Tumgik
#miracle workers: dark ages
basketcasemp3 · 10 months
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
MIRACLE WORKERS: DARK AGES 2.01 • “Graduation”
610 notes · View notes
bizarrelittlemew · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
273 notes · View notes
"I don't think this is the end."
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
"I just think no matter what time or place you live in, it always feels like it's the end of the world. But we find a way to get through it with the people we love."
Geraldine Viswanathan and Daniel Radcliffe as
Eliza Hunter and Craig Bog
Alexandra "Al" Shitshoveler and Prince Chauncley the Pretty Cool
Prudence Aberdeen and Reverend Ezekiel Brown
and Freya Exaltada and Sid
in Miracle Workers (2019-2023)
10 notes · View notes
nekrocomrade · 5 months
Text
Tumblr media
Prince Chauncley cause I really like Miracle Workers
46 notes · View notes
blodmann · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media
Miracle Workers | Season 2: Dark Ages | Ep.: Road Trip | USA | 2020
47 notes · View notes
sunnythesillygoose · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media
I love prince Chauncley, such a goofy guy
23 notes · View notes
reallyhardy · 1 year
Text
me @ miracle workers: end times hey will dan & geraldine's characters be in an established relationship this time... 👀
Tumblr media
17 notes · View notes
xxaloelixx · 2 years
Text
5 notes · View notes
hoshi-kawaii · 19 days
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Miracle Workers Season 2 Episode 2 - Help Wanted
0 notes
shinybulbasaur · 1 year
Text
WHY IS SEASON 2 SO DARK. I CANT SEE SHIT
0 notes
deceitfuldevout · 7 months
Text
Savior (Part 1)
Dark!Emmett x Reader
Word count: +2,394
Warning(s) in chapter: +18, Non con, Breeding, Forced Breeding, Minor character deaths, Kidnapping, Mentions of past character death, Murder.
Author's Note(s): I'm still riding the Cillian high.
It was summertime in Akron, NY. Life was simple, peaceful, was. You were excited to be starting as an elementary school teacher. Until they arrived, death Angels, they were called. Slaughtering anyone and anything in sight that made sound. There was only one thing you could do, and that was to survive.
Tumblr media
It's been 474 days since the apocalypses began. Winter was approaching, so you and your group decided to venture out. You were careful with each step. Who knows when or where a creature would be lurking. They're quick and stealthy. Almost silent. A mistake your teammate makes resulted in your entire team's demise.
A sudden trip on a hidden string causes a wind chime to clatter down, purposely alerting the creatures. Before your team has a chance to escape, they were quickly dragged off by the creatures. One by one their screams were heard. You ran, as fast as you could. Until your legs almost gave out. You couldn't believe it. Everyone, everyone was gone. You were all alone, dealing with the aftermath of yet another loss.
The adrenaline still pumping though your veins as you took each step. You hadn't even realized the hidden beartrap until it was too late. It takes every ounce of your energy not to scream in pain. You force yourself to swallow it down, muffling a cry. Fat tears role down your cheeks. It takes you a while to compose yourself. After that the realization hits. You were trapped in the middle of nowhere. With only a backpack filled with medical supplies.
This was it, this time, you would surely die. A deep feeling of dread consumes all your senses as you wobble to a sitting position, the pain becoming excruciating. You really did try your best to stay alive. But when your vision begins to blur, you embrace the darkness, letting it consume you.
Tumblr media
When you had woken up your body felt heavy. A throbbing pain pulses though your head. It was hard even trying to lift yourself from the bed. Wait, what? You swiftly lift yourself up, looking around to find out just where the hell you were. How the hell did you end up here?!
"You were out for a while," a voice calls. You turn around to find a man seated at a desk, just now finishing up his meal. He's dressed from head to toe. His outgrown beard covers most of his features. A trucker's hat covering the top of his head. It was hard to tell what he looked like in the dark, "Here," he hands you a bowl, it's canned soup. You hesitantly take it from him, "Thank you..." eating it with careful bites.
Tumblr media
You notice him still staring but choose to ignore it. He was kind enough to save you back there. Surely he wasn't so bad. Emmett recognizes you the moment he found you lying unconscious at the front of his hideout. For a moment, he thought you were surely gone. Until he hears a faint whine escapes your lips. He doesn't know why he decided to drag you inside. Maybe he just needed a sign.
"Your friends they uh, they didn't make it," feeling sorry for what he'd just said. Your heart broke for them. One small mistake costed them their lives. A part of you carried survivor's guilt with you. Thankfully you weren't alone. He was at the right time and place. When you try kicking your legs out of bed a sharp pain hits one of them. A painful grunt escapes your lips.
You with certain now, your foot was broken, small jagged cuts decorate the heel and ankle. It seems as though he tried to help, "I did my best to stop the bleeding but...'m not a miracle worker," his voice is deep, raspy with age and time. It sounded too familiar. That's when it hits you, "Emmett?" There was no doubt, you were sure it was your old neighbor. Hell, you used to babysit his boys. Your brows furrow, now worried, "What happened to...?"
"Gone, I lost the boys to those things, and Nora, she couldn't take it..." his eyes start to glisten. His once lively spirit now the shell of a man he used to be. He's taken aback when you start to cry, "I'm so sorry Emmett..." you cried, "I loved them so much..." mourning the loss of his family. He knows very well, his boys were fond of you. Even asking if you could be their teacher for the next school year. You even applied to an open position for the upcoming fall. After all this time fate still had a way with bringing people together.
Tumblr media
Emmett lets you rest up for a few days while out on a supply run. He even left a few supplies and food by your bedside. You wanted to know where you were, but with your leg being in the condition that it was, it was impossible. For now, it was best to rest while it heals. You didn't want to weigh him down.
In the meantime, you try different ways to stay busy. Each day completing at least two to three tasks around the room. Whether it was stretching, exercising, or attempting to walk again. Soon enough you were able to limp for a certain amount of time. Emmett was sweet enough to get you a crutch.
As time passed, you began to make yourself comfortable. Its been a while since you’ve arrived. To the point where the two of you had a daily routine. Emmett would be out, either hunting or gathering food and supplies. While you stayed to look over the compound. When Emmett would arrive after a long day of work, he'd come home find a homecooked meal waiting. It's been a while since he’s had a proper meal.
Tumblr media
Emmett halts at the door, watching as you hum a tune while finishing up dinner. You sat on a wheeled office chair while getting the plates ready. He approaches you from behind, "Here, let me," carrying dinner to the table. The both of you ate in silence. But it wasn't awkward, you both enjoyed each other's company. You're the first one to speak up, "Hey so..." starting the conversation, "As soon as my leg heals, would it be alright if I come help?"
Emmett couldn't hide the look of disapproval on his face. He doesn't think you're ready, or even fit to go out there, "No,"
"No? Why? I can walk now and--" "No, final answer,"
"Are you serious?"
"As serious as I can be,"
Tumblr media
"But it was only one time! They didn't get me--"
"It's not just the monsters you should be worried about..." he pauses, "...the people, they're not the same," as if it were coming from experience, "Look at your leg, you think a monster did that?" he scoffs. You were the last thing that reminding him of how kind life was before. He can't risk losing the little beacon of light left. Not again.
Emmett won't admit it, but it was lonely during the past few months. You made it all the more bearable. Something stirred inside of him. Just the thought of a pretty little thing waiting for him at home. He felt guilty. As if he didn't deserve a second chance. So, what does he do when confronted with a problem? He avoids it altogether. Emmett would spend hours going on raids just to avoid being in the house. Being alone with a pretty little thing like you would only lead to trouble.
It's been a while since he'd been with someone. During a supply run he'd found a few magazines to help, but it hadn't done the job. They weren't the same. Not even close. He can't even remember the last time he's emptied himself deep inside a pussy. His breathing becomes shallow from the thought of it.
"Emmett?" you tilt your head. Shit, what did you say? "I asked if you wanted more," scooting the bowl of stew towards him. He's flustered, "Sure thing," when he reaches for it his calloused hand brushes against yours. He's in awe by how soft it is. You were this ethereal being, who just so happened to stumble upon his hideout. He quickly retrieves his hand. Not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But did he really want that?
It was just the two of you all alone down here. He's much stronger than you. If he wanted, he could just take you, right here right now. And there would be no one to stop him. He imagines you on your knees, looking up at him with that innocent look. Shit...he has it, bad.
He can't decide if it was pure desire, or simply part of his nature to breed. You were already a natural playing the role of a homemaker. It's not like there was anything else to worry about. He would take care of you. He'll provide you with anything you need. All you had to do was give him a little something in return. Just once wouldn't hurt. As you ready yourself for bed, you notice Emmett still standing there. You turn towards him, curious of what he was doing. He pulls out a thin metal chain. What was that for?
"Please, don't fight it..." he nears. At that moment your heart sunk. Emmett held the metal in his hands, "You already know I'm stronger, so don't try to stop me," nearing the edge of the bed. You look at him with a look of dread, "Emmett?" eyeing the chain cautiously, "W-what are you doing?"
"Sh... just let it happen..." he nears, "I promise you I'll take good care of you, you'll never want anything else,"
"Emmett? No..." tears began to form. You couldn't run away from him, not with a limp. All you could do was scurry to the corner of the bed. Emmett links the chain to bottom of the metal bedframe. He held your good ankle in hand before linking it to the cuff. You're well aware he's much stronger, he even carried you all the way down here. He straddles your waist, and you scream profanities, lashing out at the man you once called a friend.
Emmett tries pleading with you to hear him out, he tries to muffle your screams with his hand. But instead, you retaliate by biting it. He grunts in pain, now retrieving it. He's not amused at all by your little rebellious stunt. This wasn't you. He doesn't have time for any temper tantrums. He's not angry, only determined, "Fine, have it your way," he's done having to fight for what's rightfully his.
He could've let you die out there, just like your teammates. It was your fault for trespassing, you were the ones who triggered his trap. Instead, he'd given you a new purpose in life. You'll never be exposed to the dangers of the outside world again. He'll make sure of it.
During the past few months, Emmett went absolutely feral. He couldn't keep his hands off you. Just this morning, you'd woken up to him buried deep inside you pussy, grunting like some sort of animal in a rut as he pounded that tight little cunt of yours. Still half asleep, you tried your best to ignore him. But when he raises your leg over his shoulder to deepen the thrusts, you couldn't hold it in. Small grunts escape your lips as you turn your head to the side, avoiding his gaze.
He leans in, "Hey...hey pretty girl, don't hide from me..." a hand cups the side of your cheek, turning you to face him. He looks down at you with hooded eyes, his hips still jutting in and out your channel. You were just starting to get used to his pace when suddenly he starts picking up speed. Your hands reach out to halt his movements, but he wrenches them off. Now pinning them to your sides as he chases his climax.
You feel the familiar sensation of his spunk now filling your womb. It's hot and sticky, some of it drips down and staining the sheets, "Fuck..." Emmett knew he should've laid out a towel. By now there was a small puddle of your juices mixed together. He would have to see if there were any blankets during his next run.
"Sh... just go back to sleep," he whispers. He couldn't help himself. He was tired and sore after spending most of the day scavenging for supplies. But as soon as he saw you sleeping soundly, in that sexy slip-on he’d gifted a while back, well, he just couldn't help himself. Is it not in his nature? There was no way you didn't know the power you had on him. He sighs, admiring your bow tuckered form.
It was a smart idea chaining you to the bed post. That reminds him, the purpose of today's trip. Emmett retrieves a salve from his bag. He starts rubbing it into the raw skin of your ankle before covering it with a gauze, "I'm sorry..."
"No, you're not…" you whisper to him. You're right, he's not. He kept both of your hands wrapped up in fabric bindings, so that you wouldn't hurt him or yourself. At first, he didn't mind the scratches, but when you almost claw his eyes out, that's when the idea had struck.
Emmett had warned you that the people weren't the same since then, including himself. He won't admit it, but as soon as he laid eyes on your unconscious form, the only thing he could think of was planting his seed deep inside you. He knew it was a good idea to save you, or was it you who saved him?
568 notes · View notes
fanfreakinfiction · 7 months
Text
My Gods Are Not Kind to Lonely Mothers
Chapter 1: Don’t Cry
Ch. 2 | Masterlist 🖤
14K words // Din Djarin x Pregnantf!reader
Tumblr media
Pairing: Din Djarin x pregnantf!reader (Reader is younger but not weirdly young) Reader was a sex worker. Reader’s first language is one I made up she speaks pretty good basic but struggles to find certain words. The reader is pregnant!
Tags: SMUT virginity loss, con-non-con, made-up Star Wars culture & religion, split POV, slight language barrier, mention of death, mention of child death, dark!, 18+ DNI.
Warnings: Child loss, Pregnancy, Birthing, Blood, Death?, explicit mention of child loss and grief, guys this is dark.
A/N: I got this idea as I was dying in the shower from period cramps & also from a bot I used to use on Janitor AI before it was privated (RIP Din Bot). For logistics, we will just pretend that the Razor Crest didn’t get absolutely obliterated. For timeline reference, this takes place after season 3. Im convinced Din & Grogu are gonna have fun son/dad bounty-hunting adventures as Din teaches Grogu how to be a Mandalorian. Slight flashback in the middle of how reader and Mando met. Grogu has been working on his force flips lmao. I imagine the reader having an accent kind of like Gal Gadot, idk just roll with it. Also, I am so sorry if you cry reading this, I know I did writing it.
His hands ghosted over the silky skin of her back as he watched himself disappear and reappear from her stretched cunt. Slick mixed with blood pooled at the base of his cock in a ring, and the sound of her whimpers reached his ears through the thick metal of his helmet. The feeling of her tightness was so inviting, so hypnotizing, he felt possessed. He didn’t even mean to finish inside of her, he’d have to pay extra for that. 
From the incense heavy room he found himself standing at the edge of an enigmatic forest, encircled by black rock. An ethereal silence enveloped the scene, leaving him with an eerie sense of detachment.
His eyes shifted as he looked up on a pool of steaming water, obscured by the thick veil of steam, he saw her. The woman he’d been with on Tattooine so long ago. She struggled, her words lost in the hissing steam as her trembling hand gently grazed her belly. And there, in the midst of the dream's uncertainty, he witnessed the miracle of life itself—a whisper of cells coalescing into a fragile existence, pulsating with an otherworldly vitality.
Yet, the serenity was short-lived. The gentle whisper transformed into a nightmarish wail—a blood-curdling scream that tore through the tranquility of the woods. It was a scream of agony, of despair, and it emanated from her trembling lips. Her lips, soft and inviting, the same ones he'd yearned to kiss that night when he had ventured into the pleasure house.
The piercing screams grew louder, echoing through the dream, a symphony of suffering that filled the air with torment. As he watched her agony unfold, he was jolted awake, his head colliding with the unforgiving overhead storage. The sudden transition from the surreal to reality left him momentarily disoriented.
In the dimly lit living quarters of the Crest, Grogu, the young green child who had become an unexpected but cherished presence in his life, cried out from his sling, hanging above Din's bunk.
With a heavy sigh, the sound reverberating through the vocoder in his helmet, Din rose to his feet. The aging joints in his knees protested as he reached out to comfort the child, his gloved hands gently lifting Grogu from the nest of makeshift fabric.
"I know," Din murmured softly, his voice a quiet rumble as he cradled the child in his arms. "You saw it too, didn't you, kid?" Grogu, with his large, expressive eyes, gazed up at Din with a mournful look and reached out, tiny green fingers brushing against the Mandalorian's helmet. 
After the tumultuous events that had reshaped his life, Din Djarin had never allowed your memory to occupy his thoughts. Amidst the whirlwind of reuniting with Grogu, aiding Boba Fett, and playing a pivotal role in the reclamation of Mandalore, you had become little more than a faint blip on his radar—a passing connection that had provided a brief interlude of solace in the midst of his relentless journey.
But now, as he cradled Grogu in his arms, looking into the innocent, sorrowful eyes of the young child, he couldn't deny the awakening of something deeper within him. It was a sensation that transcended the confines of his dreams, a connection he felt as profoundly as the vivid dreamscape that had woven itself into his consciousness.
The realization slowly dawned upon him: you were more than just a fleeting memory. You were an integral part of the enigmatic tapestry of his life, and the threads of fate had woven your presence into his destiny in a way he had never expected.
Breaking free from his reverie, Grogu's tiny green form squirmed wildly in Din's arms, his latent Force abilities propelling him away from the Mandalorian's grasp. With agile grace, he leaped and bounced his way through the ship's cramped quarters, a small but energetic whirlwind of curiosity. Din could barely react before Grogu vaulted into the cockpit. 
Din's boots thudded on the ladder's metal rungs as he followed the young one up into the cockpit. A chorus of wild babbling reached his ears, punctuated by the frenzied pressing of buttons on the navicomputer.
"Don't touch that!" Din exclaimed, a hint of exasperation in his voice, his heart racing as Grogu's tiny hand hovered perilously close to the power reset button. He couldn't help but be wary of the mischief the child could unleash.
The young one looked up at Din with eager eyes, babbled something incomprehensible, and tentatively touched the screen. Din cocked his head, his tinted visor reflecting his curiosity. With a resigned sigh, he walked over to the console and entered a code to initialize the navigation system. "Is this what you want?" Din asked, studying Grogu.
In response, Grogu emitted a single, distinct "Patu" sound, his tiny fingers now reaching for the code panel. Hesitating only momentarily, Din bent down, lifting the child to eye level with the buttons. Grogu began to press a sequence of buttons, his small, green hands navigating the controls with surprising precision. Din's eyes widened slightly, his thoughts racing.
"You know where she is?" his voice came out raspy. Grogu completed the sequence, and his innocent gaze met Din's as the navicomputer diligently calculated the numerical sequence. After a few moments, a series of beeps indicated the successful completion of the calculations. Din turned to read the result, the Aurebesh characters on the screen spelling out "Kith."
"It's in the Baxel Sector of the Outer Rim," Din murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, as he looked down at the child now resting contentedly in his lap. Grogu gazed up at him, then shifted his gaze to the navicomputer.
With a reluctant sigh, Din pressed a sequence of buttons to engage the hyperdrive. Whether he liked it or not, the path ahead was clear. He had to check on you. As the ship surged into hyperspace, a nagging voice in the back of his mind whispered that this journey was far from ordinary.
The path up to the Mountain of Mothers was a grueling journey, especially with your feet swollen and aching. It wasn't just a hike; it was a trial, a test of endurance to prove the worthiness of those seeking parenthood. The heavy pack you carried pressed on your lower back, making each step a test of your will. Normally, the pack was shared by the "Irrit" or father, but "Illa-ishi" or lonely mothers like you were compelled to carry it alone. The remnants of those who hadn't made it to the Mountain of Mothers were marked by the skeletons you passed on the way up.
The lower pool of the mountain lay two days away, and the upper pool required an additional five days of journey. Yet, something in your heart told you that this child would be with you in two days. As you followed the ascending trail, you crossed paths with an "Illa" or mother, accompanied by her Irrit. He bore their pack with pride, walking just behind her. It was a sight that warmed your heart, a testament to the culture you held dear.
"Noona" or baby was the foundation of your beliefs, the embodiment of the life you and your "Manna" or partner created together. Reaching the Mountain of Mothers and returning with a child was the highest honor, a symbol of worthiness.
The Illa halted on her descent and, with an air of pride, revealed her noona, wrapped in the family cloth. "Noona asa illa-ini!" (it’s a girl) she declared with joy, unveiling a beautiful baby girl. You couldn't help but smile down at the tiny noona and the Illa who showed her off with such pride.
“Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit,” (baby is worthy of her mother and father) you responded with the customary blessing, bowing your head in reverence. The mother and father returned the bow, acknowledging the blessing. However, the mother's eyes soon drifted to your belly and the heavy pack that weighed you down.
“Asa Illa-ishi?” she asked softly, her face clouding with sadness. (Are you a lonely mother?)
Summoning all your strength, you fought back the tears that threatened to well up. With your head held high and a tender hand resting on your belly, you spoke resolutely, "A illa-ishi."
I am a lonely mother.
The journey through hyperspace had indeed stretched far longer than Din had anticipated. A full day had elapsed since that haunting dream, leaving him with the unsettling sensation of being trapped in some unseen, cosmic rotation of time. However, that ceaseless ticking eventually brought them to the end of their journey as the ship dropped out of hyperspace in front of a smaller, mysterious planet, its surface adorned with sprawling waters and lush forests. As he guided the ship into the planet's atmosphere, the Mandalorian noticed a stark absence of the usual signs of civilization—no traffic control, no spaceports, not even a refueling station. The setting felt eerily reminiscent of the world of Sorgan.
Din hovered uncertainly in the atmosphere, his mind racing. Grogu, seated in the co-pilot's chair, played with the mythasaur skull around his neck, seemingly unfazed by the situation. As Din stared at the green child, he let out a sigh and rested his head against the back of his chair.
"Now what…?" Din muttered to himself, his voice carrying the weight of uncertainty. Closing his eyes, he tried to recall the details of the dream, seeking any hint or clue that could guide their search.
In his mind's eye, he saw you, your form shrouded in mist and glistening with sweat. The dress you wore clung to your figure, the fabric a soft white-grey that accentuated your curves as you breathed heavily. His brow furrowed in concentration. There was water, almost like a waterfall, surrounding you, with black jagged rocks supporting your form. Your feet were immersed in milky water, reminiscent of a hot spring.
Din's eyes snapped open. A hot spring. It wasn't much to go on, especially for a planet that could potentially be dotted with such natural wonders, but it was a lead worth pursuing. His hands sprung into action, deftly pressing a sequence of buttons that initiated a signal, a ping to any electronic communication device on the planet's surface.
Grogu's focus shifted from the mythasaur skull to the Mandalorian, the child's curious gaze following Din's swift movements. Din soon located the nearest signal on the planet's surface, and as he brought the Razor Crest lower, he was struck by the intensity of the landscape. Towering thick trees covered nearly every inch of land, a vast, unspoiled wilderness that stretched out as far as the eye could see. The planet's terrain was marked by colossal mountains that sliced through the canopy of green like serpents in water, their peaks jutting out in sporadic bursts.
It was a breathtaking and untamed landscape, like nothing Din had ever witnessed. His gaze scanned the vast expanse below, tracking the signal as he searched for a suitable place to land the Crest. Finally, he spotted it—an elevated landing pad erected above the treetops. It seemed to be a small station, but it was a potential refuge for refueling and gathering information, a step closer to finding you
"K1 to RC 4577, you are clear to land at dock 7," a thickly accented voice echoed through the Razor Crest's comms system, providing the coordinates for their landing.
"RC 4577 to K1, recieved," Din responded, his gaze shifting to meet Grogu's eyes. The Mandalorian leaned over to offer a piece of advice to the child, "Always be kind when you land; most landing bay employees often know the most information." Grogu looked at Din, his large eyes brimming with understanding, and he babbled something that Din accepted as an acknowledgment.
With precision, Din guided the Razor Crest toward its designated dock and gently brought the ship to the surface. As he withdrew his hand from the control lever, he noticed a subtle tremor in his own fingers. It had been a long time since he had felt such a physical manifestation of emotion, not since he had lost Grogu to Moff Gideon.
In response to the tremor, Grogu cooed softly and reached out for his protector. Din's gaze locked onto the child, his trembling hands cautiously reaching out to embrace him. Grogu instinctively placed his tiny hands on either side of Din's helmet, offering comfort and connection. A sense of relief washed over the Mandalorian, and he exhaled a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. The small hands on his helmet made a soft "plink" sound that resonated through his interior comms.
"Thanks, kid," Din murmured, his voice laden with gratitude, but his words unable to fully convey the depth of his feelings.
Exiting the ship, Din carried Grogu in his sling, the child's presence providing a grounding force amidst the uncertainty that lay ahead. A young mechanic in worn-overalls approached, his basic broken but comprehensible. "Need refuel?" he asked, to which Din nodded in acknowledgment. The mechanic, unfazed by the Mandalorian's helmet, started toward the fuel hose.
"Hot springs?" Din inquired, his voice barely audible above the wind that whipped violently across the landing pad. The mechanic turned, his eyes reflecting confusion, but Din simply nodded and reached for his credits, preparing to tip the young man for his services. Glancing around the landing pad, he spotted a few other ships—a transport vessel and two cargo ships.
The pad itself had clearly seen better days, and the gusts of wind whipped violently across its aged metal surface, causing a tumultuous symphony of sound. At the front of the landing pad stood a small rectangular building, featuring one set of large bay doors. It seemed to be the station's main structure. Adjusting Grogu in his sling, Din began to make his way toward it, his steps determined.
The small building served as a cover for various ships, a mix of those dusted and covered with the weight of time, and others gleaming with newness. Inside, a modest diner and café shop hummed with activity, a few patrons engaged in quiet conversations. At the front, an older man sat at a makeshift desk, engrossed in the workings of a peculiar-looking computer. As Din approached, the man stood abruptly, his enthusiasm palpable.
"Hello, traveler! Welcome to Kith!" he greeted with a giant smile. "I am Don Mai, the residing Mayor. We are humbled by the presence of a great warrior such as yourself!" With a reverence that bordered on adoration, the old man bowed deeply.
Din suppressed the urge to laugh, already forming an opinion of the enthusiastic mayor that he made a mental note to tell Bo Katan about later. Before Din could utter a word, Don Mai thrust a paper pamphlet into his hands, his speech transitioning into a rehearsed spiel about Kith's culture and history. 
"Kith has a rich culture and even more intense history! Women from all over the galaxy come to experience the Mountain of Mothers and—"
“The Mountain of Mothers?" Din interjected, his tone cutting through the mayor's ramblings.
Don Mai's eyes widened slightly, and he cleared his throat. "Well, the Mountain of Mothers has been around since the dawn of life on our humble planet, and its springs offer—"
"Hot springs?" Din interrupted again, his focus unwavering.
"Uh, well, yes, you see, the springs offer—" Don Mai began once more, but Din's impatience grew apparent.
"Where?" Din's voice was firm, demanding answers without the unnecessary embellishments.
Don Mai huffed, "The Mountain of Mothers is the largest mountain range on Kith. You should've seen it from your ship. If you take the elevator down to the planet’s surface, there is a speeder rental that can take you to the base of the range," the old man explained, his tone slightly deflated by Din's lack of interest in his detailed lecture.
Din places the paper pamphlet in a storage pocket on his bandolier as Grogu watches closely. 
“And the elevator?” Din asks not looking away from the old man. 
"To the left of the fuel pump on the landing pad. Just remember to pay your respects to the Gods as you visit the—"
The old man's voice dwindled into the background as Din walked away from the building and back onto the landing pad. He made his way to the fuel pump and, as instructed, looked to the left to find a rickety-looking elevator, seemingly manually operated. The metal showed signs of rust in various spots, and the wire pulley appeared to be in need of greasing. The flooring of the elevator was a grate that revealed the ground thousands of feet below. Grogu emitted a series of frightened squeaks and coos as Din hesitantly stepped onto the grating.
"I know, kid… let's just... get down there," Din muttered through gritted teeth, steeling himself for the precarious descent.
Din's hand gripped the elevator crank tightly, his patience stretched thin as he began the painstakingly slow descent. Halfway through, he had to switch arms, the anger at the archaic contraption bubbling beneath his calm exterior. It was unusual for him to get frustrated with inanimate objects, but this elevator was testing his resolve. After what felt like an eternity, the elevator reached the bottom of the landing pad. With a forceful yank, Din opened the rusted gate, stepping onto soil that felt surprisingly soft underfoot, reminiscent of the sands on Tatooine, albeit less yielding.
The area below was like a forgotten tourist hub, the shops standing silent and forlorn, each manned by a lone shopkeeper who stared into the emptiness, boredom etched across their faces. It was a desolate sight, a place trying to be lively without the visitors to make it so.
Walking further, Din noticed a row of rusted speeder bikes, the rentals. His heavy boots left imprints on the sponge-like earth as he approached. A few of the shopkeepers stirred from their boredom at the sight of the silver-clad Mandalorian passing by.
Reaching the speeder rental, Din was met by an old Aqualish man, the grey of the hair surrounding his face telling tales of years of service.
"How much?" Din asked, his voice reflecting his growing impatience.
"Fifty credits," the Aqualish garbled back.
"Thirty-five," Din countered, his tone firm as he shifted his weight to one side. Grogu cooed softly from his sling, his wide eyes observing the bartering process.
The Aqualish nodded in agreement and walked away to retrieve the speeder keys. 
As Din adjusted Grogu in the sling to access his credits, he caught sight of a couple approaching from the earthen road. The man carried a hefty pack on his back, and the woman cradled a baby in her arms. The pride in the man's eyes was evident as he helped his wife walk toward the shops.
"Noona asa mala ta Illa a Irrit!" the shopkeeper, an elderly woman across the street, shouted at them. The couple bowed softly in acknowledgment as they continued walking. Every shop they passed echoed the same foreign phrase, and Din watched with curiosity. Upon reaching the elevator, the man removed his pack, fashioning a makeshift seat for his wife as he started cranking the elevator back up to the top of the landing pad.
The sound of a throat clearing broke Din's concentration. The Aqualish man stood, hand outstretched, waiting expectantly for the payment. Din sighed inwardly, realizing he had been lost in his thoughts. He paid the credits and received the keys to the rusted speeder. Adjusting Grogu in the sling, ensuring the child was safely nestled in his lap, Din ignited the speeder and set off down the only trail leading out of the market.
The only path to the Mountain of Mothers.
— 
The pain in your swollen belly intensified as you stood at the base of the last incline leading to the lower pool. The journey had taken a heavy toll on your body, leaving you exhausted and in constant discomfort. Your feet were swollen, your hips ached, and everything hurt, but the cramping in your abdomen was what worried you most. The night before, you had barely managed to rest, opting to lie on the soft ground without bothering with your bedroll. Restlessness had plagued you throughout the night, and now the cramping made it clear that your time was approaching.
Today would be your last day on this arduous journey. The lower pool was just above you, but the pain in your body seemed unbearable. You knew it was all part of the gods' plan for you, but you never expected the pain to be this intense.
As you struggled up the final incline, a sharp pain ripped through you, and you stumbled. Your pack felt impossibly heavy, and your breaths came short. Beads of sweat formed on your brow as a wall of rock loomed ahead of you. 
"Itta non a dashi," (I will not die here) you whispered defiantly, mustering the strength from the deepest part of your being. As your emotions surged, you felt the baby shift within you. With renewed determination, you regained your balance, placing a loving hand on your swollen belly. 
The next incline lay ahead, one of the most challenging parts of the journey. You could see evidence of past mothers who had slipped or stopped, their bones scattered in the crevices of the rock. For Illa-ishi, like yourself, the task was solitary, without the help of an Irrit to assist with the ascent.
You stood at the base of the rocky cliff, gazing up at the tantalizing promise of the lower pool. The rhythmic thunder of the waterfall beyond the peak urged you forward, swirls of steam rose into the air, a tantalizing promise of the lower pool just a short climb away.
Thankfully, the rugged rock face bore shelves that made the treacherous climb more bearable. Growing up you heard tales of a time a century past when an Irrit, a kind-hearted soul whose manna, a young woman, could not walk. In a display of unwavering determination and love, he took chisel and hammer in hand, carving these sturdy, stone steps into existence. With these ledges, he could secure her safely to his back and ascend the daunting precipice so she could birth their child.
Taking a moment to catch your breath, you surveyed the ascent before you. The harsh sun beat down, casting long shadows across the rocky surface. Determination burned in your eyes as you figured out the best plan of action. With a surge of resolve, you slipped the heavy pack from your sweat-covered body, feeling an immediate relief as the oppressive weight fell off you and onto the gritty dirt below.
With your pack discarded, you dragged it to the base of the wall where the first of the man-made shelves jutted out, a mere foot of space cut into the unforgiving rock face. Despite the fatigue gnawing at your muscles, you carefully planted your foot on the ledge, finding just enough space to stand. Bending down carefully you pulled the pack onto the ledge beside your feet. Your birthing gown, gauzy and light, provided a surprising ease of movement. Once you’d made sure the pack was secure you looked up and examined the next shelf. It was a little high of a stretch but you gripped the wall above to steady yourself, your gown billowing slightly with the effort.
Your hips protested with each movement, but the primal instinct to survive drowned out the pain. With staggering determination, you raised your leg, using the hold of the wall to leverage yourself onto the rock shelf to the left. Your arms, weary but unyielding, lifted your body until you were safely on the shelf.
Taking a moment to collect yourself, you glanced back down at the last shelf, now below you. Gathering remnants of your strength, you reached down, hands trembling slightly, and lifted your pack with both arms onto the shelf beside you. Only one more shelf remained, higher up and to your right, a final obstacle before hauling yourself onto the top of the cliff. 
After a short rest, you locked eyes with the next shelf, determination burning in your gaze. With a swift motion, you reached up for a gap in the wall to get a grip. Sliding your right hand into the sharp crevice, you pulled with all your might, grunting with effort as you lifted your right leg onto the shelf, which was higher than the last. But in that moment of triumph, a sudden jolt of pain radiated from your lower back all the way to your fingertips, and you lost your hold, a gasp ripping through you.
Stumbling backward, you were saved only by your pack, which you used for leverage to steady yourself. The contraction was fierce, so intense that it was only when you absentmindedly touched the dress covering your belly that you realized you'd sliced your palm on the unforgiving rock. Scarlet red stained your gown, creating an almost perfect handprint. Oddly, you felt no pain in your hand, your senses consumed by the tightening in your abdomen, which worsened with every passing moment.
“Issa non a tishi noona..” (its not time yet baby) you groaned out in pain, your voice strained and breathless. Your eyes clenched shut as you tried to endure the relentless waves of agony.
You stood trembling on the shelf of the wall for a good minute or two before the contraction finally subsided, leaving you panting and exhausted. It was then that the sharp sting in your hand dominated your senses. You examined your hand, the crevice in the wall had sliced deep, and you could see the gash, making your stomach turn uneasily.
Reaching into your pack, you found the medipack, fingers trembling as you carefully opened it to retrieve the gauze and a bacta spray. With great care, you held your injured hand out in front of you and applied the bacta spray to the gash, wincing at the initial sting. Then, you gently wrapped the gauze around the wound, ensuring it was secure. The sharp pain began to dull as your trembling hand capped the spray, carefully returning it to the medipack. 
With a sigh, you straightened up, taking a moment to regain your composure. The pain in your hand was no longer the foremost concern, and you couldn't let it distract you from the task at hand. You knew that each moment counted in this climb, and you needed to find the safest route to reach the next shelf.
Reassessing the situation, you examined the uneven rock wall before you, trying to identify the most secure handholds and footholds.
An idea crossed your mind and it could be great, or the worst idea ever and you could fall to your death but you were determined. You carefully maneuver around your pack and push it closer to the end of the shelf. You carefully placed a leg on the pack and then another, standing precariously on your pack which provided you almost a foot of extra height, you used the wall to steady yourself. You prayed to the Gods and reached with your right hand for the crevice that had so rudely marred your hand. Finding more traction with the gauze you confidently pulled yourself extending your right leg so your foot found purchase on the shelf. A victorious smile crossed your face as you then pushed off your pack with your left leg and hoisted yourself onto the shelf. A quiet laugh left your lips as you clung to the wall you were now facing. 
Looking to your left, you bent down carefully to grab your pack. This shelf was a lot shorter, jutting from the wall maybe only eight inches. You had to precariously grab your heavy pack with one hand and quickly cram it under your left leg to prevent it from plummeting to the ground below.
You were so close now that you could feel the cool mist from the water above, and the deafening roar of the falls filled your ears. Perched roughly 15 feet above the ground, you took a moment to catch your breath. You dared not look down, fearing that it would disrupt your balance. Instead, you pressed your belly tightly against the rock wall in front of you, your heart pounding with both exertion and anticipation.
After a brief moment of rest, a surge of adrenaline coursed through you. This was it, the final leg of your treacherous journey. You had one more pull, one last push, and you would reach the lower pool, your goal within your grasp. But you also knew that a single mistake could lead to a disastrous fall, a fate you couldn't afford.
Taking a deep breath, you raised your arms above your head, your palms resting on the ridge above. With utmost care and precision, you hoisted yourself up, quickly placing both feet on your pack. The pack provided just enough height to get your elbows onto the smooth rock above. You pulled with every ounce of strength you had, feeling your belly scrape against the unyielding stone as you lifted.
Luck was on your side, as your feet managed to find a foothold through the worn leather of your boot. This newfound leverage allowed you to push yourself up, resembling a sea lion clambering onto a rocky outcrop. With sheer determination and the last vestiges of your strength, you quickly pulled your right leg under you and pushed yourself onto all fours on the smooth rock face. Your heart raced, your hands and knees trembling from the exertion, but you had made it. You had reached the final stretch of your perilous ascent, and the pool ahead awaited, a shimmering reward for your indomitable spirit.
A sob escaped your lips, a surge of emotion you hadn't anticipated as the reality of your accomplishment finally caught up with you. You had done it. You had managed to make it to the lower pool, and the inviting, milky-warm waters beckoned to soothe your weary body. Steam swirled around you, creating an ethereal atmosphere as you lay there, taking in the moment.
Rolling onto your back to face the sky, you watched as a giant silver ship soared high above the mountain. Your eyes followed it for a brief moment before it disappeared into the vast expanse of the blue sky. Tears welled up and trickled down your cheeks, their salty warmth mixing with the refreshing mist from the pool. You felt the gentle movements of the babe inside you and couldn't help but smile through your tears.
"Noona...we made it," you whispered in basic, your hand tenderly caressing your belly. The connection between you and the life within you was stronger than ever, a bond forged through this incredible journey.
After some time, you stirred, realizing that you needed to retrieve your pack. With some effort, the pack proved easier to handle than your own weight combined with the growing life inside you. You unzipped the pack and reached for your bedroll when another sensation, different from the earlier contractions, radiated through your core. This time, it felt like pressure, a clear sign that the moment you had been anticipating was drawing near.
After finding the bedroll, you took a moment to survey the area for a suitable spot to lay it down. The relatively flat rock surface encircling the spring was a dark black, a stark contrast to the frothy blue of the hot spring's waters. The ancient, tranquil pool was surrounded by old, tattered bedrolls, some empty, while others still held the silent remains of Illa-ishi who hadn't been as fortunate as you.
You sighed softly, the weight of the past and the solemnity of the place pressing down on you. You knew what lay beneath the surface of this hot spring – the resting places of those who had undertaken the same treacherous journey but hadn't emerged victorious. Out of respect for their memory, the people of Kith never dared to touch the remains. Instead, they left the bones where they lay, allowing them to become one with the planet's core, a final return to the world from which they had come.
Gently, you found a clear space amidst the bedrolls and laid down your own bedroll. It felt strange to rest among the remnants of those who had gone before you, but you also understood the significance of this place.
It was believed among your people that the Mountain of Mothers was the handiwork of the divine God of Kith, a deity whose love for his wife, Illa-ishi, was as vast as the universe itself.
Illa-ishi’s womb had cradled life for what seemed like an eternity and her body bore the weight of years, while her heart bore the burden of unbearable pain. Witnessing his beloved wife suffer, Kith, with his divine hands, crafted a pool at the mountain's base. Its waters held the promise of relief, a balm for Illa-ishi's agony.
While Kith labored tirelessly to raise the Mountain of Mothers, Illa-ishi, driven by a desperation born of unending torment, embarked on a solitary climb up its slopes. With each step, she ascended toward the heavens, seeking solace that seemed perpetually out of reach.
At the pinnacle of her journey, amidst the tranquil waters of the divine pool, Illa-ishi's child was born. Yet, there was no cry of life, no breath to fill the air. In a heart-wrenching moment, the lonely mother, overcome by despair, embraced the waters that had promised relief. She allowed herself to be consumed, seeking peace in the depths of the pool.
Kith, returning to find his wife and child lost to the pool’s embrace, was consumed by an anguish that eclipsed the stars. In his sorrow, he performed a deed both divine and sacrificial. In a resolute act, he harnessed the remnants of their life force, infusing it with the very essence of his divine being, and breathed life into the creation of the upper pool atop the Mountain of Mothers. 
This upper pool, borne from his profound sacrifice, was destined to be a reward for those who completed the arduous journey together. It was a testament to the strength of unity, the enduring love that bound families and lovers, and the rewards that awaited those who surmounted the trials of life.
Yet, even in the splendor of his divine creation, Kith's sadness consumed him. He recognized the fundamental truth that Illa could not always survive, and that Noona may not always breathe. And so, the first pool, at the mountain's base, remained untouched, preserved as a sanctuary of rest and respect. A place where Illa-ishi, and Illa could find solace amidst the beauty of the Mountain of Mothers, where the waters whispered stories of love and sacrifice, and where their weary spirits could find respite beneath the endless expanse of the starlit sky.
In history there was only one illa-ishi who succeeded in birthing a breathing babe at the first pool, and she had birthed an evil so strong it was said to last generations. 
You knew your heart, and you knew your babe. You had come here to rest.
The hike was hard. Din was breathing heavily under the weight of his armor and the burden of Grogu, who looked around the desolate landscape with a sad curiosity. How many skeletons had they passed? What kind of place was this? Why were you here? The guilt gnawed at him with each step he took. Why had he even gone to seek out pleasure from solitude in the first place? He thought back to that night… 
The night was dark and heavy as Din sat alone in the dimly lit corner of the cantina in Mos Eisley, his thoughts consumed by a yearning for Grogu. The scorching sands of Tatooine outside were a harsh reminder of the precious time he had spent here with the child and Peli Motto. They had been moments of sanctuary, where the galaxy's chaos seemed miles away.
Nearly a year had passed since he'd entrusted Grogu to Jedi Knight Luke Skywalker, a decision made with the best intentions. But that choice had left a void within him that he could hardly bear. Sleepless nights had become his constant companion, and the craving for both rest and peace had grown unbearable. And yet, he found himself agreeing to help Boba Fett in the midst of a brutal war, a commitment that seemed at odds with his desire for tranquility.
But in that cantina, he made a solemn decision. He had to seek out Grogu one last time, he had to give Grogu the chain mail that he had made for him. Just, as a way to protect him nothing more… He ran his fingers over its cool surface, a gesture that silently conveyed his unbreakable resolve before he pocketed the beskar. 
As the night deepened and the alcohol flowed, he realized he had indulged in more Corellian Whiskey than he should have, knowing he needed a clear head for the journey that awaited him. But the whiskey's burn was a welcomed distraction, a temporary escape from the overwhelming pain of missing Grogu.
In the midst of his solitude, the cantina's atmosphere began to change. A group of scantily dressed women, draped in silks and adorned with gold, entered the establishment. They moved with grace and charisma, engaging patrons in conversation, flirting, and distributing holochips for a nearby pleasure house. Din snorted at the thought. When was the last time he even had time to fuck anything but his palm? 
When was the last? He wondered trying to think back over the years since he’d acquired the responsibility of caring for Grogu. 
Years. Actual, years.
In his inebriated state, Din found himself clutching the holochip, his steps unsteady as he navigated the narrow streets of Mos Eisley towards the establishment advertised on the chip. He had given in to a reckless impulse, fueled by a desire to escape the pain of missing Grogu, and a fleeting sense of excitement at the prospect of companionship, even if it was just for one night. The weight of the impending war, as Boba Fett had described it, loomed in his thoughts, and he couldn't help but wonder if this might be his last moment of solace.
Entering the dimly lit and shady establishment, he was met by a greasy, overweight man berating a young child. The sight of the child sent a wave of unease through him, casting a shadow over his already troubled conscience. What kind of place was this, where children were exposed to such depravity?
"Not for sale!" the greasy man barked at Din, as if reading some unsavory intent in the Mandalorian's eyes, he shielded the child, pushing her back behind a tattered curtain.
“I wasn’t…” Din’s words faltered, the very thought of such exploitation sickening him to his core.
But the foreman, undeterred, eyed Din up and down, his gaze lingering on the gleaming beskar armor. “You’ve got money, I’ve got girls,” the man said, his voice oozing with a repugnant confidence.
Din struggled to find the words, his thoughts a jumbled mess, still reeling from the shock of seeing a child in such a place. He stumbled, his voice faltering.
The foreman, undeterred, went on, "I have a girl who just became available. She's not been with anyone, you'd be lucky to find a deal like her on this side of Tatooine." He reached into a box of hologram pucks, selected one, and placed it on the desk. Activating the hologram, he presented it to Din.
Din's gaze fixated on the static image, his eyes locked on the visage.. Strangely, he felt a deep pull within him, as if your image was both familiar and enigmatic, stirring emotions he couldn't quite place.
"How much?" Din's voice, though filtered through his modulator, held a heaviness, a mix of curiosity and longing.
"Four thousand credits," the foreman stated, avarice evident in his words.
“Four?” Din repeated, incredulous, his disbelief met with a dismissive glance from the foreman. “How much does she get?” he demanded, his tone sharp and unwavering.
The foreman's look turned defensive, his response sharp, "Two thousand. My girls are lucky to get any at all."
Din's resolve hardened, and he leaned in, his voice taking on a threatening edge that he usually reserved for bounties. "I'll pay six thousand, and she gets four thousand."
The foreman's eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard, but a vile smirk soon crept across his face. "Deal. Right this way, sir," he beamed, all too eager to make the transaction.
The foreman led him through a maze of dimly lit hallways filled with disturbing moans and an overpowering, artificial perfume that hung heavily in the air. The cacophony of voices from behind the closed doors was a haunting reminder of the grim reality of this place, and the perfumed scent was a failed attempt at masking the despair that lurked within.
At the end of the corridor, the foreman unlocked a door and gestured for Din to enter. "I'll send her in," he grunted, closing the door behind Din.
Din stumbled into the room, the alcohol coursing through his veins, muddling his thoughts. He took in his surroundings, finding himself in a chamber that seemed a stark contrast to the rest of the establishment. A makeshift bed of luxurious pillows lay on the floor, richly woven tapestries hung from the ceiling, creating a semblance of privacy. Incense burned intensely, casting a hazy atmosphere, a chair rested by the door infront of a towering golden-framed mirror that rest to the right. 
This must be a more expensive room, he thought, his mind reeling with the absurdity of it all. He couldn't help but question himself, wondering what he was truly doing here, and if this was the way he wanted to fill the void left by Grogu.
As the room's fakely lavish atmosphere weighed upon him, the door behind him swung open gently. He turned, his movements slow and heavy from his armor, to see you enter. Your form was meek, draped in a light blue silk garment that covered more of your body than the women he had seen in the cantina. Gold metal accents adorned your wrists, ankles, and neck, casting a subtle glow in the dim room.
Din's breath hitched as he observed you, his gaze tracing your figure from your feet to your face. Your flushed face and the nervous way you looked down at the floor beside him made it clear that you were unfamiliar with this line of work. He saw you absentmindedly running your index and middle finger along the material of your flowing skirt.
He couldn't explain it, but something about your vulnerability, the innocence you still carried despite the circumstances, touched him. For a moment, he entertained the thought that the foreman had lied about your experience, but as he watched you in silence, he knew that the greasy man's words were painfully accurate.
Din shifted slightly, causing your gaze to snap to him quickly. His visor concealed his expression, but his body language spoke volumes. He observed for another moment, considering his next move. Slowly, he began to remove his gloves. The process was deliberate, one finger at a time on the right hand of his glove, until he was able to pull it off, revealing his bare hand. His eyes never left yours as he started to work the other glove off, the tension in the room growing palpable.
Your gaze drifted from his visor to his hands, watching intently as the gloves came off. As soon as he removed the gloves, he walked to the chair by the door and set them down gently. Your gaze followed him as he approached, your hand never leaving the doorknob the entire time. It was as if you were waiting for him to make a move, to confirm the fear that had taken root in your heart.
Din stopped a few feet away from you, his gauntleted hand hanging by his side. There was something in his stance, a subtle softening in his normally rigid posture that made you feel he might not be the threat you initially perceived.
He straightened as he turned to face you, extending his tanned and calloused right hand as a peace offering. It hung there in the space between you, a bridge across the vast divide that had separated your worlds. The look you gave him that night pierced through his then-buzzed haze, and as your gaze moved from his visor to the palm of his outstretched hand, you ever so softly smiled.
Your hand moved slowly, with a slight tremble, as you placed it in his. Maker, it was so soft, so... loving. In a way, it reminded Din of his mother's hands. He remembered the feeling of her hands on his face when she would kiss him on the top of his head or brush his hair back. It was a memory buried deep, one he rarely let resurface in the harsh reality of his life. 
He watched you, unknowingly holding his breath, as your eyes flitted from his hands back up to his visor.
That night was almost eight months ago, and in the span of those months, the galaxy had shifted beneath Din Djarin's feet. He had fought with Boba Fett, gotten Grogu back, found his covert and embarked on the perilous journey to reclaim Mandalore and his Mandalorian status. The weight of leadership, the responsibilities, and the relentless pursuit of his beliefs had clouded his thoughts, leaving little room for anything else.
As he walked through the dense forest, the guilt that had been gnawing at him grew ever more oppressive. He'd been so preoccupied with his own mission, his people's future, and the legacy of Mandalore that he hadn't even spared a thought in your direction. He had foolishly assumed that the foreman would handle any potential consequences of their night together, perhaps naively believing that you would choose to remain silent. However, what if you hadn't told the foreman? What if you carried something precious from that night, a part of him he was yet to know about? He had neither your name nor any means of contact, and that realization weighed him down like a camtono of beskar. 
With every step, the burden of his guilt pressed down upon him, and he mentally berated himself for not knowing your name or sharing his. He deserved this guilt, for in his quest to rebuild his world, he had unintentionally left a piece of himself behind. If you were pregnant, how were you supposed to find him in the vastness of the galaxy? He couldn't shake the thought that he might be a father, and yet he had no way to reach out to you.
Lost in thought and oblivious to his surroundings, Din hadn't even realized that he'd strayed from the trail until a blood-curdling scream pierced through the forest's silence, shattering the walls of his introspection. His eyes darted ahead, and the only thing he saw beyond the thick undergrowth was a rocky precipice. Steam rose from somewhere below, and the scream, unmistakably human, sent a chill down his spine.
— 
After doing your best to set up a makeshift camp amidst the unforgiving terrain, the contractions began to increase in intensity and frequency. Drenched in sweat, your body ached with fatigue, and desperation for the comfort of the hot spring surged within you. In your birthing gown, you summoned every ounce of strength to embark on the journey toward the soothing waters.
With slow, measured steps, you made your way to the spring, determined to find solace amidst the throes of labor. The contractions continued to grip you, and you fought to maintain your composure, focusing on deep breaths as you moved closer to the source of relief.
As you neared the milky waters, the soothing sound of the waterfall dumping cool water into the far end of the pool filled your ears. The natural geothermal heat emanated from the earth beneath the water, warming the fresh, chilly stream. You gingerly lowered yourself to the spring's edge, wincing through the persistent contraction that clawed at your strength.
With immense effort, you managed to sit on the edge of the pool, your feet dipping into the perfectly warm water. A sigh of relief escaped your lips as the soothing waters enveloped your aching limbs. Slowly, you eased yourself into the warm embrace of the spring, its shallowness just deep enough for you to sit comfortably, your head above the waterline.
The warmth cocooned you, providing the much-needed respite your weary body craved. In the midst of your struggle, the hot spring became a sanctuary, a place where the pain of labor met the healing balm of nature, and for a fleeting moment, you found solace amidst the turmoil, embracing the precious gift of warmth and comfort in the midst of the wilderness.
You had lost track of how long you sat in the soothing water, your fingers pruning as the serene ambiance of the hot spring washed over you. Contented sighs intermittently left your lips as you found a momentary respite from the relentless contractions. The world around you seemed to blur as the hot spring cradled you in its gentle embrace.
But all too soon, your tranquility shattered like fragile glass. A pained cry tore through the rocky landscape. Your eyes shot open, searching for the source of the distress.
Your gaze darted towards the rugged ridge you had labored to climb mere hours earlier. Two voices reached your ears, one male and one female, carrying on the wind. Panic surged through you as you observed a hand ascending the top of the ridge. Your heart quickened, and you realized there were people approaching, their presence entirely unexpected.
With haste, you sprung up from your spot in the spring, water cascading off your birthing gown as you clambered to the edge of the pool. 
A man, seemingly oblivious to your presence, ascended the ridge, a pack strapped to his back. He reached the flat rock and extended his hand below him. Your bare feet met the cold, rough surface of the gravely rock as you hurried over to the edge, your heart heavy with empathy for the woman in dire need. Down below, on the third rock shelf, you saw a woman, her face contorted in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks, and her birthing gown stained with the evidence of her struggles.
“Isa a happis” (I will help!) you called out, your voice resolute, your determination evident. You easily crouched down next to the man, extending your hand to the one who was suffering. She gazed up at you, gratitude filling her eyes as she grasped your outstretched hand.
“Ona tice!” (On Three!) The man standing beside you declared, his voice strong and determined. You locked eyes with him, sharing the gravity of the situation, and both of you prepared to pull the distressed woman to safety. With a shared resolve, he began to count down, and on three, you pulled the woman up with surprising ease, your muscles working in harmony to lift her to safety. 
Wide-eyed, she arrived at the top of the landing, blood staining her birthing gown, a visceral testament to the life that sought to enter the world. She cried out in agony, her body in the throes of birthing pains. Your attention shifted to the Illit, his face etched with desperation as he removed his pack, his hands trembling as he tried to assist his manna.
He grabbed her, his touch gentle yet urgent, realizing that there was no time to lose. Even as you watched, you could tell the baby was coming, the process inevitable now. The woman screamed, the sound echoing off the rocky walls, a symphony of pain and life in the midst of nature's raw beauty.
“Noona essa comesei ittina!” (the babe is coming now!) you urgently announce, your voice steady and commanding, as you motion for the father to cease his movements. He gazes at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief, gratitude, and sadness, the emotions palpable in the misty air.
Your own contractions, once so overwhelming, are now distant memories as you shift your focus entirely to the woman and her impending delivery. You position yourself between the woman's legs, and she leans back on her husband for support, the bond of love and trust between them evident in the way they clung to each other during this moment. 
With gentle but purposeful hands, you begin to move the gauze of her birthing dress out of the way, revealing the sacred space where the new life is making its entrance into the world. The sight fills you with a profound sense of awe and wonder, the beauty of life in its most raw and unadulterated form.
As you catch the first glimpse of the emerging baby, a smile naturally graces your lips, a radiant reflection of the profound beauty you are about to witness. You look up at the father, sharing a moment of unspoken understanding and connection as you prepare to assist in guiding their child into the world, an act of grace in the heart of nature's splendor.
“Noona essa comesei! Attari noona bassi?” (The baby is coming, the baby cloth?) you urgently conveyed to the father, the intensity of the moment hanging heavy in the air. He blinked, momentarily caught in the whirlwind of emotions before comprehending your words. With careful haste, he gently leaned his wife back, supporting her amidst the agonizing pains as he reached for his pack against the wall.
Desperation etched on his face, he hurriedly threw various items from the bag, scattering them around in his search for the baby cloth. Every passing second felt like an eternity as the mother cried out in pain, her body instinctively bringing forth the baby as your hand supported its head. 
Finally, after emptying the entire bag, the Illit father's shoulders slumped in defeat. His frustration boiled over, and he struck the rock wall with his fist, a primal cry of helplessness escaping his lips.
In the midst of this despair, you remained calm, your instincts taking over.
“Asa Passi! Attara noona bassi!” (In my pack! I have the baby cloth!) you shouted at the father, your voice carrying the urgency of the moment. With a quick motion, you pointed to your own pack, signaling where the much-needed baby cloth could be found. Your other hand remained cradling the head of the newborn, offering support and comfort to the laboring mother.
You ran a soothing hand over her leg as she summoned her last ounce of strength, pushing with all her might, and then, in a powerful moment, the babe broke free into the world. The father, having located the cloth meant for your own child in your pack, rushed over, his eyes wide with anxiety. You accepted the plain cloth from him, wasting no time in wrapping the baby in it.
The newborn lay still and silent, not letting out the expected cries that heralded a new life. A sense of despair washed over you, and you shared a helpless glance with the father, both of you fearing the worst.
The mother's wails of agony resonated in the rugged landscape, echoing the heartbreak of a life not granted breath. The anguish in the air was suffocating as she reached for her still baby, her hands trembling. With a heavy heart, you gently transferred the infant to the mother's waiting arms. 
She cradled her lifeless child, tears streaming down her face as she caressed the baby, whispering soft words of love and heartbreak. Her cries mingled with those of her husband as they shared the unbearable moment of loss.
Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tore yourself away from the heart-wrenching scene of the manna. You felt a surge of emotions, a profound sense of hopelessness, reminiscent of the day you had received the news of your own pregnancy. 
— 
The anguished screams pierced the rugged terrain, reverberating through the rocky expanse, and Din felt his heart plummet through the soles of his boots. Grogu, sensing the turmoil in the air, cooed softly from the safety of his sling, nestled beneath Din's protective hand.
Carefully and quietly, Din approached the edge of the rocky ridge, his heart pounding with trepidation. As he looked down into the precipitous drop-off, his eyes fell upon a scene that nearly froze his heart in his chest.
Down below, amidst the harsh and unforgiving black surface of the rocky cavern, he saw you kneeling, a stoic presence, between the legs of a pregnant woman who was hemorrhaging profusely. The woman's anguished cries filled the cavern, echoing against the unforgiving walls.
Din's eyes then shifted to a man, who appeared to be the woman's partner, desperately rummaging through a pack, panic etched across his face. You spoke urgently in a language Din didn't understand, the words punctuated by fear and sorrow. The man seemed to heed your words and swiftly abandoned his fruitless search, rushing over to another pack that lay nearby. The man retrieved a gray cloth from the second pack and hurriedly approached where you were crouched.
Din observed, his eyes transfixed, as you, kneeling on the rocky cavern floor, expertly assisted the pregnant woman. With a mix of awe and sadness, he saw you pull a beautiful, newborn baby from the crying mother, delicate and fragile in your hands.
His gaze lingered as you carefully, almost mournfully, opened the grey cloth. To his dismay, he recognized the symbol displayed on it – a mudhorn. It was the very same symbol etched onto his own pauldron, the only identifier that you could tie to him. He watched as you used the cloth meant for your child, his child, to wrap the now purple baby in the blanket with meticulous care.
Cries and sobs filled the air as he watched from his hidden spot on the high cliff above. His sounds were likely muffled by the nearby waterfall, but he felt Grogu pulling at him, desperate for attention. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to look away. He continued to watch, hidden in the shadows.
He observed as you struggled to stand, your belly full with his child, and as you respectfully walked away to what he could now confirm as your pack. He could see the pain etched on your face, the tears in your eyes, and he felt a pang of guilt deep within him. The weight of his past actions pressed heavily on his shoulders.
Din had done a lot of things he wasn't proud of; he'd walked a dark and treacherous path. He had hated himself when he handed Grogu over to the client for a camtono of beskar, but now, seeing you here, in this vulnerable moment, he hated himself more than he had ever thought possible. 
The symbol on that blanket, the mudhorn, was a reminder of the choices he had made and the lives he had affected. As he watched you cry softly, he knew he couldn't change the past, but he could choose a different path now, one that might bring redemption and peace.
— 
Hours passed by as the mother and her lifeless baby lay on the rocky outcrop. The father, now solemn and determined, prepared the pack for their descent. He spared you a thankful glance as he gently helped the mother stand, their shared grief connecting them. With cautious and uneasy steps, they began their descent down the cliffside.
The mother cradled her unbreathing babe, her heart heavy with loss, as she slowly made her way towards you. With some effort, you rose to your feet and met her halfway. Tears welled up in your eyes as she kissed your cheeks in gratitude.
“Illa-ishi, missa.” (Lonely mothers, sisters.) she said mournfully, her words heavy with the weight of shared sorrow. She placed a gentle hand on your belly, a silent acknowledgment of your pain. Overwhelmed by the emotions of the moment, you couldn't hold back a sob, and the two of you embraced tightly. In that moment, she became your sister in grief, and your shared loss bound you together in a way that words couldn't express.
As she and her husband began their descent, you watched them with a heavy heart. The blanket you had intended for your own child now wrapped around her lifeless baby, providing some small comfort in their time of mourning. 
Left alone once more, you couldn't hold back your tears as you watched the husband carefully guide his grieving wife down the steep cliff and out of sight. As they disappeared from your view, a profound sense of isolation settled over you, and you wept softly, your heart heavy with sorrow.
Returning to the healing waters, you couldn't help but notice that your contractions had inexplicably ceased. Confused but hopeful, you gently felt around your belly and were met with a delicate, reassuring movement from within. A smile, albeit a tearful one, graced your face as you carefully lowered yourself back into the pool, ready to embrace whatever destiny the Gods had in store for you.
The sun began its descent, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. From your elevated position, you had a perfect view of the sky as it transformed into a breathtaking canvas of purple, pink, and orange ribbons. As you smiled to yourself, entranced by the beauty of nature, an unusual sound suddenly pierced the tranquility of the moment, snapping your attention to the cliff edge. Your heart raced as you strained to identify the source of this unexpected disturbance, a sense of both trepidation and curiosity gripping you.
As if by magic, a form suddenly flipped up onto the solid ground level with the pool. A small, green being emerged, making noises that were nearly drowned out by the roar of the waterfall. Yet, an overwhelming feeling of joy washed over you as you beheld the sight of this tiny creature toddling towards you.
Driven by curiosity and amazement, you pushed yourself up and out of the water. Your birthing gown clung to your body as you moved, but you paid it no mind. Stepping onto the rock, you slowly rounded the corner of the pool to greet the small being.
To your astonishment, you realized it was a baby, with wide, innocent eyes and a furious babble. The baby lifted its tiny hands towards you, and you couldn't help but crouch down as best you could, your heart filled with warmth. "Noona?" you asked the little creature with a soft, amused laugh. In response, the tiny being gave you a toothy grin, and it made you laugh even more.
Your attention, however, shifted from the small being to a pair of gloved hands gripping the side of the rocky cliff. Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized those gloves, and heat rushed into your face. With wide eyes, you watched as a figure clad in silver beskar, a Mandalorian, lifted themselves effortlessly over the cliff face and stood there with an almost regal grace.
From your crouched position, you observed as the green baby waddled over to the Mandalorian and tugged on his shin armor. The Mandalorian, with his helmeted face turned towards the child, bent down to pick up the little one, and you couldn't hide the confusion that replaced your initial joy.
Din's eyes remained locked on your form as he swiftly pulled himself up onto the flat surface of the cliff. He saw you kneeling down, fingers outstretched towards Grogu, the shock etched across your face. But his gaze was drawn irresistibly to the wet dress that clung to your swollen belly, a stark reminder of your impending motherhood.
As he felt Grogu tugging at his shin armor, he silently bent down to pick up the child. Still, his eyes remained fixed on you, and he struggled to find the right words to explain this unexpected reunion.
“I... I had a dream,” he finally managed to say, his voice choked with emotion.
Your eyes softened, and he witnessed your composure crumbling before him. Your confused and shocked expression melted into a soft frown as tears welled up in your eyes. Before he fully registered it, his feet carried him closer, and he knelt down in front of you with Grogu still cradled in his arms. He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, hoping to offer some form of reassurance.
"Please... don't cry," he implored softly, the tenderness in his voice evident. However, he watched as you recoiled from his touch, your reaction sharp and violent, like a wounded animal cornered in fear.
— 
"Don't cry," his voice was a gentle whisper from behind as he reached out to sweep your hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear with his left hand. His thumb, soft and reassuring, brushed away a solitary tear that had collected in the corner of your eye, preventing it from descending down your cheek.
The cold, unyielding embrace of his armor pressed against your back, a constant reminder of his presence, as if he permeated every inch of the room. You lay face down on the makeshift bed within the opulent suite, placed there by him in silence. His helmet tucked against the back of your head as his right hand reached around the front of your body to work open your tight entrance. He smelled like musk, metal, and something floral.
You didn't know his name, and in truth, you knew very little about him. All you knew was that he had paid a considerable sum for your services and bore a mudhorn symbol on his pauldron. The hushed whispers from the other women in the establishment painted a picture of a bounty hunter, a formidable figure who held the favor of the new Daimyo. He was a source of fear and fascination, and the idea of him both terrified and intrigued you. But, above all, you craved freedom more than anything else, and this was a means to an end.
As the moments unfolded, you couldn't hold back the tears that escaped, mingling with a confusing mix of emotions. It wasn't bad; he wasn't unkind. In fact, you found him surprisingly polite. He had said nothing, just removed his gloves and led you to the makeshift bed, where he now pressed into your body from behind.
It felt fine, maybe even surprisingly good, but your stubbornness held strong. You were determined not to give the foreman the satisfaction of knowing you enjoyed the path you had chosen to earn your freedom. The thought of succumbing to pleasure and surrendering to the moment felt like weakness, and you clung to your resolve with unwavering determination.
However, as his fingers moved softly, so softly, you couldn't help but feel your resistance slowly crumbling. Each touch was skillful, and the sensations they evoked were impossible to ignore.
You could feel a pleasure building within you as he continued his careful thrusting into your tightness. His thick fingers curled slightly as his thumb worked your clit. His left hand rests by your head as he made sure to move any hair out of your face. You had no idea if he was watching you through his visor, but you had assumed so because he wiped your tears and told you not to cry. The build up turned into a tightness that needed to be released, he could tell by how hot you’d gotten under him and how your walls fluttered on his fingers. 
He felt a pride well up in him at the knowledge that he still had the ability to bring a woman pleasure but also that you’d finally relaxed enough to allow yourself to feel this. He closed his eyes for a moment just to focus on how your walls felt around his fingers, he willed himself to listen to your body. Upon each drawback of his fingers he worked to spread your tight cunt just slightly- three, four, five more thrusts of his fingers and he felt you tremble under him. 
His eyes snapped open, and he observed you biting your hand to stifle any sounds. He felt the flutter of your walls on his fingers as he stilled in order to relish in the feel your softness. He watched you come back from wherever you had gone in your high, his hand moving gently to caress the hand you had bitten, the teeth marks already leaving a faint purplish hue. As his thumb brushed over the marked area, he felt the slight tremor in your body, your vulnerability laid bare, and saw the glistening tears welling up in your eyes once more. 
“Don’t cry.” he said again before moving to sit back on his heels. He admired your form, the way the flame lit room made your skin look like silk. You were totally bare to him, he’d undressed you slowly and carefully placed your clothing next his gloves on the chair. He was still fully clothed save for the gloves he’d removed. He watched as your form began to stir, and he carefully placed a hand on your lower back to keep you down. You immediately complied. With a sigh he slowly ran his hand down your back to the curve of your ass and to the back of your thigh. He could see the slick from your arousal glimmering in the soft light. 
He could see everything, every intimate part of you, and yet he didn’t allow you the joy of seeing him. He couldn’t. 
You sat, staring at the wall ahead of you, the seconds feeling like hours, with him seated behind you. The situation was embarrassing, and you could only hope he wasn't disgusted. You had assumed he was finished with you after whatever had just happened, only to be gently pushed back onto the bed, not harshly but rather in a silent, pleading manner. After a moment, you heard him stir behind you, and you froze, your ears attuned to his every movement.
You heard a soft rustling of fabrics and buckles. He came to rest on you again, with his left hand resting by your left hand. His right hand gripped your waist as he shifted you back towards him. This position shifted you more so your backside was resting against his thighs while your chest was flush with the pillows beneath you. He was able to bend over you more like this so he comfortably rested on his left arm above you. 
His right hand left your waist and you felt the warmth of his hand in between your legs. You could feel the soft head of his hard cock turn to velvet as he ran it through your slick folds. You clenched the pillow underneath you as you braced yourself for the pain the other women had told you about. You felt pressure against your entrance and instinctively you tried to move away only to feel his hand move like lightning from between your thighs to your waist as he anchored you in place. 
He didn’t say anything just held you there as he slowly pushed the head of his cock deeper into your entrance. His grip once iron on your waist turned soft as his thumb brushed circles into the skin there. Slowly he sank deeper and that’s when you felt it, the sharp uncomfortable sting. You tensed under him at the pain and you felt him freeze above you. His left hand moved to grab your face beneath him, turning your cheek so he could see you. You looked over your left shoulder to peer up at him, his cold visor returning your gaze. You couldn't help the tear that fell as you clutched the pillows.
"Don't..." his voice was strained through the vocoder, and you knew he was holding back, for you.
"Do not say that to me!" Your pained and thickly accented voice ripped through the air as you swatted his arm away. The green child yelped softly at your sudden movement.
Din's eyes widened. It was the first thing you had said to him. You hadn't spoken a word that night. He recoiled from you in shame.
He watched as you cried, emotions swirling within him like a chaotic storm. 
"You shouldn't be out here," he managed to say as he stood abruptly, his words tinged with a mixture of concern and frustration. He glanced around, finally taking in the grim surroundings. Blood still pooled on the rocky ground where the woman had given birth earlier. Even worse, the remains of skeletons lay strewn about, their shattered bones mixed with the gravel under his boots.
"This is a graveyard, not a place for a woman in your condition to give birth," he grumbled, regretting the harshness of his words. The eerie desolation of this place was overwhelming, and he couldn't make sense of anything. The grim reality of death and birth intertwined in this forsaken corner of the galaxy was too much for him to bear.
Your face, your soft, beautiful, and glowing face looked up at him then. 
"This is where I am meant to be," your broken voice hit him right in the chest.
For a moment, Din just stood there, his helmeted gaze locked on you. Grogu stirred in his arms and he set the child down. His gaze shifted from Grogu to the pack leaning against the rocky wall, the very same pack he had seen a man carrying at the market, with his wife in tow. It was the same pack he had witnessed being carried by the man who was desperate, carrying his bleeding wife. The pieces of the puzzle began to click into place in Din's mind.
"Did you... carry that alone?" he asked, his curiosity piqued as he looked from you to the pack and back.
You huffed, annoyance coloring your features, and moved to stand. Din instinctively reached out to help you, but you swatted his hand away. You stood, resolute, and locked eyes with him through his visor.
"Yes. I am illa-ishi," you declared firmly, your words laden with meaning.
Din furrowed his brow, confused by the unfamiliar term. "Illa-ishi?" he repeated, the word alien to him.
Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you realized he didn't understand. "I am a lonely mother," you tried to find the right words that could translate to Basic.
He continued to stare, his helmet giving away nothing. You huffed in frustration and attempted again, simplifying your words. "I am alone." you finally settled on, hoping he would grasp the essence of your situation.
Din just stared at you, seemingly uncomprehending. You felt your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and the green child peered up at you, as if offering a sympathetic glance. Frustrated with the language barrier, you turned to walk towards your pack and bedroll.
As you began to walk away, Din's gloved hand gently gripped your upper arm, stopping you in your tracks. You shot an annoyed look back at him, silently demanding an explanation for his actions.
Din's gloved thumb moved soothingly circles on your arm, his gaze locked on you. He took a moment to search for the right words, his voice barely rising above a gravelly whisper.
"Is...is this mine?" he questioned, his words weighted with uncertainty, his voice low and husky.
Your eyes fixated on his hand caressing your arm, and tears welled up again, threatening to break free. You bit your lip in a futile attempt to hold them back, forcing yourself to look directly into the reflective visor of his helmet. You saw your own tear-streaked face in the cold, mirrored surface of the Mandalorian's armor, and it was a sight that turned your stomach.
"Yes. I've... never been with another. Only you," the confession tumbled from your lips, the words feeling strange and heavy in your mouth. Your body tensed, and you felt a sudden, sharp tightness envelop you, a contraction, your first since the bleeding mother had shown up. You gasp in agony as your knees buckle under you. 
"Dank farrik!" Din's initial worry had given way to frustration as he cursed under his breath. He reached out and grabbed you, his gloved hands steadying you gently while Grogu made a sad noise from his perch on the ground.
"We have to get you out of here. Is there a medcenter near here?" His voice trembled with desperation as he crouched down to meet your gaze.
"What?!" You hissed exasperatedly through the pain, your frustration and agony making you bristle.
"Medcenter!" Din almost yelled, and his eyes widened when you shoved him away.
"Issa noona ibaniss a plantissia ata mountina as illa! As illa a ma a iss!" you shouted at him in anguish, your words foreign to his ears but laced with undeniable determination. (My baby will be born on this planet, at the Mountain of Mothers, like my mother and the one before her!)
Din stood there, still as stone, as your scream washed over him. 
He looked at you, his gaze falling to your trembling hands, one of them wrapped in blood-soaked gauze. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself and regain control.
He was going about this the wrong way. You had climbed the treacherous cliff, your cloth bore the sigil of the Mudhorn, and your pack was identical to the ones the men had carried. You had a well-thought-out plan; he just hadn't been part of it.
With newfound determination, he approached you, taking careful, measured steps. Kneeling down beside you, he spoke softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.
"How do I help you?" he asked, his words breaking through the haze of pain that enveloped you.
You slowly looked up at him through your tears, your eyes locked onto his helmet. For a moment, you were at a loss for words, your mouth slightly ajar as you processed the situation. With a trembling hand, you pointed towards the spring nearby. "Take me there," you said softly, your voice heavy with the weight of your suffering. 
In an instant, Din's strong hands found purchase under your knees and behind your back, and he lifted you with great care, not wanting to cause you any harm. You flushed with the ease of him carrying you, a thought flickering across your mind of how much simpler scaling the cliff might have been if he had been there. But you dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, focusing on the immediate task at hand. You wrapped your left arm around the back of his neck and placed your right hand protectively over your belly, the hard surface of his armor uncomfortably pressing against your side as he carried you toward the inviting hot spring.
"I can go from here," you said in thick, broken Basic, attempting to wiggle out of his grasp.
Din regarded you, confusion clear in his eyes as he tried to understand. His gaze alternated between the steaming water and your face. "You want to go in the water?" he asked, as if seeking confirmation.
"Yes, I can go from here," you repeated, pushing against him with a touch of defiance. His grip tightened, surprising you with its strength, and you nearly yelped in response. Shooting him a displeased look, you tried to assert your independence.
"What, and let you slip?" he asked, gazing at you through his visor before looking ahead. "No." He had made up his mind, and there was no arguing with the Mandalorian's decision.
As you were lowered into the hot spring, the initial shock of the water's heat gave way to a soothing relief. Din was surprised by how inviting it felt, and he understood why pregnant women sought refuge in such places. The water enveloped his boots and rose just above his knees as he carried you into the pool. You held onto him with a newfound intensity as he descended, afraid that he might lose his footing. Your disbelief mixed with gratitude as you realized the extent of his support.
Finding solid ground beneath the water, Din gently released your knees, allowing your feet to dip into the warm embrace of the pool. His hand slid from your back to your waist, ensuring your stability, and he positioned himself behind you in the water. You stood just below his chin, and if he desired, he could easily rest his chin on your head. His right hand remained on your waist, his gloved fingers splayed out on your side, providing you with a reassuring and protective presence.
A powerful surge of emotion overcame Din as he felt the subtle movements of the life within you under his fingertips. He stood there, motionless and transfixed, as you faced away from him, both of you submerged in the comforting warmth of the spring. His eyes traced the contour of your back, the gentle rise and fall as you breathed, and then slowly, as if compelled by an invisible force, he found himself resting his forehead against the back of your head, his helmet touching your soft hair.
He grappled with where to place his left hand, uncertain of the right way to provide comfort. His gaze drifted downwards, fixating on the water where he saw your dress floating softly as it began to soak in the pool. Carefully, he moved his left hand to the small of your back, gripping the back of your waist with a gentle touch.
In the midst of his turmoil, a soft, barely audible sob escaped his lips, and tears welled up inside his helmet, tracing their way down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he uttered, his voice broken and full of guilt. It was a plea for forgiveness, an attempt to convey the overwhelming regret that consumed him. He clung to your form, feeling the life inside you, the life he had a part in creating and then abandoned. 
His wallowing in self-recrimination was shattered by the sound of your voice and the tender touch of your hand as it caressed his right hand.
"Don't cry," your words were soft and filled with sincerity. In that moment, as the tears flowed within his helmet, you offered him understanding and forgiveness. He felt worthy of neither. 
332 notes · View notes
persnicketypomelo · 7 months
Text
obsession, vampires, supernatural abilities, mentions of biting
Special Halloween series
Vampire Erik Headcanons
Tumblr media
Going for a more general approach, but pulling mostly from the book
Erik already exhibits many…nocturnal qualities as it is, even without adding any supernatural elements
He is not all too keen on sunlight; lives far below the opera house in isolation from society; prefers to lurk, unseen, in the dark
His skin is sickly and lifeless, weathered like parchment, and his skeletal frame struggles to fill the clothes he wears
Even in the book, he seems never to need to eat or drink
He even sleeps in a coffin!
If anything, being a vampire makes Erik’s every eccentricity connect naturally
Erik rarely feeds as he prefers to keep to himself in the solitude of his dwelling
But when the need eventually strikes, he makes a great event of it, wandering to the surface at nightfall, selecting his target with deliberation
He generally tries to target those who would not be missed from the world: traffickers, evildoers, the corrupt
Though he is by no means a force of good in any way
The phantom is careful not to drink from those in the opera house
As it stands, his relationship with the workers and management is strained at best, even before the new managers come along
The last thing he wants is to egg even more fools into pestering him and attempting to flush him out more than they already do
But in the case of unfortunate stragglers who wander into his domain of their own volition…
Well, let’s say his policy of not feeding from the members of the opera house can be overlooked in these…extenuating circumstances
When Joseph Bouquet’s body was found, dangling from a rope, curiously, two inexplicable punctures in the side of his neck were present as well
And when it comes to you...
His hands quiver at touching you, not only due to depravity of human contact, but also from a vast, irrepressible desire for your blood
Despite his gaunt frame, his vampiric nature grants him supernatural strength
His hand shudders with restraint, knowing that he could easily break you if he is not careful, knowing that he could lose control if his thirst clouds his reason
I think this version of Erik would be more patient and restrained than the normal iteration of himself
Age and wisdom mellows out his more extreme tendencies
Furthermore, the extreme speed, strength, and hunger means he has had to develop the maturity to curb his emotional outbursts, as indulging them could wreak havoc
Even with all the comparative wisdom this vampiric version of Erik has garnered, he is still so helplessly allured to your youth and innocence
And if you show acceptance and empathy not only towards his physical flaws, but also to his supranatural side...
Needless to say, the Phantom is beyond smitten, harbouring an obsession too fiery and intense to even possibly contain
Being the object of his fixation is even more dire for you with this version of Erik
His heightened senses can easily catch wind of your position, smelling your trail with the ease of a bloodhound
You have no hope of outrunning him, overpowering him, or even the permanence of his death
If escaping the human version of the Phantom seems a nigh impossible task, then it will take a divine miracle to escape vampire Erik
It is best for your own sake that you avoid ever attracting his interest
Else live the rest of your life by the side of an immortal being with no possibility of escape
234 notes · View notes
youryurigoddess · 7 months
Text
Case study and analysis of the 1992 Good Omens movie screenplay (“the shitscript”) in light of the ongoing WGA strike
As one could suspect, the topic of the 1992 Good Omens movie screenplay and its infamy has recently emerged from the depths of the fandom. In light of the ongoing WGA strike it’d be good to properly address this issue, starting with Neil Gaiman’s own recollection written in 2004:
Tumblr media Tumblr media
It’s basically the same old story — of brilliant creative workers struggling under the pressure of detached studio executives and being legally forced to mutilate their work again and again for no artistic or economic reason — we’ve heard before in many different contexts.
Tumblr media
If you’re reading this and somehow still wondering why writers are fighting for their rights at the moment, their job security hasn’t changed much since then. Please follow the WGA, SAG-AFTRA, and other unions’ official channels for detailed information and ways to help the cause.
Tumblr media
Anyway, it took over a decade and an enormous effort to print the screenplay in a limited edition of 552 copies. It can’t be distributed otherwise due to IP law, but some fans shared its fragments online and heavily criticized them, dubbing the 1992 source material #shitscript
Tumblr media
There’s been obviously a lot of controversies over the changes in the plot and the relationship between the main characters. And rightfully so — the number of iterations has created something very different from the beloved book and the award-winning show we can all enjoy today.
It’s… objectively not good. Wouldn’t be considered a hit back then and certainly not by today’s standards. I don’t think I would watch it in any other way than through channel surfing. However, it’s not a monstrosity some people believe it to be and not a case of low effort.
Let’s start with the world building: the setting wasn’t changed to the US. It’s still very much based in the UK, mostly London and Tadfield, although the latter lies now by the sea and seems much more ominous. Interestingly, the British Museum becomes a prominent location as well.
The main character and the designated hero is not surprisingly Crowley, this time in his 90s anti-hero glory. If you haven’t watched many movies of this era, esp. dark fantasy, this trope involves middle-age disenchantment, cynicism, as well as hefty doses of sarcasm and brooding.
90s anti-heroes are a dark, grim, and unnecessarily violent embodiment of power fantasy, matching the destructive ideology of that time. Combined with uber-masculinity and performative strength over weaker characters, nowadays they naturally evoke more cringe or worry than awe.
1992 iteration of Crowley is basically in his Furfur era. Deeply unhappy and stuck in a dead end job, all he talks about is how he hates Earth and his assignment here, considering a transfer to Alpha Centauri as his one and only possibility of career advancement. Or life, really.
The talking part is important here, because he clearly compensates by insulting everything and everyone. He hates on the whole planet at length only to confess that he’d rather stay here with Aziraphale due to “no good restaurants”, “no decent bottle of wine” in Alpha Centauri.
Yes, he’s verbally abusive in his automatic response to stress. But doesn’t hate Aziraphale. In one particular scene he calls Azi stupid twice only to assure him that they are friends and to offer to solve the problem when he sees that his words were taken seriously and hurt him.
Crowley refers to him as “my angel” and “my dear Aziraphale”, agrees to Aziraphale’s suggestion of sharing a room, praises the angel as a “miracle worker around the home”, drinks the tea he makes for him, and generally proves to be much softer towards him than he wants to admit.
Aziraphale, on the contrary, wears his heart on his sleeve. He’s the one engineering ways to spend more time together, following Crowley around, checking up on him (including miracling himself into his apartment and office when no one answers the door), offering help right away.
He’s successfully calming Crowley down through his anxiety attacks, overcomes his dislike of heights (!) for Crowley, directly challenges him and even breaks rules only to make Crowley stay with him. Crowley seems to be his main motivation in this movie, not the saving the world.
1992 Aziraphale also has the most badass scene in the whole Good Omens multiverse to date, taking a 180 degree turn from the typical guardian angel we all know and love to the real angel of wrath protecting Crowley from harm in his true form.
But there’s no Their Side in this universe. The only semblance of that concept appears in the context of Anathema not representing either of their respective bosses, but humanity. “That’s the trouble with the humans. They’re on their own side.”
This Crowley appears not as much on Hell’s side as under Satan’s heel. He’s scared of him and subservient, and needs Aziraphale to prevent his escape as a pretext to do what is right. He lets the angel stop him by pretending that he doesn’t even see him cheating during their duel.
By finally standing up to his toxic boss (Satan is like Gabriel during the body-swapped trial, suave and cruel) and leaving Hell’s side to do good, Crowley takes an emancipated and employee-focused stance instead of fighting for his relationship with Aziraphale like shown in S1.
Which is a shame, but matches the overall tone of the screenplay and the times it was written in. The concept of free will, while simplified in a true Hollywood-style to issues like mind control and fear, is still crucial to this interpretation of the Good Omens original plot.
Especially the character of Anathema is seen fighting both of these things. There’s no Agnes Nutter with her prophecies here, only a 21-year-old witch and her will to thwart the ultimate evil versus her fear of doing it at a cost of one boy’s life, versus Satan’s brainwashing.
Madame Tracy appears slightly redesigned as a new character as well, but isn’t 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 for the most part. She’s been enjoying her youth way too much to see how fast it was fleeting, and this sudden realization left her in shock from which she denies to come back.
Unfortunately she’s also the one who took in baby Adam and now stays under his care. The level of his parentification is unnerving, much like his bullying and loneliness. He struggles to be loved and ask for love, which becomes his main quest beyond, y’know, the apocalypse thing.
Don’t worry, despite everything all ends well just like in the book. The family of two gets a chance to start again on much healthier terms and Anathema to live for herself for the first time in years. Our heroes get back in their car, Crowley tempting Aziraphale with an apple.
All in all, this whole post is a very long reminder for Amazon Prime to #PayYourWriters, #PayYourActors, and #RenewGoodOmens! The strike is still ongoing and crucial for any new content for this and many other fandoms #GiveMeS3orGiveMeDeath
Tumblr media
97 notes · View notes
sneez · 1 year
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
more of my oc tervis (any pronouns), the creepiest most miserable little weirdo in town. which is saying something [id under cut]
/ ID: four digital drawings.
The first image is a series of drawings of Tervis on a paper-textured background. A heading at the top reads 'Tervis (Humble)'. One is a coloured headshot of Tervis looking to the left; they have a gaunt face, short receding hair, a scar bisecting their lip and right eyebrow, greyish skin, and are wearing a red shawl around their neck. An arrow pointing at their right eye reads 'one blue eye (mostly blind)'; another arrow pointing at their left eye reads 'one brown eye'. They have a serious, hostile expression. The second drawing is an uncoloured full-body sketch of Tervis. Next to this is the same drawing but coloured and with more polished lineart. Tervis is a thin, hunched figure wearing a long, dark brown robe, a greyish bag on their back, and a red shawl around their head and neck. They are barefoot, and are leaning on a walking staff with both hands. An arrow pointing to the walking staff reads 'needed for walking, useful for hitting'. Tied to the belt around their waist are several long scrolls of paper with writing on them. An arrow pointing to the scrolls reads ''blessings' they paste on infected houses'. Tervis is looking warily out at the viewer from beneath their eyebrows. An arrow pointing to their head reads 'scar from getting hit in the face with a brick (also knocked out a tooth)'. Alongside these drawings are a series of bullet points giving information about Tervis. These read:
   indeterminate age, indeterminate gender
   religious fanatic (unclear which religion)
   lives alone somewhere in the steppe
   dislikes everyone but is nicer to children than anyone else
   has every disease
The second image is a fake screenshot from the video game Pathologic. Tervis is looking out at the viewer; the background shows scenery from the steppe. The text on screen reads:
CHANGELING: I still don’t see what you could have done that would make you personally responsible for this plague. TERVIS: Responsible… no, not merely responsible! This is my plague, cast upon my head alone. I am the originator; my sin is at the root of all. I have ventured into the town. I have seen the canker there. No matter how many houses I bless, my sickness sinks deeper. The rotted limb is the death of the body… Surely you understand me. You are a healer, are you not? CHANGELING: What is it that you are asking me to do? TERVIS: Let me be the lamb, worker of miracles! My blood shall wet the earth, and bright flowers shall grow… My putrefaction will provide the soil within which new life will burgeon, pure and free of sin and decay. Let it be done. I am ready. My failing flesh is but little sacrifice; in death my weakness will be my strength. Soon these torments will be at an end.
Below are two dialogue options:
You’re insane!
What makes you so sure your death would solve anything?
The third image is a fake screenshot from the video game Pathologic 2. Tervis is looking out at the viewer, and has been painted in semi-realistic style. The text on screen reads:
Tervis: Why do you force me to live? Damn you! Your cure is poison to me. Now I shall never be blessed. You should have left me to bleed.
Below are three dialogue options:
Don’t be absurd. I wasn’t going to watch you die.
What makes you think you deserve suffering?
I wish I had.
At the bottom of the image is a line of dialogue which Tervis has just spoken:
The air is foul. There is rot in this place. The stench of corruption shall be – what was it? What was it? The stench of corruption shall be… swept aside…
The fourth image is a coloured scene depicting Tervis and Clara. They are central in the composition; around them is the steppe, which has been rendered in a loose, painterly style. Tervis is kneeling, their walking staff cast aside, and are reaching out their hands to Clara in a desperate, pleading gesture. They are crying, their face contorted in an expression of agonised ecstasy. Clara stands beside them, one hand reaching out, the other held above Tervis’s head as though about to touch their brow. She has a solemn, pained expression. Behind her head, a break in the dark clouds gives the impression that she is haloed by sunlight; rays of the same light fall onto Tervis, illuminating their face and red robe. End ID. /
#artwork#pathologic#tervis!!!!!!!!!!!! :-D#sorry i know ive already posted that fake p2 screenshot i just wanted to keep all my tervis images in one place. please forgive me#i am having. So Much Fun. i would explode and die for tervis shes the worst i adore her#making fake screenshots is so enjoyable i love trying to match the fonts and copying all the little ui details it's so fun highly recommend#i have a lot of tervis lore which i am still developing but hopefully these drawings give you some idea of his character#hes just a mess really. hes got every imaginable problem#that last drawing is her getting sacrificed in the humble ending. she is SO happy about it#also if you didnt see my last post tervis was originally a warhammer 40k oc (which he still is ive just made a bonus pathologic tervis now)#but ive tried to keep a lot of 40k stuff in her design like the blessing scrolls and the uh. Posture#that's also my reasoning for why nobody knows what his religion is. the watsonian explanation is they are just spouting incomprehensible#disjointed passages from some obscure scripture which nobody can identify (and who would want to try really. tervis is not good company)#but the doylist explanation is that it's literally just the cult mechanicus. just ignore all the references to the weakness of the flesh and#the glory of the machine it will all be fine nothing weird here at all#anyway :-) i could talk about tervis forever but i will stop now#i hope you are all well my dear friends! i am on holiday now wahoo#i am also aware that i have several messages to answer which i will do very soon i am so sorry for being so slow as usual#i love you all i am giving you individual kisses on your individual heads. mwah
196 notes · View notes
tomtenadia · 3 months
Text
Detours to You - 20
Hello all,
Here I am with another chapter. This is a bit angsty but I swear it's the only one. There is a big disaster that I hope it make sense. Since I finished ALB I am not used anymore to write these epic scenes with big disasters. So yeah, I hope it makes sense.
Enjoy.
MASTERLIST
Tumblr media
Rowan jumped in the car and started driving to the destination, sirens and blue lights blazing.
He heard the address over the radio and his heart sank. It was a factory fire. A place that he had been inspecting on a regular basis recently because on his first visit he had spotted so many health and safety infractions that it was a miracle the place was still open. He had pushed for changes and improvements but there had been so many red tapes from the big bosses that it was frustrating. All his connections had not been enough to help prevent what he had labelled in his reports as a disaster waiting to happen. And now, while rushing to that site he had a feeling that the worst case scenario had happened and that once again money and politics had placed the lives of his firefighters in danger.
Instead of spending time with his girls, Rowan was driving towards a five alarm fire.
*
 As the address grew closer, black plumes began to appear at the horizon and his heart sank. His mind started making possible plans. The smoke was very dark which meant a volatile fire. He pressed on the gas and pushed to the extreme the privileges that the sirens gave him in an emergency.
The location in question was a textile factory where the tanks containing highly flammable liquids were kept at the right storing temperature by a generator. In all his inspections Rowan had noticed signs of old age in the tanks and the generator had three system failures in a short time span. Rowan just tried to guess which one had failed.
He arrived at the site and quickly wore his bunker gear and walked to Lorcan who was acting as Incident Commander for a report.
“Chief.
“Lor, what is the situation?”
The dark-haired captain looked at the fire in front of him “we are evacuating the workers. The generator is failing and one of the tanks with treating chemicals has a leak that started a fire in a section with stored acrylic clothes. They caught fire and as you can imagine it spread quickly. We are working on containing it.”
Rowan looked at the inferno in front of him and rage surged in him.
“Triage is ready, mass casualty plan has been activated and we have four stations on duty.” Lorcan added to finish his report.
Rowan nodded “That is perfect, Lorcan. I take it from here, now.”
Lorcan nodded and ran to grab his gear and joined his team inside.
He took over the scene and started directing the rescue and gathered more information every time more firefighters came out. There were still workers trapped near the centre of the plant, the core that was likely minutes away from breaking down. If the generator failed, the tank would stop working properly and from there the whole site would just blow up.
“Chief to all units, what is the situation near the generator?”
Static was his answer.
“Chief to captain Salvaterre, do we have the fire contained near the generator?”
“One of the storage tanks is leaking heavily, we will need hazmat.”
“Copy that, asking dispatch now.”
“Chief,” Ilias voice came through the radio “We have found a group of four workers, taking them out now.”
“Copy that Ilias, paramedics are ready.”
Not long after he saw two firefighters take out a group of wounded workers. The paramedics ran to them and carried the victims to triage to be assessed. 
Lorcan ran out of the building with a firefighter that had to be rescued after he got separated from his buddy.
“Lor, what happened?”
The man ripped his mask from his face and took a deep breath of air “It’s impossible to get to the centre. We can’t get any deeper. The smoke is very thick and dark.”
“Hazmat is on another call.”
Lorcan swore.
Rowan looked up and watched the smoke change “Lor, you take back command, I am going in.”
“Fuck no, Rowan.”
Rowan started to wear his SCBA “I have visited this factory more times in the past few months than any other industrial site. I know where everything is and I know how to get safely to the generator and where the failsafe panel is.”
“Rowan, that place is a time bomb.”
“I am aware, but there are four of my men inside and probably more workers. I am not going to another firefighter’s funeral, Lorcan.”
Rowan finished getting ready and ran inside “Keep the water going Lorcan, and tell hazmat to get their arses here ASAP.”
Lorcan shouted orders to the four teams “Let’s attack this fire and kill it,” he ordered another team inside to attack the centre of the factory and keep the generator cool to allow Rowan some time.
*
Rowan made his way inside the building and all he saw was thick smoke, but with the help of some burnt landmarks he found his way around. Progress was slow and time was a luxury he did not have. The fire around him was still raging and he only had his memory to guide him through the inferno. Deeper in the venue he heard a PASS alarm and his heart sank. One of his men was down and he rushed towards the sound.
“Chief, Lorcan, I have a firefighter down on the south east quadrant near the central room.”
“Copy that, Chief I am sending in rescue.”
Rowan waited for the two firefighters and then continued on his mission. He was so close but the smoke started changing badly and he knew that he was close to the epicentre. What made things worse was the very distinctive smell of electrical fire “Lor, keep water away from the centre of the structure. Electrical fire.”
He did not wait for his friend’s reply and with his axe he just smashed his way through the door and found four of his men and then two workers on the floor. The PASS alarms haunting his dreams. He grabbed the two workers and dragged them outside in a safe location, alerted Lorcan and then he stormed back inside and took out two of his men at a time. They had a pulse, faint but they were okay. He kept dragging the people as far as possible until he was exhausted. Rowan radioed his teams to rescue a few more people and then got ready for the last mission. 
The generator had a failsafe switch that he hoped was still working and not being destroyed by the fire. He knew he had minutes to stop the plant from blowing up and flatten the building. He stood, gathering all the strength he had left, looked at the oxygen meter on his wrist and realised he had less than ten minutes of air left. It was enough, he kept telling himself. Enough to do his job and hopefully make it out alive. He wanted to get back to Maya and finish celebrating her birthday. He wanted to have a moment alone with Aelin and finally tell her that he was in love with her. That he was tired of pushing his feelings aside and overthink it. She was the love of his life and if he made it out alive he was going to tell her.
With a mighty roar he burst inside the plant room and crawled to the bottom where the smoke and the toxic air was less thick. The air was thick with electricity and one of the panel was clearly shorted. Slowly he elbowed his way to the centre and found the core computer that was barely working. Blindly he found his way to where he knew the failsafe panel was. Or was meant to be. He froze when he realised that it was not there anymore. The computer that would allow him to safely shut down all the tanks was gone. 
“Lorcan, Chief,” he coughed “Mission has failed. Push back, the building is lost.”
Slowly he made his way back, his oxygen was starting to run low and Rowan went through all of his old training routines to keep oxygen consumption low. 
He was dragging his sorry arse out of that hellish place when he saw all the signs. He tried to run, his body screaming for oxygen, his legs failing him. And when he noticed the fire pattern change he threw himself on the ground as a series of flashovers spread through the building.
Aelin and Maya’s laughter the last images in his mind before the darkness engulfed him. 
*
Lorcan hated that he was outside. Rowan should be there and he should be inside, that was his job. But Rowan knew the place inside out. He had been conducting regular inspection and Lorcan knew that place was a ticking bomb, Rowan had told him the fights he had been having to change things but it looked that no one listened to him.
Pushing aside his rage he listened to the teams for what was happening. More workers kept being found alive and he counted that as a success. Rowan’s voice came through the radio alerting him that he had found the firefighter that had gone missing after he lost track of his partner. 
“Come on, Rowan…” 
The fire started to change and Lorcan called for more water to be pumped on the building, the water cannons moving to concentrate on where the tanks were. 
Hazmat was still busy and he needed the team there immediately. He called dispatch for another update and he got the same answer. Time was ticking and he was growing worried. Surely Rowan’s oxygen was about to run out soon. Why the fuck he was not out yet?
The radio became alive once more and Rowan’s voice came through alerting him that he had more survivors. He sent Fenrys, Brullo and two more firefighters in to recover the people Rowan had saved.
Long minutes passed and silence stretched. He called Rowan but no answer came through.
“Lor, it has been too long. We need to get in to get Rowan.” Fenrys walked to him and shouted “He is inside that inferno on his own. That’s not how we do things.”
“Rowan, come through.”
More silence.
And then his strained voice finally reached him “Lorcan, Chief,” he coughed “Mission has failed. Push back, the building is lost.”
Lorcan’s heart sank at the words.
“Push back everyone. Move the perimeter back.” His voice thick with panic for his friend.
His men got into action and started to retreat to safety and then the explosion hit. Lorcan waited for the flashovers to die down and then grabbed his gear “Ilias, you have command, I need to save the Chief.” He shouted like a desperate man.
“Fen, Brullo and Ansel, with me.”
The three firefighters exchanged their bottles and grabbed a jump bag and a stretcher from the paramedics.
From the outside, Ilias restarted the water attack to allow them further progress inside.
Lorcan had an idea of where to go because had listened to Rowan when had talked abut the building but had never been inside. He followed his instincts and walked towards the centre of the structure until in the distance he heard the unmistakable sound of the PASS alarm. One of the sounds he hated the most, especially when it meant his best friend was in peril.
“Rowan,” screamed Fenrys at spotting Rowan’s body on the floor.
“Slowly, Fen.”
The young man walked quickly among the debris, pushing aside beams and part of structures “Fen, be careful.”
He did not listen and Brullo and Lorcan followed with Ansel in tow. When they finally arrived Rowan’s body was sprawled on the ground “Ilias, we got the Chief, we are assessing him just now.”
“Copy, I have paramedics on standby.”
Ansel crouched to his side, removed his broken mask and started assessing him “he is breathing but it’s very shallow.” The woman placed an oxygen mask on his face to help him breath better. The mask was cracked and he likely had inhaled toxic fumes. She checked his sats and she had her answers when the number turned out to be too low.
Brullo opened the jump bag. All firefighters had some sort of first aid training, but Brullo and Ansel were also certified paramedics so Lorcan let them work.
Fenrys helped them remove his bunker jacket and that’s when he saw a piece of metal sticking out of his left flank. 
“Don’t pull it,” said Brullo “The spike just now it’s preventing him to bleed to death.”
Lorcan helped remove some of the debris covering his body “Possible fractures in the lower body,”
Ansel inspected his side and saw some burnt marks along his right arms down his chest “Second degree burn on his right side.”
“Is he stable enough for transport?” Asked Lorcan.
Ansel passed the stretch-board they had carried and with Brullo’s help they slid it under Rowan’s back.
“Yes, we are good to go. Alert the paramedics we have him and we are coming out. We need immediate transport to the hospital.”
Once outside, Lorcan stared at his team carry Rowan to the paramedics, watched them gave him initial treatment and then load him on the ambulance and disappear at the horizon.
He took command back from Ilias and guided the team until the fire was extinguished. Hazmat eventually arrived and took over the scene and Lorcan sent his teams inside for overhaul.
The sun had started to set once the scene was clear. Lorcan ordered engine back to quarters but he took the truck to a side mission.
The vehicle slithered through the traffic of Orynth and he prepared how he could tell Aelin about what happened. It was Maya’s birthday and he was about to destroy that day.
*
Aelin, Lys, Aedion, Elide and her parents had remained at the bookshop to continue the celebrations. Maya was sitting on her plastic table with her uncle and grampa and they were all reading some stories.
Aelin was about to start cleaning up when she saw a big fire truck park in front of the shop.
Her book tumbled off her hands when Lorcan stepped in, blackened by smoke and a dark stare.
Aelin’s hand shook and she felt sick.
Elide stepped at her side and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Aelin,” he paused “I need you to come to the hospital with me.”
taglist
@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127
37 notes · View notes