaw…I would've at least wanted to thank them for helping you, for being at your side to the very last moment. Without them, you wouldn't be you today." That's why Cal must've drawn you in so much back then on Bardotta, or even earlier on that dusty rock of a planet were he initially ran into you…

Cal had a special way of looking at things, such a natural talent to blow the looming shadows over your dreary past away, when he smiled at you, your dared to forget what it all took to get to where you are now, today. He was, he is your sunshine on a rainy day. Even when it rained nearly all year long for you once, he now unknowingly made sure this would never be happening again, that you would never have to life in such a dark pit once again.

"I think he probably would've liked you too, you probably were much less troublesome as young me. Though I wouldn't be sure how happy he would've been about us having force bonded. While he was interested and thoroughly invested in trying to teach me in a much more neutral environment and mindset, he was adamant on some of the rules…" one of them was letting yourself fall in love, to let attachment lead your life.

He always warned you about the dangers of it, the fact that it wouldn't just be breaking the rules and but that it would interfere with the balance he tried to teach you, as love was one of the steongest emotions a sentient creature was capableof having, next to fear and anger. And until clearly much later into your life, this wasn't a problem anyways, you were avoided like the plague either way. The "freak of nature", back then you didn't even see yourself how someone could possibly love you.

And then there he was, the reckless ginger. Disproved everything you thought about yourself and your ability to love and being loved. Went as far as leaving the now obsolete fallen order that created you two for…for who? For a beas-

"For a beautiful young woman, that stole my heart and breath with her personality and otherworldly, exotic appearance. We went over this, didn't we?"

You did. But it kept feeling so surreal to you either way, to get loved by someone as perfect as Cal while you had flaws even in your flaws. "Everyone has their flaws, dragonfly." He kept it short and simple, even though you could see that he desperately wanted to go off on a tangent, to tell you just how much he thought your flaws were what made you the most beautiful to him and so on. But you eventually – unfortunately – found the training hall and your personal problems and deeply private thoughts were nothing to air out and get argued over in front of possibly all the other Inquisitors and Purge Troopers.

"It won't be that many, way too early in the day for them. Sure, they, unlike us, were forcefully disciplined but still remain...or maybe even became? lazy assholes to this day." He reveals with a disgruntled, displeased tone as he mentally sees the bunch of dipshits in front of him that somehow ended up being his superiors due to their rankings in the Empire's food chain, entering the door code to open the training hall's door for you two. "It's 9427 by the way, remember it for when you want to go on your own." Cal includes mid-typing, standing back when they hiss open…

Huh. He was right. Not much going on here.

You could count the people in here down on one hand, Trilla, currently busy fixing her suit and four Purge Troopers, who were sparring in teams of two. You would definitely accuse this emptiness to the time of day you went, no sane person goes Training at 7AM. But Cal was adamant about going this early, nearly pushing you out of bed to wake you up, so he must've known Trilla's own schedule to be able to find her here already. You would be more surprised if he didn't know it by now, having been here 3 months longer than you and the one month you have been here, you were out cold!

"You're going to start finding your way around as well, trust me." He assures with a squeeze of his hand before leading you further into the spacious area. The middle was layered with somewhat cushioned looking blue mats, the edges of the room used to display the weapons available to choose for training scenarios, plus some left over mats to potentially sit on to take a break. That's where Trilla was, already staring at the both, three, of you with a disgusted, tired scowl.

"What got your panties in a twist, huh?" The ginger didn't miss a beat as she approached you, the crude remark just shortly slowing her down as you notice one of the Trooper's shoulders heave, laughing with his back turned to you four. But the other Inquisitor didn't notice, for the Trooper's luck, as she was way too busy staring daggers at you.

"I karking heard you two…" she hisses at first, pointing at you now, "Nobody wants to hear your karking moans, his stupid ass name on repeat or whatever the hell he was doing to you, learn to keep quiet or I'll come over and shut you up myself!"

Was this a request? A challenge? Because you would accept, in that case. Absolutely nobody told you to shut up, especially someone that was going to get her ass handed to her today, pretty pink ribbon and all else included!

"Like I let myself get told what to do by someone the likes of you…" you now told her loudly, returning a scowl as Cal grimaces, seeing this turn bad already, "Now now, Ladi-" "Shut it, ginger, this is between me and this overgrown lizard!"

Overgrown…Lizard?!

A low growl from your chest sold you out as the dark haired woman laughs out loudly at your obvious dislike for the new "nickname" she found for you, a mischievous glint in her eyes as they snap away from you for just a moment, staring at BD now. "And we will have a talk about that box of scrap metal too, later. Understood?" Now it was very clear that Trilla was speaking to him as her superior as he worriedly nodded and BD tried to dodge her sharp gaze. You doubted that that subject would go over in a positive manner…

"But that's not my priority right now, that…yesss, that would be humbling your…"mate"? Is that what you call her? How ridiculous… Now go, choose your karking weapon and get back in the middle!" She snaps at you two, some simple motioning with her hands enough to tell the Troopers to give way to you two now. She knew this would take a lot of space, even with your right wing still crippled and out of service. Despite her very over-the-top ego right now, deep down she must be remembering the fact that she wanted to fight you to see how strong you truly are.

She knew you were potentially stronger than her by a good, very good amount and yet she still talked like this to you. If anything, Trilla was the ridiculous one!

Cal was quick to follow you along to the edge of the hall again – his longer kegs easily keeping up with your determined stride but still nearly tripping over your tail trailing behind as always when he was busy looking at you as a whole – yet remained quiet as you chose your suitable weapon for this unneeded duel. Technically you wouldn't need it, like you said before. You had your claws, your horns, your teeth and the tip of your incredibly strong tail.

But now you doubted you're allowed to even use them to their full potential in this dull training environment, not even the blades of the lightsaber you're weighing in your grip right now could hurt you. Your scales didn't even let the usual electric tingle pass through, nullifying its effect fully. How utterly boring.

"Sometimes you worry me with your views on what is boring and what isn't. But I guess that comes from years of traveling to see all kinds of cool stuff?" That and a natural disposition for preferring to end things in violence? Yes.

The ginger merely continues watching your process of singling out the wrong Lightsaber grip and hold instead of voicing his now even grander concern.

You would never intentionally hurt him, he knew that though. While you never had to verbalize that specific assurance, he did believe in a mate naturally having the desire to protect their own mate. Not harm them. Just like a normal human lover would.

"Correct, 10 points to the Empire…" you mumble deadpan and absent-minded – not even having to look at him to now he grinned like an idiot at your response – just in the motion of placing a light-weight one-side lightsaber back into the holder. The one next to it, a double sided, caught your interest though. It even was of similar weight as your old one…

This one would do splendid for your fighting style, despite some of the moves you taught yourself for it being unusable as of your current healing process. You can't wait for the day you get the okay to use your wings again!

To feel the fresh, cold currents of high-altitude air in your face once more…if everything worked out the way Puloria wanted it to. You still had major doubts in just gluing a wing membrane together and hoping it grows back together like normal skin.

"Taking your sweet time over there. Afraid huh?" It was a cheap tease from her side, only there to get a rise out of you and yet you still couldn't help but look over your shoulder, a small flame snorted out from you nostrils as you huff at her annoyance. You were in a hurry all your life, you would take all the time you needed now…

But you're pretty happy with your choice already anyways, shutting off the two blades after inspecting them, nearly having given Cal a heart attack when you just slapped your forearm under the glowing blade to "test it out". "What if someone accidentally…or with full intention, left a real one here?!" Well, then your name could be changed to Skywalker, but it wasn't. So you're stuck with 'Yarmot', the dead name of a dead family, of a dead species…

"It won't have to stay dead." He reassured you as you walked back onto the blue mats, this time without him as he stayed behind, jumping onto one of the left-over mat piles to sit down and watch this encounter, patting down on them to call BD next to him. Would you really use all you got today, he had his doubts. And so did you.

Because Trilla was anything but strong enough to exhaust yourself physically over.

"Ready?" "More than you."

And Trilla was dirt-cheap, immediately trying to catch you off guard with an object she force pulled behind you, but you dodged it easily, spin-kicking it away while she still pulled it in. It didn't knock her out, but one of the Purge Troopers, his helmet hit in the right angle to go flying off of his head and across the hall, hitting the next wall as his buddies caught him mid fall.

Collateral Damage.

"Cheap tricks won't do with me as your enemy!" You shouted as the two of you danced around each other, she was thinking about what to do, that was the only reason she wasn't yet attacking again, trying to calculate your weak spots.

You had your plan already.

Two small jumps on your feet backwards, you create distance between you two, taking in the surroundings before you were back on her with your keen eyes. She wasn't aware of the small steps you took backwards, so clearly she messed up with the rule "Never take your eyes off of your opponent." What did they even teach the Inquisitors here?!

So, with a quick standing-jump you spread your- "KYRA NO!" Caught off guard, you get startled back onto the mats, crouching to catch your balance quicker as Cal shouts your name in panic, already halfway to the mats himself as Trilla stops him.

"What the hell! You're no part of this, Kestis!" She shouts, evidently not aware of what you too just realized. You almost used your wings, which you obviously weren't allowed to yet. It came like instinct! It had always been your go to ambush-tactic, it was nothing but muscle memory triggering as you went to attack Trilla…

"I'm fine. Nobody would stop me in a real fight either, so quit yapping…and get back here, Trilla." It was your signal, your warning, the only one you would let slip to her as you yourself used to Force to pull. But not an object. Herself.

No potential sign of struggle in your posture and face, you lifted her off the ground and towards you, all while felt that she wasn't struggling physically with everything she had, but mentally as well, a feeble attempt at blocking your Force. But you wouldn't let up, this duel was going to be your win, no matter what it took. Nobody can take such an easy victory from your hands anyways!

"Coward! Sure, you could take me out like that on the battlefield, but I met you before! You're not one to take the simple path." And she was right, you aren't. You're rather…someone who liked to play around and toy with its prey.

Just like the naturally born predator you are.

So you would. With nearly no force behind it, you push her away from you again, dropping her back on the mats, awaiting her to finish standing up straight again as she has to find her balance once more. It's not everyday you just get dragged across the room, in the air.

"I want you to use what you would hide from us beforehand! Show me what you're truly capable of, Kyra Yarmot!" If you did that…not just she and maybe even you would get hurt. Cal would get hurt too, and you promised to never let him feel what kind of a monster rested within you. What you were capable of with the Force. You won't be able to control all of it, it was still a fact that while you were taught how to wall off at a certain limit, they never even thought about at least finding out WHAT you could do if left to chase it, let alone help you control said power afterwards.

"And I don't care for your stupid morals!" She shouts once more, taking the stance before readying her lightsaber. "Use the Force or fight me!"

Fight it is then.

From the corner of your eye, you could see your two most important people, both invested in their own ways as BD had to make sure he didn't fall off the mat pile to catch the whole duel on his recorder. Meanwhile Cal watched with nothing but worry, especially after your near accident with your wings just now…

You would prove yourself, that you were fine, that you weren't handicapped just because of that injury!

Mirroring her hand's grip, you also get into a battle ready stance, showing off a little with a confident grin by twirling the lightsaber hilt a few times before also igniting its blades with the press of a button. The unfamiliar red glow fell onto your features as it was the first time now that you were holding a red blade instead of a white one…oh how times have changed...

She, now much more impatient than at first, was of course first to charge, using the double blades that were able to spin on the cross guard-like ring to try and catch you off guard, but with the Force you stopped the blades themselves. Not her. Because you knew that now – after your little trick a few moments ago – she would be ready and able to block you targeting her actual body, unlike her blades. So when the blades slowed down, spinning nothing like the speed before, you strike her while she is confused, using your own body to spin your blades and give another little show to the few onlookers around.

Can't just kill someone, you gotta do it with some…flair. Everyone deserves to become a good show before they eventually die!

Except that Trilla isn't dying today, still…this is a trainingsaber…

But unlike you, she wasn't covered in scales, resulting in her still staggering backwards before falling over. In a real fight, she would've been two miserable, steaming halves now, ending the fight technically. That was your mentality as you scoff, shutting off the two blades with a triumphant but bored smile. "That's why I always hated these odd lightsabers, so useless against the very thing we're supposed to stop!" Cal was ecstatic, despite how quick the duel was over, lifted up his arms, cheering for your easy as pie victory as BD just stared ahead, needing to review the recording he just made. He was a bit too surprised, from the looks of it.

You're about to join the cheer for Cal's sake when you only in the last moment see Cal's expression change from positive to shocked, but it was already too late and you lost all control over your body. She used your own idea against you! But it wasn't like you couldn't break out with some struggle, her connection to the force…it's clearly a bit more fringed than yours, it itself is struggling to keep up after what the Empire did to her. It wasn't as strong as it once could've been, useful for attacking others but shockingly enough, not for restraining them.

And yet, here you were, simply playing along to see what she wa- "Hell no! You're not going to make a karking laughing stock out of me like that today! I don't need to see your cheap party tricks! I want to see your strongest!" She yells in your direction, unaware of your now more relaxed state after you truly realized just how strong she was. Miniscule. A spec to yours, as easy as a flick of your wrist, if you had the intention to take her out. You never had though, not even when you had still been on the other side of the fight.

Did she ever feel the call of the Force like you did? In your veins, your every cell whenever you concentrated on them? Coursing like it was an electric current, especially once you're afraid, agitated or emotionally…irritated. Did anybody ever feel their own Force like that, physical, tingling?

You were too invested with your thoughts to hear Cal shout Trilla's name, at first. The third time, you return to the present, leaving the flow of the Force to itself and its job as you see what got Cal so clearly animated. BD! He was being lifted off of the mat pile, dangling above geound a few feet and drifting away from Cal as he could only watch. If he pulled too, he could only hurt BD in the process, the basic 'pulling on two opposite sides of an object or person' rule.

"With what can I bring forth this buried anger if not with your little Droid friend!? Don't you want to save him? Or should I return him to the state we found him in four weeks ago?!"

Threatening you with something meaning a lot to you, how cheap and so awfully unsportsmanlike. "Put him down before you'll most certainly regret it, Trilla! Safely down, I think i must add!" You growl as your tail fights against its own invisible enemy, nearly stabbing yourself in the back in the act of it. She clearly didn't know the mistake she would be making by following through with her half-baked idea…

"Or what? You're going to show me what I want? In that case, I guess he's going to have to enjoy my company a few more moments before he…you know…meets the wall over the–"

She didn't know even half the things you're capable of, even without breaking down the life-long barriers you created. Barriers that began breaking more and more with every year you weren't continously taught correctly on your strength and the responsibility that came with it.

With one smooth motion, you broke out of her invisible grip and turned around on the spot, her eyes not even quick enough to change from pride to shock as you gave her exactly what she asked for: a slight taste of your true strength.

A tingle rose from your shoulders to your arms and into your hands, all while you stretched them out towards her as she holds BD above ground, letting the Force take over as you push her backwards. Hard.

Dust from the mats rose from the ground as the sudden release of build up tension and energy swirled around your feet, dissipating just as quick as it had surfaced too. But what was with Trilla and BD?

BD had fallen onto the blue mats, looking quite dazzled as his ginger buddy ran back up to him, checking him all over for any damage from the fall.

Trilla was out cold, stuck in a fresh dent of the metal walls of the training hall, the Purge Trooper quickly at her side to pull her out of the body-deep dent immediately.

Maybe this would make her stop trying to test your limits from now on. If not…this wouldn't take a good ending.

You would let nobody tell you you're weak, not without letting them feel the consequences of doubting you, of judging you by your personality or looks...

No matter who it was.

___________________

#star wars fallen order #cal kestis #cal kestis x oc #fallen order cal kestis #star wars cal kestis #star wars x oc #star wars fanfic #cal kestis fanfic #inquisitor cal kestis x oc #inquisitor cal kestis #Inquisitor Cal

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merbyteslibrary · 2 years

Text

Heaven Sent : Chapter 16 | The Untouchables

Trigger Warning | Sexual Situations, Gore, Elder Abuse, Foul Language.

"That wasn't supposed to happen for another twelve millennia!"

Lucifer perked up at the mention, "Well then explain why half of the humans in existence got beamed up to heaven?"

"Who the hell knows! But it wasn't because of me, I was down here when someone pressed the rapture button."

"You guys have a rapture button?" I took a seat beside Lucifer, "Doesn't that seem unsafe?"

"When you have only perfect beings for children it doesn't seem like a bad idea." He looked distastefully at Raphael. "At least when you think you have only perfect children."

"What did I do?" Raphael whispered and held onto his arms, Lucifer was right; he was the less hostile out of the siblings I had seen. In fact he almost reminded me of myself with how he guarded himself – arms crossed and standing beside the table instead of sitting.

His bashful face tugged at my heartstrings.

Lucifer cleared his throat and quickly took my hand in his- resting them on the table and acting like nothing new was happening. I, however, was staring at the overlapping palms- and I could feel God and Raphael doing the same.

"This whole premature rapture smells rotten to me, I'm blaming Michael."

"You always blame Michael." Raphael sighed, "Is he even aware that the rapture was premature?"

"Raphael has a point; it's easy to blame Michael since you two don't like each other." I decided to chime in, giving Lucifer's thumb a gentle stroke. "This could be something that brings you two closer together."

"Unlikely, I made Lucifer and Michael to be enemies- just as Lucifer and I are enemies." God was leaning back in his chair, looking rather content with his statement.

Lucifer kicked him under the table.

"There is little that happens in heaven without Michael knowing, since our father has become..." Raphael eyed the almighty. "... Less than capable of leading the angels, Michael has stepped in to keep things running smoothly."

"Absolutely not, for all I know he is the one responsible for getting Bonnie maimed the other night."

"Wait, what happened?"

"It's nothing, and Michael seemed concerned as well." I tried to rationalize. "You two are not so different."

"They couldn't be more different, I made them that way!"

"Shut up old man, your powers are dying so whatever 'plan' you had before is dying with them."

"God's powers are dying?"

Lucifer and Raphael both looked away; I guess neither of them wanted to break the news to the human population that the creator of heaven and earth also had an expiration date.

"Is there anything we can do? Have you asked Michael about it?"

"Fuck no." Lucifer snapped, giving my hand a little squeeze. "And we don't need his help, death comes for us all and God is no different."

"The fuck I am!" God took to his feet, "My powers aren't dying they're just somewhere else!"

"Because that makes sense." Raphael grumbled, "Did your powers just fly out the window?"

"They may as well have! You had better get out there and go catch them flying through the air before I turn mortal!"

"A little mortality might be good for you, pops." Lucifer grinned and leaned over the table, "Then I can drag your ass to hell."

"You're such an ungrateful son... If it weren't for me she wouldn't be here!" God seemed to be in and out of a coherent conversation.

"What do you mean?"

"She was supposed to be raptured."

I felt like I had gotten slapped in the face, I stood up and wobbled over to the sink – am I going to be sick? Maybe it was just the hangover.

"All the people that were taken weren't even all the ones on my list."

"How do you know this?" Raphael cocked his head, "Did you screw it up?"

"It wasn't me!" God emphasized.

I was shakily grabbing one of the drying glasses beside the sink, I needed a drink...

I was left behind; I was supposed to be in heaven? That could have been me floating up to the night sky with Rebecca- we could have been in heaven together.

"Everyone that went up to heaven got classified by the same mutation."

Mutation...?

"Look at you Bill Nye, are you having a moment of clarity?" Lucifer chuckled.

"Fuck you, Satan."

But Lucifer gave him another jab with the cane, "Keep talking old man."

"They were all untouchables; whoever started the rapture wanted every human that could oppose them out of the way." He jabbed a thumb in my direction, "I had enough strength to grab one, and this was the one I got."

"Thank you... I guess?" The room still felt like it was lifting off the ground.

"I should have gotten someone else; but I was reaching my hand in blindly trying to grab the first untouchable I could."

He was probably right, if he had moved his reach over by a hair he would have gotten Rebecca- she was much more outspoken than I was, but when I thought about her being in my position...

When I thought about her being Lucifer's secretary instead of me...

I started gulping down my water, a metallic taste swirled around on my tongue and I spat it out.

Blood?

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*** New Chapters posted every Friday ***

Up Next: The Plagues

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bitimdrake · 2 years

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Love hearing your thoughts on stuff, and currently annoyed with "Tim doesn't think he's good enough to be Robin to an extreme degree" takes, so (if you'd like to answer) what would you say Tim's insecurities/hang ups/damage are?

Thank you! Yeah, I know what you mean. (And, god, there is a point where fanon!Tim is so insecure that I’m like “well shit this kid shouldn’t be Robin because this much insecurity is a blatant liability.”)

I don’t think I would really use “insecure” to describe Tim’s overall personality, though he certainly does have insecurities. I’d also note that the younger he is, the more uncertain he is. He gets progressively more sure of himself as time goes on.

E.g., most of the moments I can recall of Tim comparing himself negatively to former Robins are from his early days, many of them before he even officially became Robin. And that’s a major arc for him in the story where he gets the mantle: he doubts himself, tries anyway, realizes he is good enough, and becomes confident enough to contravene Bruce’s orders and stand by it. Hooray, arc solved.

When he compares himself to others later--particularly to Dick--it reads as more matter-of-fact to me. Sometimes a little jealous, but not really set on cutting himself down. (I’m thinking, like, Robin #10: Tim meets a time displaced young Dick Grayson and notes he’s better at a lot of stuff, but doesn’t get caught up in the thought or turn to self-pity. Or Nightwing #6: talking about the ways Dick is better than him, not as an expression of insecurity, but to say that Dick is doing great as a solo hero while Tim only feels up to sidekicking.)

I don’t see a lot of insecurity in Tim about his skills either. In his younger years, he is well aware that he’s not the best fighter of the bunch and has no problem admitting when enemies are out of his weight class. Towards the end of his time as Robin, into Red Robin, he’s both gotten better and thinks more highly of himself--if anything, Tim can be a little too sure of his expertise.

Overall, I think Tim really internalizes his role as Robin. He doesn't wonder if he’s good enough to be Robin because, well, he is Robin. That’s half his life.

So imo Tim’s hang ups tend to be more along the lines of "am I, Robin, able to solve this problem.” Especially when said problem is about saving someone. Tim puts a lot of responsibility on himself (absolutely unsurprising for a kid whose major adult influences are Bruce and Dick), and stresses over managing it all.

He also carries a lot of guilt when he fails, or interprets himself as failing. (Once again, much like Bruce and Dick before him.) Expect insecurities to suddenly ratchet up after a failure. And that’s a pretty rational thing to be scared of when your job is life-or-death, but it’s still a lot of stress for a teenager (or anyone!) to be under. You can see him beating himself up to the point of moroseness any time he fails to save someone as Robin.

Outside of life and death dangers, this is also a regular feature of his relationship with his dad. Tim usually prioritizes Robin over his civilian life/dad. (The only real exception I can think of is the big one, quitting Robin--but even then it's arguably not even an exception, considering Tim did it as a negotiation to keep Bruce's identity safe.) And he also sometimes does stupid unnecessary stuff like "fly to another country without telling your dad."

It’s complicated, because some part of Tim is aware that his dad is not always a great parent, and a little piece of him is even angry about that--see this coming to a head just after Jack’s recovery in Robin III. But he also loves his dad and desperately wants their relationship to work, and really believes Jack is trying and changing. Tim puts the blame for it not working on himself regularly. So I’d say Tim has a lot of guilt and damage about (in his eyes) not being a good son.

In an unfortunate parallel, the other thing Tim does remain hung up on for many years is the worry that Bruce will fire him. (Ironic, considering he’s the only Robin who Bruce has never tried to remove as a sidekick.) Despite Tim internalizing that he is Robin, he also very clearly thinks of Bruce as the ultimate arbiter. And considering Bruce’s whole personality, it’s not surprising that he (like every other batkid) worries about living up to Bruce’s expectations.

I think it would be reasonable for Tim to also worry that if he’s not a vigilante, Bruce won’t want him at all. Especially considering the history. They met through the work; Batman is the most important thing to Bruce; and when Tim had to quit, Bruce didn’t talk to him the entire time he was away. However, I can’t think of a point where that’s actually brought up and confirmed (or denied) in canon.

Last thing, where ymmv. After Damian’s introduction (specifically, before Bruce dies and Damian becomes Robin), there’s a serious inconsistency in how Tim takes it. In most books, he’s largely unaffected? He and Bruce are in a great place, having recently become legal father and son, and while Tim doesn’t like Damian, he doesn’t really seem threatened. imo this makes sense, because Tim has been secure as Robin and at that point there is zero inclination from anyone to make Damian Robin, no matter how much Damian himself campaigns for it.

However, in Grant Morrison’s Batman, Tim is portrayed as very insecure over Damian’s arrival and position as Bruce’s “real son,” and desperate to prove himself. And, look, I will fully admit here that I am biased. I hate GM’s writing. I hate the way they slightly warped a bunch of characters to fit their new storylines. So it may well be that bias speaking, and you are welcome to disagree! But personally, I find this extreme, outright insecurity to be out of step with Tim’s usual characterization.

Finally, in his Red Robin era, Tim starts with a whole lotta damage about worrying he may be on a wild goose chase for proof Bruce survived, knowing his grief may be coloring his beliefs. Actually finding that proof does a lot to temper his fear, and he gets more confident and bolder again as the quest continues.

And after that, when Tim comes back to Gotham and the second part of Red Robin hits (or, lbr, when Nicieza takes over), Tim’s problem is uh. Well it’s. It’s sure as fuck not that he’s lacking in confidence. End-of-preboot!Tim is secure with his friends and family, which is great, but honestly he could stand to question his actions a little more. Someone give that boy a kick in the head.

#i'm sorry it's been so long!! i had this 75% done in my drafts for ages thinking 'well i just check one reference and get to that soon...'#ty for asking <3 #dc #tim drake #*#*dc #dc meta #ask #captainragtag

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phoenixyfriend · 3 years

Text

Anakin and the Jedi Babies: Names and Faces

Context: Anakin and the Jedi Babies, chrono

Word Count: 6,477

---------------

It goes like this:

Nobody wants to separate Anakin from the children in his care until they know more about why he’s here. The gamble paid off, to some degree, and he thanks the Force that it did.

He hasn’t felt that cold in years.

He knows the logic of why the Mandalorians he’s fallen in with aren’t doing anything yet. He’s an obvious Jedi, and they don’t know why he’s here or what he’s doing. Hedging on the Mando’a and the cultural obligation to childcare hadn’t been anything close to sure, but it was... enough. He got lucky that these Mandalorians leaned on those obligations, at least to the point of keeping them all in the same room. He can sense that much, even before he opens his eyes, and he has to be grateful.

The looming hypothermia had probably nudged things in his favor.

Anakin opens his eyes to a guest room of a cell, something well-furnished and cozy, but definitely not meant to be something he can escape from. His saber is gone, and there are Force-nullifying cuffs on his wrists, and he’s pretty sure they’ve taken his--yep, vibroblade’s gone.

Fuck.

His body doesn’t want to move, and he’s still shivering a bit, but he’s mostly back to normal. When he sits up, he notices that there is, in fact, only one Force-nullifying cuff. They detached his arm.

He closes his eyes and breathes deep and tells himself it was probably medically necessary. Large pieces of metal aren’t great for maintaining homeostasis. He’ll get it back.

Probably.

“Ah!”

The voice makes him jolt, and his eyes fly open.

Two cribs, one much bigger than the other. Both are occupied. The larger one has bars, and through it...

“Snips,” he breathes, lurching to his feet and then crashing to his knees, about as graceful as a newborn eopie.

“Bah!”

“Just--just one second,” Anakin grits out, grimacing as he tries to pull himself to standing again. The fact that he’s down an arm doesn’t impact him much, but the shakiness of his legs is... a problem.

“Owwww,” Ahsoka coos with an exaggerated grimace, reacting to his pain with the innocent sympathy of a toddler. She looks, what, two? Maybe? He’s not sure if there’s anything particular about how Togruta babies age. She’s too young for words, clearly.

“I’m fine,” Anakin assures her, even as his heart sinks. She’s Ahsoka, clearly, he knows her in the Force and it can’t be anyone else, but her memories...

She recognizes him, but that’s not saying much.

He manages to get over to the chair next to the crib, but doesn’t trust himself to take her out right now. The snow and the mess of a fight before that haven’t been kind to him. Instead, he just sticks his hand through the bars and lets her grab at his fingers.

He can’t help but smile, really. She’s adorable, and she’s so damn happy to see him.

“Skyguy!”

“Oh, so you are talking,” Anakin says, part of him relaxing just a tad. “I was worried.”

“Mine,” she stresses, patting at his wrist.

“Yeah, your Skyguy,” he says. So she remembers... some things, at least. “And you’re my Snips.”

She squeals and yanks on his hand, just enough that the Force-suppressing cuff clanks against the bars of the crib. “Sky, Sky, Sky!”

Oh, she’s precious.

“You having fun?” he asks, filling the air with words faster than his head can fill with doubts. “Has everyone been nice?”

“Mmmmm,” she grumbles, falling to her butt with a huff. “Doc!”

“Oh, a doctor?” he asks, wondering at his own tone. He never expected to be one for baby-talk. “Was the doctor mean?”

“Cold!” she tells him. “Cold here!”

She taps at her chest, right where someone might check her heartbeat or breathing; the metal would be cold, and also necessary. He doesn’t fault anyone for it. Considering how poorly Anakin had fared, he’s just happy they’re all alive and mostly fine.

He doesn’t know what year it is. He knows he’s not in the year he should be. He’s vaguely aware of the name Jaster--one of the Mandos had said it while bringing him in--but he doesn’t know when Mereel’s reign ended and Fett’s began. He does know both are supposed to be dead.

Has Anakin been born yet? Has Ahsoka? Hell, has Obi-Wan?

Can he give out any real names?

A series of small, upset noises start coming up from the other, smaller crib.

He stands, but Ahsoka clings to his hand and refuses to let go. He can’t pry her off, not without his other arm, but he pulls away with quiet reassurances that he just has to check on... on...

Her brother, he says, aware that there’s more than a slight chance someone has the room bugged. He’s a Jedi in Mando custody. They aren’t stupid, and neither is he.

Obi-Wan’s the most likely to have already been born. Having the same name and face will draw attention, will cause questions, but... he can’t just rename his master like a recently-adopted pet. That’s just... wrong.

Anakin’s less shaky than when he first woke up, but he still has no way of safely picking up the kids. He reaches into the small crib, something twisting behind his sternum, and tickles under Obi-Wan’s chin.

The baby--the infant--looks up at him with wide eyes, too blue for the Obi-Wan he knows, but full of wonder and--

Love, the Force whispers through the cracks in the effects of the cuff.

“Love you too,” Anakin whispers, though he wonders if Obi-Wan would really feel like this as an adult again. Babies love easily, he thinks, and he’s the only adult that Obi-Wan knows right now. Maybe it’s just chemicals.

He stands there for longer than is probably a good idea, with the state of his body, but he can’t help it. Obi-Wan keeps grabbing at his finger and kicking with tiny legs, and sticking a tiny, tiny fist in his mouth as he tries watches Anakin.

It’s all Anakin can do to mutter a stream of meaningless nonsense as he struggles not to cry. He’s always had too many emotions, and right now he’s the only person these two can rely on. He’s the adult.

The door whooshes open.

“The medic said you were awake.”

He knows that voice. He closes his eyes and doesn’t turn, because there are a million feelings in his chest and he’s not sure which one is going to come out first.

“Sky?” Ahsoka questions, likely feeling his worry. “Issokay! Good!”

No, she wouldn’t have the mind to recognize why this familiar face she knows as friend is quite the opposite.

Anakin turns away from the crib, and smiles. “Mando.”

“Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker,” the teenager in the door says. He’s not wearing his bucket, but the rest of his armor is in place. Anakin would peg him as younger than Ahsoka was, before. Not by much, but... fourteen, maybe fifteen. The face is painfully familiar, and stays utterly neutral as he answers the question Anakin didn’t ask. “We found your Ident card after you passed out.”

Cool, so, Anakin definitely can’t change his name.

“Are they yours?” the teenager that will one day create an army says.

“They have no one else,” Anakin tells him. It’s true enough. Still, he gets the feeling that’s not what Fett’s asking. “They’re family.”

Jango squints at him. “I was told Jedi can’t have families.”

Anakin’s mind flashes to Padme and the fantasies he’d long harbored of children born free, and tears himself away. He can’t think about that right now. He can’t think of who he’s--

“Jetii!”

Anakin’s head snaps up, and he realizes he’s shaking. Fett’s not neutral anymore, just... concerned.

“I’m fine,” Anakin spits out, and leans on the crib behind him. He can hear the little ones whimpering. He has to pull his thoughts in and bundle them up into something that won’t hurt the incredibly Force-Sensitive babies behind him. “I’m--I’m all they have. They’re all I have. Are the exact words important?”

Fett doesn’t grimace, exactly, but his expression isn’t pleasant. “I guess.”

Anakin waits to see if there’s anything else coming, but no. Just an awkward silence. He holds onto his frustration, but it still gets the better of him.

“What are my chances of getting my arm back?” he asks.

“Hm?”

Anakin waves what’s left of that arm, the tied-off sleeve flapping about. “My arm. If you don’t want to give me mine back, can I at least have some kind of placeholder? I can’t pick up the babies without worrying that I’m going to drop them.”

“I can ask the medics,” Fett says. He stares at Anakin for a little more, and then asks, “Aren’t you going to ask about our plans for you, or...?”

“If you wanted to kill me, you already would have,” Anakin mutters. “Right now, these two are my only priority. I’m more likely to keep them safe and alive here than I am if I try to break out. I can be patient. I would also assume they wouldn’t have been left in a room with me, alone, if any of us were in danger of medical complications.”

Fett flushes and turns. “I’ll tell buir you’re up and active. There’s a nurse droid in the hall, I can have it handle feedings until you get an arm.”

“Thanks,” Anakin drawls, aware that he’s a little bitchy right now, but not in any mood to temper himself.

He settles himself on the floor next to Ahsoka’s crib, lets her play with his hair while the nurse droid feeds Obi-Wan, and then feeds Ahsoka herself. Anakin thinks he could probably pull the droid apart for an escape attempt if it came down to it. He hopes it won’t be necessary. He’s barely existing in the moment as it is. The droid asks Anakin if he needs anything, and he... shrugs.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Perhaps some non-perishables,” the nurse droids suggests. “Ration bars, for if you are hungry before one of the Mando’ade returns.”

Anakin shrugs again. “Alright.”

He ignores the droid after that. He’s only mostly cut off from the Force by the single cuff. He can’t blanket his Master and Padawan in his own Force presence, try to make them feel safe and calm with the fact that he’s here and ready to protect them, but he can monitor them. He can meditate, even if it’s not the way he prefers to do it. He doesn’t have the strength for moving meditation right now, but a regular meditation... he can do that.

He needs to do that, because no other stress relief option is available to him right now.

Anakin lets himself feel the babies fall asleep, the two of them radiating contentment and warmth. He lets himself trust that, for the moment, he doesn’t need to worry. He lets himself sink into an absence of thought, and then the Force guides him deeper still.

“Anakin!”

His eyes fly open.

This is not the real world.

This is not the room-cell in the Haat Mando’ade base he’s managed to stumble across.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says again, a smile hidden in a beard and worn laugh lines about his eyes. The right age, the right size, reaching for him and--

There’s only a moment’s hesitation for Anakin to process, and then he sprints forward and yanks his Master into a hug.

“You’re good,” Obi-Wan mutters to him, rubbing his back as they both sink to their knees. There’s a click of bootheels against the empty white not-space that they’re in, and Ahsoka buries herself into their sides. Anakin pulls her in a little closer too.

They stay that for longer than is maybe necessary, but Anakin’s stress levels are sky high right now, and he needs this. A hug, even one that’s technically only taking place in his head, is important.

“Sorry, Skyguy,” Ahsoka whispers. “Thinking in the real world is... really hard right now.”

He pulls away from the desperate hug he’d started them off with, rearranges things so he’s leaning against Obi-Wan, lets Ahsoka lie down with her head in his lap, on her back and legs stretched out across the white nothingness.

“I don’t know what happened,” Anakin says. “I mean, Sith stuff, probably, but... we’re in the wrong year.”

“I’d wondered,” Obi-Wan admits. “I thought it odd that I couldn’t feel the clones, but I only have so much energy to think right now...”

“Please tell me there’s a way to fix it,” Anakin begs. “I can’t be the adult, Obi-Wan. I haven’t even been born yet, that’s how far back we are. I don’t know what to do, and I can’t just bang around making bad decisions without you there to pull me back and--”

“Breathe,” Obi-Wan tells him.

“We’re in the Force,” Anakin says, just a little hysterically. “We don’t need to breathe!”

“Actually, I think we’re in your head,” Ahsoka says. She’s pointing and stretching her feet like a dancer, but looks up to grin at Anakin like the little shit she is. “You’re the only one whose brain is big enough right now.”

“Hey,” Anakin complains, putting his entire palm over her face as revenge. She giggles and swats him away. “That any way to talk to the guy who taught you how to kill five guys in one move?”

She sticks her tongue out at him. He rolls his eyes and runs a hand over her montrals, smiling when she wriggles and makes a little chirruping noise.

“She’s not wrong,” Obi-Wan says. “Though the phrasing was unfortunate, it does stand to reason that as the only person without the brain of a toddler, you’re hosting. Our minds can’t handle the strain of our own selves, let alone sharing space.”

“Infant.”

“Hm?”

“Ahsoka’s a toddler. You’re an infant. Maybe six months.” Anakin grins, just this side of brittle. He doesn’t want to joke about a problem he can’t fix, but what else is there? “You’re the literal baby of the lineage now.”

Obi-Wan sighs over the riot of Ahsoka’s laugh. “Of course I am.”

“It’s okay, Master,” Ahsoka assures him. “Skyguy’s gonna take care of us until we can fight again.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan says, grimacing slightly. “I am sorry for you being put in such a position, Anakin. It’s certainly not an easy one.”

Anakin wishes he could say that his immediate reaction isn’t a sense of hurt, a you don’t trust me, a you don’t think I can do this, a you’re disappointed someone else wasn’t here to handle things instead.

He wishes he could make that claim and have anyone believe him, but they are in a shared meditation, and in this moment there are very, very few secrets. He does not make the effort to hide his reaction in time, and Obi-Wan catches it.

Anakin turns away as Obi-Wan’s face fills with surprise and horror. “Anakin--”

“Can we just pretend you didn’t feel that?” Anakin asks, and flinches when Ahsoka pops up from where she lies and scurries around to hug him like a vise. “Can we just pretend I’m not--”

“Dear one, there are very few people I would trust as much as you in this,” Obi-Wan says. “Those who match up are largely the people who helped me raise me when I was actually this age.”

“Being completely reliant on your padawan isn’t--”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, cutting him off there. “I can trust you to care for me in ways that don’t just come down to making me a useful general again. I already trust you to risk your life and safety and freedom to see us survive, given what little I remember of that storm.”

“You handed yourself over to Mandalorians you knew nothing about so we’d be safe,” Ahsoka mutters into the fabric somewhere over his ribs. “That could have gone really badly, and you still did it because you were worried about us.”

“We trust you, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pulling Anakin to his chest and resting his chin on Anakin’s head. “We know you.”

“You don’t even know what happened in the storm,” Anakin mutters. “You were asleep.”

“I caught enough listening to the doctors,” Obi-Wan says. He runs a hand over Anakin’s head and through his hair. “You did well, Anakin.”

Anakin wonders why they don’t do this in real life. Obi-Wan doesn’t usually hug him, let alone cuddle. Maybe it’s because they’re all stuck in too much truth in this shared meditation, and the other two are currently stuck in child bodies that crave physical affection in ways they don’t realize they’re expressing in here as well. Maybe it’s the stress.

“What even can you hear?” Anakin mutters, still in Obi-Wan’s arms. Ahsoka giggles at him, nuzzling into his side in a way he doesn’t think she’d ever let herself, normally.

“We can’t really think in the real world right now,” she muses. “Only when we’re sleeping, and probably when we’re meditating once we’re bigger. If I try to think too hard, my head hurts worse than that time Ventress got me in the head with the back of her saber.”

“Everything takes up more space than it should,” Obi-Wan adds. “It’s... all of my senses are bigger and brighter and take up more of my attention, but they aren’t very clear, really. They’re just more. I can’t focus on anything, either, except... well, the feedings.”

Ahsoka makes an annoyed noise. “The whole diapers and bottles thing is really embarrassing, by the way. Only here, though, I barely notice when I’m awake because...”

“Because you’re a toddler,” Anakin says drily.

She huffs. “How would you feel if you were stuck like that?”

That’s fair.

“I don’t remember much,” Obi-Wan says carefully. “But part of me recognizes familiar things, even if I can’t quite make the connection.”

“Was that Fett, earlier?” Ahsoka asks. “Because I thought I saw a friend, and I pretty much forgot the face as soon as they left, but--”

“It’s Fett,” Anakin confirms. “But I guess that’s good to know? You saw his face and your baby brain just assumed it was one of the clones?”

“Pretty much.”

“And we know we trust you,” Obi-Wan adds, and tightens the hug when Anakin stiffens. “Anakin, I can barely understand the world around me at all right now. It’s like being on the painkillers that don’t knock you out but leave you saying only the most ridiculous things that come to mind. You have a general understanding of what’s going on, but all your emotions are too much and the room spins, you can’t stay on one track mentally, you can’t remember what you’ve done and what you haven’t--”

“You can’t control your bladder,” Ahsoka mutters, just a touch spitefully.

Obi-Wan grimaces and nods. “An unfortunate commonality in the experiences, yes. What I was aiming to address, however, is the fact that I only remember a very few things with any reliability. Most of my adult mind, so to speak, appears to be stored in a stasis form in the Force itself, because the infant mind can only handle the barest edges of who I am. But what that infant mind knows, and what I remember thinking once I have some sense of my full self in sleep, is that there is no one I react to as positively as you, Anakin.”

“What he’s trying to say,” Ahsoka interrupts, “but can’t because he’s trying to be a serene Jedi Councilor who definitely doesn’t break the code, nosiree, is that we don’t remember much about ourselves when we’re awake, but we remember you, and we know that we love you, Skyguy.”

Anakin stares at her, and then twists around to look at Obi-Wan instead.

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka croons. “Stop being emotionally constipated. We’re literal babies right not, which sucks, but we’re like 90% emotion. Tell Skyguy.”

“Yes, er, Ahsoka was not incorrect,” Obi-Wan says, stroking his beard and refusing to meet Anakin’s eyes. “I, that is to say, we...”

“Master Kenobi,” Ahsoka says, a touch sharper than she might have dared if not for the reversal of their ages.

“I do love you, Anakin, and it’s one of the only things my child mind knows consistently.”

The Force does, in fact, sing with the truth of this. It circles them like a delighted tornado of emotional reality, pulsing like a coat of positivity.

Anakin buries his face in Obi-Wan’s shoulder and hugs him as tightly as possible.

“Oh! Oh dear, I--Anakin, really, this isn’t news.”

“Master Kenobi, you’re allergic to actually talking about your emotions. Let him hug you.”

“Anakin, I’ve raised you since you were nine, it would be nearly impossible for me to not care, why are you--”

“Master Kenobi, stop questioning him!” Ahsoka whines. “It’s affirmation time.”

“Ahsoka, have you been spending time with the mind healers again?”

“I was a teenager in a warzone and also Barriss bullied me into it for my own good.” Ahsoka shrugs. “I learned some stuff. You two should have gone, too. You were more karked up than I was.”

“Ahsoka,” Obi-Wan scolds.

“What are you going to do, spit up on me? You can’t exactly make me run laps, Master.”

“Both of you shut up,” Anakin mumbles, and tries to push as much of his own affection as possible into a little ball of feelings that he can just drop on the two of them while he’s still in his own brain and not somewhere he can’t touch the Force. “Just--just shut.”

Apparently, Anakin’s feelings are a lot, because Ahsoka bursts into tears and Obi-Wan zones out so hard Anakin starts worrying about him.

They’re in a mindscape, a thing that he didn’t really think happened, but does. He shouldn’t have to worry about his--

“Oh, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, pulling him in tighter. “Why did you...”

“Skyguy, I don’t think you planned on putting in the part where you worry about nobody loving you back as much as you loved them,” Ahsoka says, raw and uneven. “Because, uh, we got that? Skyguy, that’s really wrong!”

Oh shit.

“No, you were... you were not supposed to get that,” he says, just a little strangled. “I am so sorry, that wasn’t--”

“Be our dad.”

Anakin stares down at his Padawan. She stares determinedly back.

“What?”

“Fett asked if we were yours, and you edged around the question by saying we were family, but he was asking if you were our dad. I’m guessing you didn’t want to claim that when we couldn’t agree to it, so I’m telling you now: do it. Adopt us the Mandalorian way or whatever. You were already my older brother, basically, this is just a step sideways in how we talk about it.”

He stares at her a bit more. He doesn’t have words, and his emotions are such a cyclone of conflicting thoughts that he’s surprised the Force hasn’t tossed him out.

“I don’t know if I’m going to be born, but if I am, then I need a name so I don’t have the same one as future me,” she says. She takes his hands, holds them tight and leans in close. “You’re going to be raising us anyway. The Force already made it clear there’s no fixing this, we tried asking while you were unconscious, it wants us to grow up the long way. You’re going to be our dad. Just make it official. Make me a Skywalker.”

Anakin sits up straight, looks her up and down, the determination and affection and--

He turns to look at Obi-Wan. “Master?”

“...yes, Anakin?”

“I know she said ‘we’ and ‘us,’ but I’m not letting anyone speak for anyone else. Not for something this important.”

Obi-Wan blinks at him, and then rearranges himself to something a tad more formal. He takes one of Anakin’s hands in his own. “Anakin, we’ve been family since you were nine. This is just redefining the terms. We can adjust as we go forward, but for all intents and purposes, the majority of the time, I will be that youngling in the cot. For all intents and purposes, I will be your child, and... and I would be honored for you to make that official.”

“Even if it breaks the Code?” Anakin presses.

“All is as the Force wills it,” Obi-Wan says, almost but not quite overriding Ahsoka’s, “This doesn’t break the Code.”

They both turn to look at her. She shrugs. “What? You guys are always arguing about it and Skyguy was married. I went and did some digging about what is and isn’t allowed. This adoption would be skirting the edges of some rules, since we should be taken to the creche to be raised in a communal manner, and official adoptions are discouraged for reasons relating to later padawan stuff, but since the Force is also insisting we stay with the Mandalorians, I think it qualifies as an exception and will be treated as such, retroactively, by the Council. You also won’t be able to take either of us as Padawan once that time comes. It does not, however, violate the Code in and of itself.”

“What the hell, Snips?”

“I’m impressed, young one,” Obi-Wan says, with a smile Anakin can feel. “I could have expected to see you in court in a few years, with an argument like that.”

“You knew I was married?” Anakin squeaks.

“Rex isn’t a very good liar,” she says. She then droops. “Or, he wasn’t. Wouldn’t be. He tried, at least, but I caught on. That was against the Code, though. Just so you know.”

Anakin runs a hand over his face, tries very hard not to think about what and whom he’s left behind. He can save that breakdown for later.

He chances a look at Obi-Wan.

He gets a raised eyebrow in response.

“You’re not mad?”

“I knew you and the Senator were close, considering all the kissing you did in the Arena,” Obi-Wan says drily. Anakin isn’t stupid enough to ask how he knows it’s Padme. “I didn’t know you were married, and am a little disappointed you didn’t at least tell me, or consult me before you did it, considering you were still a padawan... but no, I’m not mad. Even if I were--and I am not--we’ve time-traveled, so I’m fairly certain that qualifies as annulment. It’s a non-issue.”

Anakin pushes down the tidal wave of grief for people who haven’t been born yet, and just breathes instead. This is important. This is too important for him to just kriff it up.

“Names,” he says.

“I still want part of it to be ‘Soka,’ if you don’t think it’s too risky.”

Obi-Wan shrugs with a smile. “Almost every time I’ve posed as a Mandalorian, since my first mission with Satine, I’ve gone by Ben. It would be fitting that, now that we’re here and apparently staying, I take the name for real.”

Anakin nods. He closes his eyes, and breathes deep, and thinks that they may be among Mandalorians on a world of snow, but he has the desert in his bones and will never forget it.

“Ahsoka Tano, sister of my heart,” he says, hoping he’s getting the words right, and takes her hands in his. It’ll have more meaning here and now, where they’re both of full mind. He holds her gaze. “You ask to join my family, to be of those who walk the sky. You shed your old name as you shed the chains of your past. You become my daughter, not of blood, but of love, loyalty, and survival. My wells are your wells, and all I own and earn is to set the path of your freedom. I name you Sokanth Skywalker, she who slips through every hunter’s trap, and you are my child.”

She smiles brightly at him, and looks like she might cry. He presses his lips to her forehead. He turns to his Master. He hesitates, because it’s one thing to redefine his little sister, but...

“Obi-Wan Kenobi, father of my heart,” he says, his voice catching where it shouldn’t. He can do this. It’s weird but he can do this. “You ask to join my family, to be of those who walk the sky. You shed your old name as you shed the chains of your past. You become my son, not of blood, but of love, loyalty, and survival. My wells are your wells, and all I own and earn is to set the path of your freedom. I name you Ylliben Skywalker, he who hunts the monsters of the darkest nights, and you are my child.”

The man before him almost laughs, well aware of how absurd it is for Anakin to be the one adopting him, but keeps it limited to just a twinkle in his eye and a quirk to his lips. Anakin presses his lips to his teacher’s forehead.

He pulls both of them in close. Padawan and Master. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan.

Daughter and son. Soka and Ben. His.

“I’m still gonna call you Skyguy,” Soka says wetly. “But Mas--um, Ben. Ben can call you buir, all the Mandos are gonna love it.”

“Fine by me,” Anakin says. “I’m going to be telling you Tatooine bedtime stories, by the way. You’ll remember creche stories as you grow, but these’ll be new.”

“I do believe that would be appropriate,” Ben says, laughing just a touch. “I also think we should perhaps disband this, unless you have something else to address. You’re going to be dealing with two very cranky younglings soon.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, we’re gonna have headaches after this,” Soka laughs, rubbing her face against his shoulder. “But it’s okay, we got what we ne--”

“No, shut up, what you do mean, headaches? You said that was only when you were awake!”

“I mean, we’d be sobbing after like three minutes if we were awake,” Soka says cheerfully. “This way, it’s been like... an hour or whatever between all the talking and the hugging and the crying and the feelings, and we’re just gonna be grumpy.”

“Oh my--wake up!” Anakin growls at both of them. “I’m responsible for you now, wake up.”

He ignores Soka’s laughter and drags himself back to wakefulness. Behind him, he feels slight confusion and pain mixed with love and delight. Ben starts fussing.

Anakin drags a hand over his face and groans. He gets to his feet, nods to the nurse droid, and steps over to the cribs.

“Can we put them in the same one until I get my arm back?” he asks. The droid obliges, moving Ben to Soka’s crib. She immediately crawls over to him and envelops him in a hug. She pouts up at Anakin, eyes going watery, and he drops into the chair next to her and offers his hand through the bars. She grabs it.

“You’re going to be trouble for a long, long time, huh?”

She sticks her tongue out at him, and he smiles at her. Yes, trouble in spades, his Snips.

He starts telling her one of the fables of Tatooine, the really sanitized ones meant for children her age, before they got to the slave stories and haunt-tales. She falls asleep for real, no Force Shenanigans, shortly after. Ben is dead to the world by that point, making small snuffling noises whenever the blanket tickles his nose.

Anakin knows he’s got the galaxy’s dopiest smile on his face. It’s fine.

It’s a few more hours before someone stops by. He’s used the fresher by that point, helped the nurse droid coax Ben through a feeding, and helped Soka play with the little stuffed eopie they’ve given her.

“They got names, aruetti?”

He looks up and over. “Yes.”

The middle-aged man ambles over, arms crossed. “Jango said you claimed to be all they had left.”

He is. “They’re family. I’ve had a few hours to think it over, now that I’m not getting shot at or dying in the snow. To any system that allows it, I’ll be their father.”

“No chance of returning them to their people?”

Anakin shakes his head. “Soka has none who would recognize her, and I already--I already babysat her regularly, and she thought of me as a brother. It’s an easy next step.”

“And the human?”

“I... the master-padawan relationship is often one that is compared to that of parent and child,” Anakin says carefully. “My own master was like a father to me, and Ben is... Ben is all I have left of him.”

There. Not quite the truth, but... technically not lying.

Ben makes a small noise in his sleep, fussing, and Anakin reaches through the bars to brush his thumb across the infant’s chubby cheek. He smiles helplessly as Ben whines and curls in tighter on himself, pressing a tiny fist to his mouth.

“You’re good,” Anakin whispers. “We’re fine, Ylliben.”

“I don’t know what you’re hiding,” the Mando says. “But I do believe you’re doing what you can for those kids.”

“That’s all that matters,” Anakin agrees, finally looking away from his... his son.

Mine, the greedy krayt in his chest whispers.

“When are you planning on going back to Coruscanta?”

“I’m not,” Anakin says, standing and looking the man head-on. Anakin’s taller than him. That’s usually useful. “I don’t know why, but the Force wants me to stay here, or at least with the Mandalorians.”

“You want me to believe that you support my cause?”

“I don’t know your cause,” Anakin admits. “But I don’t like Death Watch, and I know you don’t either. Nobody on Coruscant is going to know to miss me, and the Force is warning me away from trying to go back. Whatever it is that needs doing, I’m supposed to be doing it here.”

The man steps forward. “Anyone tell you who I am?”

“No.”

“I’m Jaster Mereel.”

Good for you, Anakin thinks, and doesn’t say. “I’m pretty sure you already know my name.”

“I do,” Mereel says. “Wanna tell me how a Knight with a seemingly valid ident card claims nobody will know to miss him?”

“No.”

Mereel doesn’t even blink. “Try that again.”

“It means exactly what I said,” Anakin says. “The ident card is real. My training and rank are earned and deserved and bestowed by protocol. All of it was done at the Temple in Coruscant, but if you phone up the Temple with my name and face, nobody will know who I am.”

“And you’re not going to tell me why,” Mereel grouses. “What’s stopping me from calling them up anyway and asking them to come fetch your hypothermic ass?”

“...the fact that I already offered to help you?” Anakin manages. “I... I did say that part, right? That I’d help?”

“What’s stopping you from wanting to go back? And don’t give me any of that ‘will of the force’ banthashit.”

“I broke the Code,” Anakain says. The words sit heavy in his mouth, but one of his violations is lesser than the other, and-- “I married, and we’re not supposed to do that. She’s... not around anymore, but it still stands that I did it.”

The Tuskens weigh on his mind, suddenly and intensely. He hasn’t thought about them in ages, has always pushed those memories down, down, down, but--

“And they won’t take you back?”

“They might,” Anakin admits. They probably would, with his full title and everything, especially if he told them about the future. “But they wouldn’t let me keep the kids.”

Understanding flickers. “Not allowed kids?”

“It’s not... technically against the code,” he hedges. “But they’d find out about my marriage while investigating my past--” maybe, he’s not sure what kind of investigation they’d justify for a complete stranger of a knight, especially to confirm the future, but if they had a psychometric so much as touch his saber or arm, once he gets those back, there’d be a risk, “--and after already breaking the code by marrying, they’d be far less willing to bend the rules about the babies.”

He doesn’t realize how likely the risk is until after he says it, because he’s just been focusing on staying alive and following the Force, but.. they’d want the kids in the creche. He’s broken the code enough that any investigation they set to prove he’s legitimately a Jedi Knight that isn’t recorded and isn’t in the system is going to uncover something through the Force. They might not let him keep his family.

“What are their names?”

“I already--”

“Jango kept his last name,” Mereel cuts him off. “Did yours?”

Anakin looks the man in the eye, and then attempts to cross his arms in response, to mirror the pose and hold his ground. Unfortunately, he’s forgotten that he’s only got the one arm, which is really kriffing irritating.

“I gave them my name,” he says. “They’ll know where they came from, but they are mine.”

Yeah, no shit they’ll know where they came from.

Mereel’s face twitches, but the man is unreadable in the Force. Still, there’s something in the air... “So, those names?”

“Sokanth and Ylliben Skywalker,” Anakin tells him. He spells it out when the droid asks. He assumes it’s just for the medical data their droids are collecting.

“How well can you fight without your laser sword?”

“You mean unarmed?” Anakin asks, and then smiles brightly and tauntingly and waves his empty sleeve around. Mereel does not appreciate the humor. “Pretty well, but I do better when I have the Force, and am not still recovering from hypothermia. And I’m a fair shot with a blaster, but no specialist.”

Mereel eyes him for a moment, and then nods. “One of my snipers is Force-Sensitive. Never was enough to get more than some basic training in mental shields and the control to not hurt herself, but when we mentioned bringing in a Jetii, someone asked her what she thought. Came by the room while you were unconscious and said she thought you felt sad, angry, and desperate... but that she had a good feeling about where you’d be going.”

“Sad, angry, and desperate?” Anakin repeats, a little offended.

“You act like a veteran, kid,” Mereel says. He shrugs. “Damn near everyone that goes through some kind of war has all that going on. S’normal. You got Kamira’s approval, though, and that means a damn sight more. Keep your secrets for now. We’ll get there eventually.”

No we won’t, Anakin thinks. Out loud, he asks, “So, how much of what kind of work would I have to do to borrow a ship to Tatooine and earn enough to free a slave girl?”

#disaster lineage #anakin skywalker #obi wan kenobi #ahsoka tano #jango fett #jaster mereel #time travel #mandalore #tatooine #de aging #babies #phoenix files #Anakin and the Jedi Babies

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mandoinevarro · 4 years

Text

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun.

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose. Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga. “Who’s they?”

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you. You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames your knees with his legs “—armchair.” Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you? Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander @hellomothermoon @newyorksins @leo-moon @benedrylcumbersnatch

#the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mando smut #mando x reader #mando x you #star wars smut

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

Spilled Pearls

- Chapter 29 - ao3 -

“In the future, you should send your children to the Cloud Recesses for me to teach,” Lan Qiren said. He was sitting with Wen Ruohan on one of the rooftop gardens in the Nightless City, watching the moon and stars from a pavilion placed there for that purpose; their bodies were pressed close together, and it felt as if they were far away from all the things that were familiar. “You and Lao Nie both, and naturally I’ll come visit with you often as well, bringing my nephew. Between the three of us, we might even be able to teach them how to be proper human beings.”

Wen Ruohan laughed in his ear and pressed his lips to his cheek – he had taken to kissing him at random, spontaneous, as if still overwhelmed by the fact that he now had the right to do it.

“I will,” he promised. “I agree, I think they’ll turn out better that way…you would really have me educate your precious little A-Huan?”

“If I’m willing to entrust myself with you, why not him? Anyway, I can teach him music, and with the aid of the other teachers in my sect the sword in the Lan sect style, but you can teach him much more than that. You know how to look at the world and see it for what it is, and then bend it to your will, make it sing to your tune. He’ll be sect leader in the future; he needs to learn that, and you can teach it to him.”

“I can, and I will,” Wen Ruohan said, then thought for a moment and asked, “What does Lao Nie bring to the table?”

“Flexibility, mostly.”

Wen Ruohan barked out a laugh. “He certainly has that.”

He didn’t even sound bitter about it any more.

Lan Qiren smiled.

“In the meantime, I will handle the rest of it,” Wen Ruohan added, and Lan Qiren looked at him in silent question. “Come now, Qiren. Did you really think that I would allow you to remain caged in the Cloud Recesses your whole life?”

Lan Qiren paused. That was the sorest part of his heart, his most painful misery, but he didn’t think Wen Ruohan would bring it up casually. If anything, he was a bit more afraid of what Wen Ruohan might get into his head to do about it – there was very little Wen Ruohan wouldn’t dare.

“Da-ge –” he started warily.

“No, no,” Wen Ruohan said, lightly scolding. “Little Lan, be serious! I already rejected the opportunity to cage you here at the Nightless City, playing only for me, despite how much I longed to do so. I refused to do it – me, refusing myself – because I knew it would only make you sad. Do you really think I would allow other people a privilege that I have denied myself?”

Lan Qiren did not laugh, but he dearly wanted to. It might be the first time he’d ever wanted to laugh about his situation – not even Cangse Sanren had managed that. “Has anyone told you that you are extremely self-absorbed?” he asked instead. “Arrogance is forbidden. Do not be haughty and complacent.”

Wen Ruohan smirked back at him. “All true, little Lan, but don’t forget your favorite: Do not tell lies.”

Self-absorbed, narcissistic and arrogant, Lan Qiren concluded, and there was no helping it. It was clearly a terminal case.

He used his sleeve to hide his laughter.

“What are you planning, exactly?” he asked once he had recovered. “If you harm my sect, whether directly or indirectly by denying them my services, I would be even more upset than if you tried to lock me away in here.”

Wen Ruohan waved a hand dismissively. “Do you think me so incapable? I have already begun making arrangements. Discussion conferences may only be once or twice a year, being as they are tremendously irritating to arrange, but there’s no reason that we of the Great Sects should not recognize our greater duty towards the smaller sects, and not to mention our obligations to protect the mortal world –”

“You know that it exists, then?”

Wen Ruohan ignored him. “The resources of cultivation clans are limited, and the world large. There are many places which would benefit from aid that do not see any simply because they are far away or tucked in inconvenient places, and no sect lives nearby – naturally, it is our duty to fight evil no matter where it is encountered. Lao Nie has already agreed that it is critical that the sect leaders demonstrate our sincerity by fulfilling this duty in person, leading by example.”

Lan Qiren’s heart had already felt as if it were overflowing with warmth, and it felt even more so now, almost squeezed to pain by how much joy was there. More than he had known he could contain.

Bad luck in brothers, he thought to himself - but oh, he had such good luck in friends!

“I see,” he said, thankful that his usual neutral tone concealed how happy he felt. “And naturally, where you and Lao Nie go, Sect Leader Jin cannot be far behind in his eagerness not to lose out, and where three of the five Great Sects lead, naturally the rest cannot be far behind. So I, too, will be obligated to...what? Go out on night-hunts in inconvenient places?”

“The world is too large, and the number of cultivators too few – and at any rate, there’s no point in setting up a full night-hunt which draws in every person from a thousand li for a few paltry fierce corpses or a ghost or two. I propose, instead, that we would send cultivators out alone, in pairs or in small groups, to wander for a few months through the remote places in the world and clean them up. Then, at the next discussion conference, the Great Sects could jointly agree that whoever was most enterprising would receive a reward, and naturally, stories of various exploits could be exchanged – ”

“Ah. Another reason for young men and women to gather and boast of improbable exploits.”

“Think of it as giving them more opportunities to win glory,” Wen Ruohan said. “And stop talking down about ‘young men’; you are a young man. Naturally you are also qualified to go out to do such things. Required, even: if our Great Sects do not set a proper example, who will?”

“Mm. A proper example. Even if I coincidentally happen to spend more time playing music than hunting demons?”

Wen Ruohan’s eyes were bright. “Even so. And naturally, you could always bring along someone more powerful to do the demon-hunting for you…”

“How convenient.”

Wen Ruohan smirked. “Do you doubt that I will be able to make it happen, little Lan?”

“No,” Lan Qiren said, then added, honestly: “I think you could take over the world if you wished.”

“Naturally! But it would be quite irritating, I think, if I had to also ensure that both you and Lao Nie did not disapprove of my methods…” He paused, lips twitching. “By coincidence, while we’re discussing convenience, I was thinking that it would be dangerous to send all those wild and reckless young men out there without proper support. Surely it would be only reasonable to set up a few convenient places here and there, not so far away, to provide them with supplies and a place to rest and recover –”

Convenient places that would fly the Wen sect’s flag and spread its influence, Lan Qiren presumed. Lanling Jin would be furious – using wealth to buy influence was their favorite technique, and they resented other people copying it – and would immediately insist on establishing their own set of “supply stations”, and then the rest of them would have to catch up and make their own. Yet another expense, and the Great Sects would need to do more than most; it would probably wreck havoc with the Lan sect’s annual budget.

On the other hand, well the remote parts of the world really did need the help. One of the Lan sect’s newly recruited guest disciples had been talking about a place not far from his hometown that specialized in making coffin goods; it was, according to him, the most inauspicious place that could possibly be imagined…

Not a place anyone might want to go, unless they truly were intent on traveling.

Lan Qiren smiled once again. He thought he might never stop smiling.

“Indeed,” he said, trying to sound dry and rational. “Very coincidental. No one will doubt that this is nothing but a scheme to expand your reach and power, rather than any personal motive.”

Wen Ruohan did not answer, but instead, matching a smile of his own to Lan Qiren’s, pressed his lips against Lan Qiren’s once more.

After a little while of silence, Lan Qiren cleared his throat and asked, “Do you intend to tell people?”

He was not referring to Wen Ruohan’s plans for the future.

Wen Ruohan understood.

“In time,” he said. “As much as I would love to shout that you are mine and I am yours from the rooftops and perhaps have bulletins be posted to every town -”

Lan Qiren grimaced. It would be one thing if he thought Wen Ruohan was exaggerating for romantic effect, but unfortunately it would be just like him to engage in that level of over-the-top grandstanding.

“– but your position is not yet certain, and my reputation is too questionable. People would make assumptions and spread malicious gossip, and I – I would not harm you to please myself.”

“Sweet-talker.”

“It’s not sweet-talking when it’s true,” Wen Ruohan protested, although he was chuckling. “When you are more renowned as a teacher than a sect leader, when little A-Huan is old enough to have passed the worst stretches of childhood – then we will announce it, and let the rest of the world choke on it if they like. You, me, Lao Nie…hmm. Jin Guangshan will probably think we’re concealing a conspiracy and ask to join in.”

Lan Qiren gagged. “I refuse,” he said. “I don’t care if I’m not physically involved, neither you nor Lao Nie are allowed to even think about it. That man has visited so many prostitutes that one might be forgiven for thinking he believes that the road to immortality is paved with venereal disease.”

“…thank you, that was an image I did not require.” A pause. “Jiang Fengmian –”

“Remember when he punched me in the face in a fight over a girl I didn’t even want?”

“It wasn’t a serious suggestion.” Wen Ruohan chuckled once more and pressed another kiss to his cheek. “Some years ago now, I swore to your Cangse Sanren that I would do right by you. I ought to invite her here and show her that I’ve made good on it.”

“You haven’t made good on it.”

“I haven’t?”

“No. Such a promise is fulfilled through the keeping – if you want to do right by me, there is no one singular moment that would qualify, but rather a continuing obligation.” Lan Qiren smiled up at him. “I’m sorry, da-ge. You’ll have to continue to do right by me for the rest of our lives.”

“I will,” Wen Ruohan said, and smiled back. “It would be my pleasure.”

-END-

#mdzs #lan qiren #wen ruohan #my fic #my fics #spilled pearls

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lalaangeldust · 3 years

Text

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚 𝐱 𝐠𝐧!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 [ 𝟑𝐤+ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 ]

[ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ] : gross sticky icky fluff // friends to lovers troupe <3 // hanta is a huge dork, we all been knew this // hanta is also sickeningly sweet and affectionate // GOD, I JUST LOVE HIM SO MUCH

[ 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗶𝗽𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 ] : on a clear night, you go out to stargaze on the dorm roof; nothing out of the norm for you but in the middle of admiring the stars, sero comes out to join with something big he needs to get off his chest.

[ 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 ] : you - blue // sero - orange

[ 𝗺𝘆𝗸𝗶𝗲'𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲 ] : i'm totally not projecting my fantasies onto sero and i'm totally not a sucker for friends to lovers fics :| /s

Sitting on the cool concrete of the dorm roof, the night illuminated by nothing but the streetlights below you and the stars above as you lay in silence with your legs propped against the roof's ledge. You've always thought the best part of UA was how it was out of the way so the stars are clearer than they were back in the city. Although graduation is soon and end of year exams are menacingly looming over you, you couldn't resist the urge to come out and soak up the full moon's gorgeous light. Nights like these, alone on a clear night, soft music playing through your headphones, scanning the vast sky, connecting the dots as your eyes wander to make constellations of your own are arguably one of your most favorite things in life.

The only thing that could possibly make this better is... him.

Eyes trailing to the brightest star you can find and admiring how it sticks out from everything else in your vision, your mind uncontrollably wanders to Sero. How that star kinda reminds you of him...

Ugh! what a ridiculous thing to think! Damn him for always finding a way to worm into your thoughts. Your hands fly to your forehead with a smack, outwardly groaning as you drag your fingers down your face in an attempt to shake off your thoughts. You've been friends with him for nearly three years! You would think you'd be over your petty crush on him by now. You two are practically siblings with how you two are almost always attached at the hip, always causing trouble together, always there when the other needed it, always making you feel safe... It would be weird to have feelings for him... right..?

But before you could rationalize your emotions any further, a hand reaches for your headphones, lifting one side off your ear as you hear a soft voice murmur behind you, “The moon’s beautiful tonight, isn't it?”

You practically jump out of your skin, immediately shooting up to take a defensive position. Although you can’t make out the silhouette you’re now facing, the all too familiar laughter that comes from them is more than enough to give away who this false intruder could be and you sigh in relief.

“Sero! You scared me half to death!!” you exclaim, relaxing your shoulders at seeing his familiar frame emerge through the dim light.

Tall and lean with a smile that could nearly rival the sun, the boy chuckles at you. His long pitch black hair he's been growing out for the past year cascading down the sides of his face, just barely brushing past his shoulders framing his face in a way that makes his dashing features stand out even more. Sero approaches you wearing a loose muscle tank top with his hands tucked in ill fitting sweats and a pair of black stud earrings he stole from you in his ears.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Sero chuckled, "I didn't mean to scare you so bad, doll". You send him a deep glare through the darkness and he throws his hands up out of his pockets to either side of his head in defense.

"...Maybe you shouldn't sit out here with music blasting in your ears,” Sero snarks back, “I could’ve been a villain,” he continues mockingly, “Not to mention that horrible stance you took. I don't think you’d fair very well against a villain while sitting down,” he teases with a wide grin smeared on his face. You scoff and roll your eyes in response.

“Are you only here to tell me how much of a hazard I am? Or do you want anything else, tape face?” you grumble.

“Oh, you wound me!” Sero exclaims dramatically, “I was simply wondering what my lil’ muffin was up to,” he muses, the dimples on his cheeks becoming visible as his grin only stretches wider as he speaks.

“Oh god, muffin!?!? ew!” you groan, “What the hell, I thought we agreed on no more stupid pet names,” you say with a giggle while scrunching up your nose.

“I didn't think it was stupid,” Sero huffs as he plops himself down next to you and wrinkles his nose back at you, “Muffin is a valid nickname. You just have no taste,” he concludes with a short nod, still smiling like an idiot.

You just roll your eyes and stick your tongue out at him before tilting your head up to go back to looking at the stars. Sero chuckles softly, staring at you for a moment while admiring you as you look at the sky with a softened smile on his face.

“Why you up so late?” he inquired.

“I could ask you the same thing, Sero,” you reply while throwing your head back down to look at him.

“Mmm, well, I was sleeping but… I suddenly woke up and couldn't go back to sleep,” he grunts as he adjusts himself into a more comfortable sitting position next to you.

You hum in acknowledgment before you look back up to the stars in the sky and Sero is left to admire you once again. How your eyes glimmer with the stars as the full moon softly illuminates your frame is a breathtaking view he would never tire of. The look on your face when you gaze at the sky, the look of pure adoration and awe is a look he hopes, prays, dreams you’ll give him one day.

“What’re you thinking, hun?” he softly asks, hoping you’d give him just the slightest glimpse of what goes on in your head. You pause for a moment, taking in his question and wondering how to answer it.

“Just thinking. Thinking thoughts. Nothing notable or important, I can assure you. Just enjoying the clear night,” you say, swerving his question to avoid the real answer. him.

“Ah, that was a rather vague answer,” he jests, mildly disappointed that you didn't let him in and you only hum in response.

“What about you?” you ask, “What made you wanna come up here?”

“Oh, well..” he begins but is held back by a lump that suddenly lodges in his throat, not really wanting to fully admit why he came up here with you.

In reality he hadn't slept at all. He’s embarrassed to admit it but he couldn't stop thinking of you all night, all day in fact. You just about consume his every thought and tonight, no matter what he did, he just couldn’t shake the thought of being with you.

After being so close with you for years now, people often assume the two of you are dating but the idea is almost always dismissed by a shy laugh and an averted gaze... Sero would be lying if he ever said he didn't relish the idea of being in a romantic relationship with you but... You never seemed all that interested in the idea and Sero was too scared to push the idea you may like him even half as much as he likes you. Never going farther than light hearted flirting and banter, some may call him a coward maybe but to him? Being your friend was enough. Well, that was until Mina and Kiri gave him a harsh wake up call earlier that morning.

They were scolding him on how painfully obvious it is how both you and Sero are nearly head over heels for one another, how they've spent the past year pining for one another, yet the both of you have stayed so blind to the fact you have feelings for each other. Absolutely dumbfounded by this, he asks what he should do about it, about you, to which they immediately and overwhelmingly demand him to confess his feelings for you. That is the real reason he came to find you.

“When I was trying to go back to sleep, I thought about something someone said… about taking chances,” he spoke in a soft and thoughtful tone, “Taking that blind leap of faith into the unknown things we’re afraid of because... what’s the worst that can happen…?” he pauses, rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly realizing how silly he probably sounds as he looks at you, “I dunno- sounds kinda dumb now that I say it out loud,” he says dismissively.

“No, no. I don't think it sounds dumb at all. I think it’s very insightful” you say, ushering him to continue by resting your head on your palm as you look at him intently to show your interest.

“Well, uh,” butterflies swarm to his chest as he tries to find the words to speak, finding it much harder to talk when he knows he has your full attention.

“Well, it led me to think about you 'cus I know that's something you talk about a lot as well… and I figured since it's a full moon tonight, you'd be up here,” he concludes. His gaze nervously shifting to his feet, averting his eyes from you to try and calm the fluttering nerves in his chest.

“I’m glad you did,” you hum, a low warmth growing in your chest from knowing he thought about you, “I enjoy your company,” you add thoughtfully. Though you probably just meant it in a friendly way, it didn’t change how much it meant to Sero to know you like having him around.

“I’m happy to hear that,” Sero chuckles nervously, a light blush dusting his cheeks as he slightly scooches closer to you. You take notice and you subtly tilt to the side, leaning in his direction not yet touching shoulders but leaving an opening to do so if he wanted.

“I uh- I also wanted to tell you something- In regards to what I was thinking about…” Sero mumbles nervously, hoping you didn’t catch what he said so he would have an excuse to not go through with his confession. Pretend like nothing happened and move on to just enjoy the simple friendship you two share.

“Oh?” You inquire, “What do you want to tell me? I’m all ears,” Sero fiddles with his thumbs, taking a moment to gather his thoughts before he speaks as you patiently wait for him.

"I- uh, I love you," he blurts, head swimming as he looks at you, eager and insatiably nervous to hear how you may respond, horrified you may not reciprocate his feelings and ultimately ruining what relationship you two did have.

"I love you too, Sero," you giggle.

Sero's heart drops, confidence dwindling as he assumes you thought he said "I love you" in the way you two always have. Just as friends. But he didn't. He meant it. He meant it in so many more ways he couldn't even begin to describe. He didn't expect you to reciprocate his feelings in the first place but that doesn't make him hurt any less.

"No, you don't understand," Sero sighs as he runs his hands through his long, thick hair, "I'm in love with you," You turn you head to him, Did he-? eyes widening at what Sero said, unsure if what you heard was a wishful hallucination or not. When you said "I love you" back, you genuinely meant it in the same way he does now. God, you've been in love with him for what seems like the first moment you two met but you would've never guessed Sero felt the same for you.

You sit in silence for a beat trying processes what Sero had just said to you. Your friend, your closest friend, is in love with you..? Something you've dreamt of becoming a reality. You start to get dizzy from the overwhelming euphoria and anxiety the realization simultaneously brings. You look at Sero, placing your hand on his to ground yourself as you look up at him, a warm smile spreading on your face.

"I love you too, Hanta," you say earnestly. Sero's heart leaps in his chest at your words. Not only did the person of his dreams reciprocate his feelings but they also addressed him by his first name?! He might as well be dreaming. Hearing his name fall off your lips like warm honey for the first time sends him flying through cloud nine.

"Y-you mean it??" Sero stutters, still unable to believe it. You give him a heartfelt smile as you squeeze his hand before standing up. You wordlessly walk around Sero and crouch behind him.

Utterly confused and growing increasingly flustered at your sudden close proximity, Sero opens his mouth to ask what you could possibly be doing but you shush him before he can say a word. Leaning against him, you ask permission to grab his hand and Hanta lets you guide his finger to the brightest star in the sky, hyperaware of every subtle shift, adjustment and breath you take behind him, clinging onto every passing moment.

"You see that star? The really really bright one right there and how it's brighter than the others?" you ask.

"Yeah... why.?" he questions, eager to hear what you have to say.

"Forgive me if this is too cheesy but it sorta reminds me of you," you say softly.

"Wh- I don't think a follow," Hanta replies and you give a short, breathy chuckle in response.

"Out of all the stars in the sky, you stick out to me to most. You're the brightest star," you murmur close to him, guiding his hand back down and you make your way to sit next to him. Hanta takes a moment to process what you said. Him? A star? He doesn't understand how you view him in such a way when there isn't much special about him in the first place... but he tries not to pay any mind to those thoughts as his eyes are glued to you sitting back down beside him.

"Pff, that was super cheesy," he snorts.

"Shut up, I'm trying my best," you grumble, "And... that's what I was really thinking about before you came," Hanta looks at you in awe, nothing but love and kindness filling his eyes as he gingerly grabs your hand, lifting it up level to his face.

"It's aright, doll, I was only teasing.. I think it's cute and~," he hums before placing a soft kiss on your knuckle, "I'm ok with cheesy," he concludes with a wink. Heat blooms on your cheeks at his action and you throw your head to the side, covering your mouth and cheek with your other hand in embarrassment. Hanta chuckles, just about ready to burst at how adorable you are and gets a sudden burst of confidence coursing through him from seeing your flustered form.

"Aw, don't get shy on me now, love," he coos, tugging your arm to usher you to look back at him. You look at him with a flustered scowl and Hanta isn't sure if you did it to intimidate him or what but all it did was make his heart scream for you more. His hand slides to your forearm and his other hand goes to grab your other arm, pulling it away from your face.

"Here, come here, baby," he murmurs, pulling your arms to guide you to his lap. You give little resistance as you follow Hanta's hands, shifting around to make yourself comfortable against him as you settle between his thighs. As soon as you got comfortable, Hanta's arms find their home around your waist, hugging you close and breathing you in. You sigh contently as your back rests against his strong chest, never feeling safer than you do right now in his arms.

"It's ok if I call you baby now, right..?" Hanta asks, not wanting to be too much at one time.

"Well, it would be if we were dating," you tease with a raised brow.

"Wha-?" Hanta looks at you confused for a moment before he realizes, "Oh! How could I forget," he chuckles softly, cupping your face in his large palm, guiding your face too look at him, his dark eyes practically engulfing you in his loving gaze.

"Would you care to be my partner..?" he purrs, voice dipping to a soft and low tone that sends goosebumps down your spine.

"W-well, when you put it like that how can I say no?" you mumble, not being able to help the heat rising up your neck, painting your cheeks pink once again from how small you feel under Hanta's enchanting gaze.

"So... is that a yes..?" Hanta inquires, hand still placed tenderly on our cheek. You nod your head against his palm, fingers caressing up and down his forearm as he holds you.

"Mhm, I would love nothing more," you reply in a soft and tender tone. Hanta melts at your words, feeling on top the world and like he can do anything. An uncontrollable smile erupts on his face, charming dimples ornamenting his cheeks as he hugs you tight to his body not wanting to ever let go.

You shuffle in his arms to turn yourself around in his lap. Now facing him, you tuck your face into the crook of Hanta's neck, wrapping your arms and legs snuggly around his torso. Hanta holds you equally as close, affectionately running his fingers up and down your back in complete bliss with you snuggling up to him.

"Can I kiss you..?" Hanta asks, voice just barely above a whisper. You lift your head up to look him in his deep eyes and you cup his face in your hand. Hanta leans into your touch, grabbing your hand on his face and guides it down just enough to plant a chaste kiss to the edge of your palm. You sigh and softly smile, nodding at the boy's question.

"Please kiss me," you murmur, leaning closer into his body. Hanta places his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you and a colliding your lips together. Though it was clumsy at first, you quickly adapt and your lips lock together like puzzle pieces. Tenderly, Hanta pulls away from you and rests his forehead against yours. The kiss you shared was short and sweet but still left the both of you breathless and yearning for more.

"May I kiss you again?" Hanta questions playfully and you giggle in response while nodding your head against him. He leans in, smiling against you as you mash lips with together, the both of you sighing into the other's mouth. This kiss a lot more confident than the last as Hanta takes the lead to explore every bit of you he can, taking note of every noise, movement and reaction you give. This time you pull away, surfacing for air from Hanta's intense hold on you.

"I can kiss you again, right?" Hanta asks again.

"How many more kisses do you want??" you giggle.

"That is a dangerous question to ask, my love," Hanta purrs into you, his breath ghosting your neck as he nuzzles his face underneath your jaw and lays a soft peck where his face lies, "I'd take all of them," he says, scanning your face for any discomfort but once he sees you're ok with him continuing, he lays another peck on your neck.

You laugh at the ticklish feeling, lacing your fingers through his dark hair as he continues showering you with short kisses.

"Let me know if I'm being too much, yeah?" kiss on your neck, "I don't wanna be too much," another kiss on the neck, "or overwhelm you," kiss on your jaw, "'cus that would be sad," kiss on the corner of your mouth.

"Hanta!" you squeal through giggles.

"I'm sorry, hun" kiss on your cheekbone, "I just can't resist," kiss on your cheek, "you have no idea," kiss on the chin, "just how long," kiss on the nose, "I've wanted," kiss on the eyelid "to do this," kiss on the brow, "And now," kiss on the temple, "I can't," kiss on the forehead, "Stop,"

Erupting with giggles, you desperately try to squirm away as Hanta continues to relentlessly shower you with kisses.

"No, no, no! Hanta!" you cry through your laughter, "No more!"

Giving you one last peck on the lips before pulling away, Hanta finally gives into your pleas and stops his assault of kisses. He presses his forehead against yours as you calm down from your laughing fit, pulling some giggles from Hanta as well because of your contagious laugh.

"I love you," you sigh once you've finally calmed down. Hanta hums in response, placing his hand on the back of your head, letting his fingers lace through your hair.

"I love you too," he says, heart feeling full and beaming with joy.

Forever and always~

𝒇𝒊𝒏 . ✩

[ lil easter egg of sorts for those of you who don't know~ in Japanese when you ask someone "The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" or

『月が綺麗ですね』 // "tsuki ga kirei desu, ne?"

it's actually a very poetic way to confess your love to the person you're asking ]

[ I think it's literally so fucking cute 'cus i myself am deeply in love w/ the moon :) ]

[ if this were a thing in English and someone confessed to me this way, i would immediately demand for their hand in marriage >:| ]

[ god, japanese culture is so cool, i love it sm ]

ALSO- CAN WE NORMALISE ASKING SOMEONE OUT BY ASKING THEM TO BE YOUR PARTNER INSTEAD OF BF / GF????

"would you care to be my partner?" UHBIJNIJAHHHH LITERALLY SO ROMANTIC AND GENUINE HOLY SHIT- i'm making myself simp

RAAAHHHHHHH

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aspoonofsugar · 3 years

Text

Ironwood and Cinder: The Final Word

Cinder: And that’s… checkmate.

The Final Word of the volume is Cinder’s and it is meaningful she says it to Ironwood.

As a matter of fact Ironwood and Cinder are two sides of the same coin on many levels. This is conveyed also structurally.

Volume 7 is mostly about Ironwood’s tragic spiral. We are shown him struggle with his flaw throughout the whole volume, but in the end he loses to it and becomes just as dangerous as Salem:

Oscar: Then you're as dangerous as she is, James.

Not only does volume 8 close with Cinder instead, but it also opens with her:

And it even gives us her backstory:

Why does it happen? And why is Cinder’s final line so important when it comes to her foiling with Ironwood?

GRAVITY

It is not by chance that Watts calls both Ironwood and Cinder out before the climax of respectively volume 7 (Ironwood) and volume 8 (Cinder). This is because, as stated above, volume 7 is Ironwood’s volume, while volume 8 is Cinder’s. So they both are confronted with a truth about themselves and their reaction to it influences their stories in the Atlas arc.

In a sense, even if Watts is the one dangerously hanging over an abyss... it is actually Ironwood and Cinder who are on the brink. They are deciding Watts’s survival, but they are also deciding their own destiny.

They are choosing if to fall because of gravity or if to fly in the sky victorious.

At the same time, the two scenes with Watts show how Cinder and Ironwood are both similar and opposites.

AS ABOVE, SO BELOW

Ironwood and Cinder are nothing, but two products of Atlas’s society.

Ironwood was born at the very top:

Watts: You just stood atop it and called yourself a giant!

Cinder existed at the very bottom:

Watts: You think you're entitled to everything just because you've suffered, but suffering isn't enough! You can't just be strong, you have to be smart! You can't just be deserving, you have to be worthy! But all you have ever been, is a BLOODY MIGRAINE!

Watts is in the middle and he represents the worst traits of both.

He wants everything, just like Cinder:

Ironwood: I gave you everything you could have wanted!

But differently from Cinder it was no true he had nothing. He was successful, had food, clothes and respect. Still, he was never satisfied and ended up disgracing himself in the search of something more.

He also disregards feelings in favor of rationality, just like Ironwood:

Watts: Our tin soldier’s heart has cost him his mind.

And he sees people under him as inherently inferior:

Watts: Yes, yes, please keep your posse in check.

This is why his death is fitting:

Cinder: I merely added more flames to the fires of Atlas.

He burns with Atlas aka the city he wants to destroy, but also a symbol of who he is deep down.

What is more, his death happens specifically because he blindly follows his wishes:

Watts: Oh, believe me, this is everything I've ever wanted.

And because he is outsmarted and manipulated by Cinder:

Cinder: You deserve this, Arthur. We'll be back.

He is proud of his genius and rationality, but in the end he dies because of his feelings of pettiness.

In short, Watts, Cinder and Ironwood represent three social classes of Atlas and how the system corrupts people at every level. In general, all three want to be at the very top, but disreguard and mistreat the ones below.

-This is why Ironwood seeks control even in situations where he is not in charge, like the Vytal Festival. He also challenges Ozpin’s authority and leadership because he is not used not to be the one deciding. At the same time, he is shown ready to discard Mantle in multiple occasions.

-This is why Watts can call out Ironwood’s arrogance without seeing he is exactly the same as him.

-Finally, this is why Cinder lashes out at people she sees as Atlas elites (the Schnees, Ironwood, Watts), but treats those below her just like she was treated:

Emerald: We don't need him! Everything was going fine! (a slap is heard, and she cries out in pain)

Cinder: Do not mistake your place.

Mercury: Oh yeah? Tell that to--

Cinder: Quiet.

THE ENEMIES OF TRUST

Both Ironwood and Cinder’s left arms are artificial. Ironwood’s is mechanical, while Cinder’s is Grimm.

Their respective arms convey opposite approaches to things.

On a more general level, they are respectively linked to Creation (Ironwood’s mechanical arm) and to Destruction (Cinder’s Grimm arm). As a matter of fact a robotic arm is a human creation, while Grimms are nothing, but the symbol of destruction.

On a personal level, their arms hint at the two characters’ opposite personalities.

Ironwood’s arm can’t feel pain.

Cinder’s is instead linked to pain and feelings in different ways:

Raven: Aura can't protect your arm, it's Grimm.

Salem: You chose to disobey my specific instructions just to fail again.

Cinder: She’s back…

Cinder feels great pain whenever her Shadow Hand is cut because she can’t protect it with aura. At the same time, it is used by Salem to torture her. Finally, it links her to Salem to the point that she knows when her Master is back.

In other words, Cinder’s arm lets her feel more, while Ironwood’s lets him feel less.

This difference is mirrored by both the ways Ironwood and Cinder respectively attack Watts and by their semblances:

Ironwood’s Mettle lets Ironwood suppress his own feelings, so that he can pursue any objective, no matter how cruel or immoral it is. It makes him “superhuman”, but in a very negative sense.

Cinder’s Scorching Caress represents Cinder’s explosive emotions. It is a form of self-expression, which is both destructive and self-destructive.

Ironwood’s semblance is about repression, while Cinder’s is about lashing out.

Similarly, Ironwood goes after Watts at the cost of his arm and he ignores the pain he feels:

Watts: I wouldn't do that if I were you. I mean, unless you're hoping to add more metal to that body of yours.

Cinder instead goes after Watts to vent her anger:

Cinder: What do you mean, she'll destroy herself? How am I supposed to take her power if she's dead?!

Both are extremes and both are wrong, as Winter explains:

Winter: But yes Penny, we must still acknowledge our personal feelings, wrestle with them. It ensures us that we’re on the right path. It’s what makes us human.

Ironwood and Cinder should aknowledge their own feelings not to be consumed by them. It is also the only way for them to truly be humans, not machines or monsters, but simply people.

Both characters almost succeed just before the climax of their respective volumes.

Ironwood tries to open up to others:

And Cinder shows vulnerability:

However, none of them is able to capitalize on this chance for development. This is ironically because of each other:

Cinder messes with Ironwood’s insecurities, while Ironwood’s ultimatum gives Cinder the perfect chance to ignore hers.

The result is that Ironwood goes back to control, while Cinder goes back to manipulation. Both do so because they are unable to trust.

Interestingly, they take after their respective mentors in this.

Ironwood takes after Ozpin:

Ironwood: Did you really think you were the only one who got to work on a new plan after Beacon? WIth Ozpin gone, I needed my own team of people I could trust.

Oscar: General? Earlier, you asked for my advice.

Ironwood: I wanted Ozpin's advice.

Oscar: And his advice probably would've been to keep your secrets.

Cinder takes after Salem:

Salem: When I chose you as my vessel for the Maidens, I put my trust in you. So, I trust that you wouldn’t possibly return to me empty-handed.

Ironwood’s whole struggle in volume 7 is his search for a “new approach”. He wants to be like Ozpin, but better. This is why he founds his own group, but wants to trust the world with the truth about Salem. However, he confuses trust with control.

Cinder instead wants to become just like Salem and suffers when she sees she is not. This is why she collects assets, just like her master. This is also why she does not trust anyone, but manipulates others.

That said, what is the difference between Ironwood’s control and Cinder’s manipulation? It has once again to do with feelings.

Ironwood’s attempt to manipulate others is about suppressing feelings. He uses Atlas’s military hierarchy and social structures to ask for his subordinates’ blind loyalty.

Cinder’s method to control people lies instead in making use of others’ feelings. She uses both wishes and fears to her advantage.

In short, control and manipulation are nothing, but the same inability to trust declined in opposite ways. They are both “enemies of trust”.

This is why both Ironwood and Cinder find a strong enemy and a foil in the character, who embodies friendship in these volumes:

Deep down, Ironwood and Cinder not trusting others is because they fear betrayal:

Cinder: I won’t have to run now.

Rhodes: That’s all you’ll ever do.

Ironwood: I've chased a lot of shadows over the years, always expecting betrayal. But never once did I think it would ever come from you.

However, Penny too is betrayed and mistreated by others:

Penny: I do not like it when friends fight.

Ruby: I know. Yang and I may not agree on how best to save Mantle but-

Penny: No. I mean Winter. The general. They were our friends. But then the Ace Ops attacked you. And the general, he said people were going to die, because of me.

However, she does not give up on the ideal of a genuine bond:

Attached but not By strings

Still, if Penny is a positive foil to both Ironwood and Cinder, why does she die?

RISK

Weiss: Trust is a risk.

Yang: Ruby, they’re not called sure things, they’re called risks.

These two lines taken together are why at the end of volume 8 Penny dies, our heroes fall and the manipulative Cinder wins.

It happens to show the main theme of the two Atlas volumes. Trust is not a “sure thing”. It is a risk and it does not always work. Still, it is necessary to trust as it is necessary to take risks:

Yang: You were being optimistic. Look, blind optimism isn’t great, but no optimism means we already lost. We need hope. We need to take risks.

Giving up on trust and risks means giving up on hope. It means to give in to fear.

Still, this does not mean your trust will always be paid back. And it does not mean that the risks you take will always work, even if you come up with a wonderful plan:

Cinder: I knew your plan would be bold, but I never could have predicted all of this...

Sometimes people will betray you:

Sometimes your risk will end up in a fall:

However, it is still worth to trust, even when you have no guarantee it will work:

And sometimes It is even worth to risk the fall because it may lead to people being saved:

This same idea is conveyed also through Penny’s final choice:

Penny: Trust me.

Winter: Thank you for trusting me with this.

Penny dies tragically, but she still manages to pass the Maiden’s power to a person she trusts.

This is especially meaningful because the Winter Maiden power, just like Penny herself, has been subjected to both control and manipulation.

Ironwood does all he can to make sure the power ends up to Winter. At the same time, he is the one most responsible for Penny feeling as nothing, but a robot:

Ironwood: As the official report stated, that footage was doctored. Penny is completely under my control.

Cinder tries to steal the power three times. She also manipulates Penny’s feelings towards her friends:

Cinder: I was hoping your friends would be here. But it looks like they left you to do all the work. You’re just a tool to be used!

In the end, Ironwood treating Penny as a machine (control) and Cinder using Penny’s love for her friends against her (manipulation) are among the psychological factors that lead Penny to be mortally wounded by Cinder.

Still, while dying Penny negates both Ironwood and Cinder and frees the power and herself from both control and manipulation.

The fact she chooses Winter works well to illustrate this.

Winter is the person Ironwood wants as the next Maiden. However, Winter becomes a Maiden not because of Ironwood’s control, but because of Penny’s trust:

Ironwood: So… the destiny I chose for you has arrived.

Winter: You chose nothing. This...was a gift.

Winter is a Schnee, so she represents both what Cinder hates and what she herself wants to be:

Cinder to Winter: You Atlas elites are all the same! You think hoarding power means you’ll have it forever, but it just makes the rest of us hungrier.

Winter is a symbol of Atlas and so she is a reminder to Cinder that Atlas is not really destroyed:

Robyn: What do you think a kingdom is? The people, or just the chunk of land they live on?

Just like Cinder’s past isn’t.

WORTHY

Cinder wants to be worthy. Ironwood wants to be a hero.

Deep down, Ironwood and Cinder want the same thing. They want to be above others. They want to be more than humans.

However, they go at it in opposite ways:

Ironwood: I have sacrificed everything!

Cinder: I want it all...

Ironwood thinks that victory lies in sacrificing everything, while Cinder sees it as taking it all.

These opposite viewpoints mirror their respective social stances.

Ironwood can say he wants to sacrifice everything because he has everything.

Cinder thinks happiness lies in everything because she has nothing:

Cinder: You’re right. Without you I am nothing. But because of you, I am everything.

In the end, Ironwood and Cinder are each other’s true enemies, but they fail to see it and lash out against the wrong people:

Ironwood and Cinder’s respective fight against Winter and Weiss is exactly this.

Ironwood fights a Maiden he sees as an enemy of Atlas, while another Maiden is attacking the people he swore to protect.

Cinder lashes out at Weiss because of her origins, while Weiss has decided to leave her status and money behind to make the right thing.

Still, Ironwood and Cinder are too hypocritical to see the truth. This is why they attack people, who could have helped them, if they were given the chance.

This is also why they receive a warning:

Winter: No, you have sacrificed everyone else!

Winter: You… are going to pay… for everything you’ve done!

Ironwood claims he is ready to sacrifice everything. However, he never sacrifices himself:

In the end, he is unable to sacrifice his life to fight Salem.

Let’s highlight he has nothing to lose by this point. He is falling with Atlas anyway. In his final moments, he is given the chance to prove true to his words:

I would die Without regret, I’d offer up my life With zero reservations I would fly Into the sun If that would keep our dream alive

Instead, he gives up. He has been shooting his allies until the very end, but freezes in front of his enemy.

Cinder thinks she is closer to her final victory, but in the end she has accomplished nothing of what she truly wants.

She wants to kill RWBY, but they are alive. She wants the Maiden powers, but she fails.

At the same time, Cinder is still far away from what she truly needs:

Cinder: You have everything you need?

Watts: Oh, believe me, this is everything I've ever wanted.

She is given a perfect mirror of herself in Watts. Still, instead of seeing it, Cinder uses his flaw, which is her same flaw, to kill him. Watts’ wants lead to his death and the same thing might happen to Cinder if she does not stop herself in time.

Finally, there is this:

Salem: This game is not yours to win, Cinder, it’s mine. Just because you’re more valuable to me than a pawn, does not make you a player. Everything is already in motion. All you need concern yourself with is your ability to act when I tell you to.

Ironwood and Cinder share a chess motif.

Ironwood thinks of himself as a player and specifically as Salem’s opponent.

Cinder is instead told she is no player.

However, in the end, Ironwood becomes a mere pawn to the point that all Watts has to do is to open his cell to be sure he is going to unwillingly aid in Cinder’s plan.

What is more, he is so fixated on Salem that he fails to aknowledge the people below him. This is why his true opponent is a slave that Atlas exploited.

Cinder frames herself as a player instead. She is the one who truly makes the first move against Ironwood and ultimately she is the one who defeats both him and our protagonists. Finally, she is the one who calls checkmate.

Still, is she really playing her own game?

In the end, the one who gets what she wants is not Cinder, but Salem:

And all she has to do to obtain it is one small move:

Salem: And I’ve realized, it’s all my fault. You’ve fought your whole life unwaveringly for what you want and here I am holding you back instead of lifting you up.

While Cinder is once again letting her talent be exploited by those above her. She is choosing to be Salem’s Queen instead than a player of her own life.

She is the Black Queen defeating the White King, but nothing more.

#rwby #rwby meta #rwby vol8 #rwby vol7 #cinder fall #james ironwood #my meta

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