#now i’m just saving for his light cone :>
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I can’t believe my Imbibitor Lunae is slapping as hard as he is and I haven’t even leveled up any of his relics.
#rant time!#personal#I don’t even have ANY of his relics leveled and he’s mopping the floor with the amount of damage he’s dealing#it’s the same as my Blade and he HAS relics that are leveled#my Imbibitor Lunae is dealing with an outgoing healing chest piece AND HIS DAMAGE RIVALS MY BLADE#(TRUST ME I’m working on getting that chest piece replaced ASAP the relic set bonus is currently worth it for now)#however the journey to get this man: absolutely embarrassing#…I may or may not have fucked up and while not paying attention spent my ~50 saved up rolls on his LIGHT CONE and not him (RIP)#HOWEVER my sister was ready to give me money so I could get him and fix my massive fuckup#and after LOSING TO YANQING I finally got both Imbibitor Lunae AND his light cone#guess all the fucking up I did worked out because I had no light cone for Imbibitor Lunae#I’m just currently obsessed and I will not allow him to leave my main team EVER#Honkai Star Rail#delete later? delete later
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no you can’t catch me now
luke castellan x zeus!reader
imagine you are thalia because this song SCREAMS her
i immediately thought her and my fingers couldn’t stop writing :)
“There's blood on the side of the mountain
There's writing all over the wall
Shadows of us are still dancin'
In every room and every hall”
i laid on the ground as blood soaked the leaves. the screaming of the people i love most, going off to the distance. luke’s face appearing every time i closed my eyes. oh luke. the love of my life. the first. and the last.
i love you luke castellan.
°°°
i ran through the trees, luke and annabeth in front, grover in tow behind me.
“keep running! don’t look back,” grover screamed behind me. i knew deep down that if grover didn’t make it back, his dreams were gone. but he swore to protect us. my running slowed as luke and annabeth didn’t take one look back, grover getting ahead, he noticed i wasn’t in front. grover stopped and looked at me as i stopped.
“go grover,” i said as rain soaked us. grover shook his head and he went to grab my arm. i took a step back as the two up on the hill stopped and screaming my name. i looked at them as i smiled. oh how i loved them.
“no y/n, you’re gonna make it, if we keep running, come on!” he screamed as i took every step back when he fell forward. i heard the monster behind me get closer.
“they don’t want you or them, grover, they want me. that’s all they want,” i yelled over the thunder. i nodded and he shook his head.
“please y/n, run with us to safety” he pleaded. i looked up once as i saw luke running down, to get me, to drag me uphill.
“grover, tell luke i love him. please,” i said as i smiled softly thinking of him. i turned around as everyone’s yell at me grew quiet. lukes running grew faster as i drew my dagger, a gift from dad. the monster close.
“i love you so much” was the last thing i said because before i knew it, i was looking at the monster as it snarled at me.
°°°
lukes pov
i let out an agonizing scream as y/n lied on the grown as the monster ran. i dropped to my knees as tears spilled from my eyes. i felt arms grab onto me as lighting strikes the grown where she laid. roots growing. a tree forming, a pine tree. her favorite tree.
“you wanna know why i love these kind of trees in the woods?” she said as i smiled at her, awed by her fascination of the world. i raised my eyebrows in question. “pine trees are majestic luke. they survive the cold, the heat, the storms. survival at its finest. and they provide beautiful pine cones, which smell amazing,” she smiled at me brightly. when she looked at me, it was like the world paused. it was just me and her.
“i hope one day when i die, i come back as a pine tree, giving me a full life through everything, protecting others as they pass, a shelter for those who need it most.”
the memory of just a day ago repeating in my head for days on end.
everywhere i looked, she was there. in the cabin, the mess hall, the arena. the woods.
“Bet you thought I'd never do it
Thought it'd go over my head
I bet you figured I'd pass with the winter
Be somethin' easy to forget
Oh, you think I'm gone 'cause I left”
the more i trained and the more i picked up fights, you would think i would move on easily. but there was always this one light that brought me back to y/n. always back to the pine tree.
the day we got to camp was the worst day of my life. everyone said camp was a safe place for half-bloods. why did y/n die? why didn’t zeus save her, huh?
camp was no longer called safe when she left us. when she sacrificed her life for us.
“oh, hey,” i heard behind me. i furrowed my eyebrows as i turned to find nobody. “i’m right here, luke, right in front of you.” i looked in front of me and saw the tree.
“y/n?” i whispered in disbelief.
“yeah, honey, it’s me,” she said softly as i felt a caress on my cheek. “you can’t see me but i’m here, i’m not leaving.” i felt a tear fall from my eye as i thought of her.
“i miss you so much,” i let out a sob. i leaned my head on the trunk of the tree. “so much”
“oh luke” she whispered. “i never left you, im here forever for you and with you”
“But I'm in the trees, I'm in the breeze
My footsteps on the ground
You'll see my face in every place
But you can't catch me now
Through wading grass, the months will pass
You'll feel it all around
I'm here, I'm there, I'm everywhere
But you can't catch me now
No, you can't catch me now”
i grunted as the monster got my cheek, feeling the blood drip off my cheek. i drew my sword and swung at it, but it kept growing stronger.
“fuck you, dad, fuck you,” i growled as i felt my fate. the monster above me now as he dripped of slobber. his mouth opened, emitting fire. i closed my eyes, ready for the impact, but nothing happened. i felt a force and lighting strike happening in front of my eyes. it let me get up and run after hearing her whisper to me.
“run, luke, go!”
°°°
i sat in front of y/n as i planted a new flower for her. i can feel annabeths, grover’s and percy’s eyes on me.
today was the 5th year of her passing and every year, i grow a new flower, whether it be strawberries on accident or not.
“what’s he doing?” i heard percy said.
“planting y/n a new flower. she sacrificed her life 5 years ago today and 5 years ago today we i got the privilege to feel y/ns warmth as her tree gives the camp life. lukes way to thank her is gifting her natures beauty,” annabeth explained.
i sighed as i touched the trunk gently.
“i’m not gonna let anyone hurt you, i promise. im so sorry i couldn’t promise that 5 years ago today,” i whispered as a tear of mine dropped to the ground. i felt arms wrap around me, her familiar scent filling my nose.
“i promised that nobody would hurt you when i died, and i will always fulfill that. because no body can stop me. no body can catch me now,” she said as she touched my scar. the feeling of her touch felt comforting.
“There's blood on the side of the mountain
It's turning a new shade of red
Yeah, sometimes the fire you founded
Don't burn the way you'd expect
Yeah, you thought that this was the end”
y/ns pov
i smiled as i laid on the ground, my blood soaking the hill. the snarl of the monster disappeared. i heard luke behind me scream as i felt arms wrap around me.
“oh darling,” the voice said. “oh darling,” he kept whispering. i closed my eyes as luke filled my head. the arms around me tightening, the wind calming, the rain stopping, the smell of pine filling my nose.
“this isn’t your ending, darling” he said and i was gone.
#luke castellan#luke castellan imagine#luke castellan x reader#percy pjo#percy jackson imagine#percy jackson
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Carpe Noctem 34/End
Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, violence, blood, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)
Note: Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.
Part of The Club AU
You sit in the idling car, holding your hands up to the heater as it blasts. You glance up at the house, anxious. Should you go check on him? Or maybe… you look at the keys. You can just drive away. Alone.
Too late for all that. Just as your mind wanders down the country roads, Lloyd appears in the doorway. He tramps across the porch and bounds down the steps, his shoes kicking up dirt as he struts towards the car.
He opens the door and swings himself in with a grunt. His knuckles are purple and swollen, his upper sleeve stained with even more blood than before. You tut and reach to touch the reddened fabric.
“I’m fine,” he insists as he shrugs you off, “don’t worry, sweet cheeks, you’ll get your hands on me eventually.”
You recoil and roll your eyes. He adjusts the mirror and his eyes narrow past it. You follow him as smoke seeps out through the open doorway. You frown and reach for the car door. The locks clunk into place.
“Baby cakes, you got a big heart but those people don’t deserve your pity,” he shifts into gear and hits the gas, reversing with a sharp veer that has you pressed against the door. “We’re done here.”
“Wait, Lloyd, what did you do?”
“I saved your sweet ass. I’m not gonna lie and say it wasn’t imperative to me. Can’t let that jiggle go to waste, you know?” He snickers at the road as he steers away from the smoking country house.
You crane to see behind you, a glimmer of orange in the left window before you’re too far away to make out much of anything. You feel a tap on your thigh and sit straight as Lloyd’s hand rests there. He squeezes and gives a growl.
“Get your belt on, sweetheart,” he girds, “last thing I need is you flying through the windshield after I went to all that trouble.”
You gulp and click the belt into place. You can’t help but agree with that sentiment.
“Where are we going?” You ask.
He laughs again as he steers casually with one hand, his foot heavy on the pedal, “oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” He rubs your thigh, letting his hand slip between them, “we both just saw what happens when you take care of yourself, huh?” He squeezes and hums, “I’m not that soft dicked cop or that mummy’s boy farmer,” he taunts, “you belong with me, mimi… you belong to me.”
You stare at his hand then lift your eyes to the road. You peer over at the streaking landscape and shudder. Compared to the alternative, to Johnny or Cole, he’s not the worst you could do. Besides, with him, you don’t have much of a choice. You’re pretty sure you’re more than just a fling now, you’re an accessory to murder.
🌙
The adrenaline drains from you and has you slumped in your seat, snoring against the door as you forget the world whipping by you. You dream of the farmhouse and Beverly’s scissors. You awake with a start as the soothing motion slowly and you blink at the night.
Lloyd turns into a driveway, rolling up to the dark house. You grumble and shift in your seat, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. He shuts the car off and sits in the blackness.
“You awake, sugar tits?” He asks.
“Yeah,” you croak. “Where are we?”
“The only thing you needa know about where we are is that you’re safe. Stay close to me and you always will be.”
He undoes his seat belt and you do the same. He unlocks the doors and you let yourself out, stiffly standing as you rub your lower back. You turn to look at the neighbourhood lit with cones of light pouring from tall poles. You’ve never been here before. You must be far from home.
What home?
You follow Lloyd’s shadowy figure towards the front door. He stops to key a code into a number pad and it flashes green. He pushes inside and flips on the light. You shuffle in after him, rubbing the kink in your neck. He sighs and shuts the door as it locks automatically.
“Is… this your house?”
“One of many,” he intones, “didn’t I mention that before?”
You frown and peer around, “no…”
He chuckles, “no? Don’t know how that didn’t come up. I guess I didn’t take you for a gold digger.”
“I… I’m not,” you face him, appalled by the suggestion.
“Relax, I’m not saying you are, I’m just saying, you never asked.”
You clamp your lips and shake your head. He plants a hand on the wall and slips off his shoes, groaning as he wiggles his toes. You don’t have any shoes, your feet are cold and dirty. You stand on the mat, unsure of what comes next.
“So… what now?” You ask, “are we hiding?”
“Hiding? I told you, I got friends on the force,” he scoffs as he faces you and brings his hand up under your chin, “I’ll tell you what now. You’re gonna fix me up, the way you do, and I know it gets you all worked up, so after, we’re going to christen this place. Every single room.”
“Lloyd,” you utter as he backs you up to the wall.
“Well, we don’t need to do those in that order,” he purrs, “you can sit on my face first.”
Your eyes round and you tisk, “please.”
“Please… what? I’m all yours, mimi. Tell me what, and I’ll gladly lick it.”
“Must you?” You sneer.
“Which hole, mommy?” He teases.
You jab his ribs and he grunts, “I hate when you call me that.”
“Oh, I know, but I love it when you get mad,” he smirks. “Mimi,” his tone deepens and his expression turns dire, “I don’t think you get it. You don’t understand what you do to me.”
You arch a brow and tilt your head defiantly, “no, you don’t understand everything you’ve done to me.”
“Christ sakes, I just massacred a family for you,” he growls as he steps closer, leaning in to hover his lips over yours, “can’t you see I’m fucking crazy for you?”
You search his eyes for what, you don’t know. You know he’s nuts, he doesn’t have to tell you that. He also doesn’t have to say that you’re stuck with him because of that very affliction. Honestly, he’s close to tolerable when he doesn’t say anything at all.
He pulls you to him, smothering any resistance you might muster. He kisses you greedily, holding you against him, wrapping you up in his arms. He has you locked in; trapped in his grasp and his house and his life.
The bristle of his mustache tickles your nose, a symptom of his very being, the one little thing that ruins the moment.
#lloyd hansen#dark lloyd hansen#dark!lloyd hansen#lloyd hansen x reader#drabble#carpe noctem#series#au#the club#the gray man
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The Savior - Din Djarin x f!Reader
The Mandalorian, side-quest extraordinaire, accidentally frees a slave, kills a Senator's son, ends a criminal conspiracy, and falls in love. Just a month in the life of the galaxy's favorite chaotic space cowboy and his son.
The Savior / The Concession / The Choice (END)
A/N: i fucking love this man. here's the spotify playlist i made while hallucinating being wrecked by him. I accidentally based this fic on Euphoria by Angels & Airwaves.
AO3 Link🤠
TAGS: Fluff, m!falls first, plot with porn, helmet stays on for now, P in V, outdoor activities, protective!Din, soft-ish!Din.
WARNINGS: reader is/was a slave; references to abuse; no curses or slang outside of Star Wars canon (that's a warning if you hate that hahaha)
**************************************************************
"I thought vagrants were barred at the door. How did a Mandalorian get in here?”
The Mandalorian in question does not react to the insult. At the table before him, the taunting Trandoshan guffaws, but his laughter dies when he gets no reaction from the bounty hunter.
"What do you want?" He snaps, his green jaws clicking shut.
Instead of replying, certain the answer is obvious, the beskar-covered man leisurely surveys the colorful, boisterous room, his hands folded in front of him. Having already scouted the upscale casino, he does this for sarcastic effect. He’s also certain that fact is lost on his Trandoshan quarry.
Upon returning his direct attention to the lizard, a small movement in the booth catches his heat sensor. A young woman, likely his quarry’s slave by her frayed appearance, sits with her head bowed behind her master.
“Hey, tin man, you in there?” Your master’s voice sounds more like rocks scraping together than fluid language.
The Mandalorian chucks a bounty puck onto the table, the name and alien visage of Rathos Craaf glowing in a blue cone of projected light.
“Go quietly or don’t - it makes no difference to me.”
“Ahh,” Rathos Craaf hums in his throat and leans back in his seat, making your demure form more visible to the bounty hunter. “What’s the price?”
The Mandalorian again does not dignify a response.
“Can’t be greater than what I’m willing to pay,” Rathos insinuates.
The tense silence eats through your body as the ruthless men stare at each other - the probability of oncoming violence ratcheting up.
“Go prepare my ship,” your master barks suddenly at you, raising his hand.
Flinching, you scoot around the U-shaped booth to obey.
You weren’t always a slave. As a child on Kenari, you had been born into a world of vivid green, rippling blue, and rich, brown soil. Trained in both hunting and fighting from birth, you had been too young to save your village from the brutal relocation program of the Empire.
Dispersed onto harsher worlds, you’d been sold from one slaver to another until finally coming into the collection of one Rathos Craaf. He has been your master for several years by this point, and while not the worst, he was close.
“What will you do about the girl?” A modulated voice asks.
Pausing on the edge of the hard bench, you look between the two antagonists. Me?
“Who cares about the mudscuffing girl? Tell you what, I’ll sell her to you.” The crafty Trandoshan gets an even better idea: “Or - take her in exchange for the bounty. She’s considered top-tier sentient property.”
“Not what I was asking,” a gloved hand thumbs his blaster. “Once you’re in carbonite, wh-”
The Trandoshan lunges up from his seat with a booming yell, launching at the cloaked, beskar-free neck of the Mandalorian. Rathos’ claws reach around the smaller man’s throat, but the Mandalorian is lighter of foot, ducking out of the hold.
Off-balance, Rathos tumbles but rolls back on his feet, his scaly tail acting as a counterweight. Gasps and mutters spill from the crowd as people scramble out of harm’s way.
You remain seated in the booth, frozen and unsure. But then, as the silver bounty hunter aims his blaster, Rathos whips his tail into the Mandalorian’s legs, knocking him with a clang onto his back.
The blaster goes skittering through the crowd, and you’re shocked to find your legs racing after it.
The thunder of a powerful flame roars in the cavernous room as you weave through aliens and humans alike, searching. The blackness of the blaster appears on the gray floor and you dive for it.
Cold steel excites your skin. It’s heavier than you thought it would be, and though you’ve never fired one, your ancient muscle memory remembers the feeling of a bow in your hands; the trajectory, strength, and steadiness necessary.
Sprinting back through the crowd, you find Rathos pinning the Mandalorian’s chest. The solid armor prevents any of Rathos’ blows from truly hurting the bounty hunter, but the weight of the lizard is too awkward and great for him to shove away from this angle.
The fire-throwing vambrace comes up again and, as it billows into the Trandoshan’s face, you fire a blast at the substantial tail that had once been used against you.
Rathos bellows in pain, tumbling to the side, and the Mandalorian takes full advantage. He jumps to his feet, then connects his fist to his quarry's skull, rendering the creature unconscious. Binders clasp around the arms of your master and the successful bounty hunter staggers backward a single step to catch his breath.
You freeze at what you’ve just done, the blaster still pointed at Rathos. People murmur, and the words, “Killed by his slave” can be heard, though he is only unconscious. Your chest heaves, far more out of breath than the Mandalorian walking toward you.
“Thank you,” he says drily, taking his blaster out of your hands.
Unsure what else you should do, you follow your master as he is dragged without dignity along the smooth fogstone floor.
Exiting the casino, snaking down an alley, and traipsing to the outskirts of the city limits, the silhouette of a ship against the orange horizon becomes visible.
Neither you nor the Mandalorian have spoken a single word since he took the blaster from your hands, but as he presses a button on his vambrace to lower the loading ramp, he turns to you now.
“Grab his tail."
An order. That you could do. You immediately grab Rathos’ tail and lift. The Mandalorian half-drags and half-lifts the Trandoshan by his cuffed hands and the lizard is loaded into the ship’s hold.
Standing at the far end of the Mandalorian’s rather busted ship, you’re surprised to see a small, green being. Dressed in what must be a sack, its long ears perk up and its eyes glimmer at the sight of the bounty hunter. A happy coo reverberates in the quiet, metal space.
The child looks at you and makes another, similar noise. It waddles toward you, but before you can react, the Mandalorian scoops the child into his arms and sequesters it behind a thin blast door.
“You are free to go.”
It’s an odd statement. He must be familiar with the underworld. He knows how slaving works.
You’re not sure when you last spoke; you weren’t allowed to speak. But the bounty hunter seems to expect a reply.
“I am not. The law says I am to be returned to the slavers’ coalition for repurchase.” Your voice is scratchy from disuse and the helmeted man tilts his head in curiosity.
“You won't run?”
It seems too monumental a task. Hopes and fears trip over each other in their efforts to be heard. Freedom. Finding a place to call home. Your family was long dead. But… maybe there was hope of a family somewhere.
Where would I even go? No way I could stay ahead of the slavers. They’d send hunters like this Mandalorian after me. I’d be worse off than I am now.
“I do not know if I can,” you whisper honestly.
The Mandalorian looks at you - at least, you think he does - for so long that you begin to squirm under his gaze.
Without warning, the wind is knocked from you. Rathos’ tail slams into the back of your knees, crumpling you to the floor. His claws wrap around your neck, and you yell, plunging two fingers into his lidless eye.
“Traitorous shutta!” Spittle from your master flies onto your cheeks.
As he recoils from your jab, you squirm underneath him, trying to flee, when the weight on your chest vanishes in a rush of air. Coughing and wiping your face, you lie there momentarily until your throbbing pulse abates inside your head. You sit up and widen your eyes to hasten their focus.
The Mandalorian has the Trandoshan by the throat with both hands. Rathos sputters and gags, but you watch as gloved fingers dig harder into the scaly throat. The anonymous man shoves his quarry into the carbon freezing chamber and smashes the button with more force than necessary.
It's over.
When you woke in the dark that morning, never would you have expected to watch your master be frozen in carbonite aboard a bounty hunter's ship.
That bounty hunter turns to you now.
“I have something I need to do. I’ll give you passage if you provide assistance.”
________________________________
Crossing your arms, tucking your legs under your body, and leaning against the hull in your seat, you try to make yourself as small as possible. You wouldn’t have even climbed up here if the Mandalorian hadn’t indicated that you should.
He wanted to keep an eye on you. He did not trust you around the kid - despite (or perhaps because of) its interest in you.
Moments after leaving the planet’s atmosphere, a new emotion bubbles in your chest: elation. The stars flow by in a technicolor kaleidoscope; hues and shapes you have never seen race past your eyes. It’s beyond anything you could have imagined.
“Has it always looked like this?” You wonder to yourself.
You jump when a deep, electronic voice answers, “Yes.”
“Oh,” you murmur, realizing he had been watching you. “I’ve never seen hyperspace. I was kept in the hold,” you state without self-pity.
The Mandalorian lets that terrible fact hang in the air before eventually saying,“I recommend you get some sleep. It will be several hours before we reach Mid Rim.”
He turns away from you and folds his arms. The muffled clang of his helmet tipping back against the headrest tells you that he will be taking his own advice.
Interestingly, you feel safe enough to get some rest. Being constantly attuned to the temperamental wills and whims of others, you've become a great judge of character.
This Mandalorian, though quiet, is clearly capable of kindness to those who deserve it. A rarity for someone in his profession.
___________________________________
The blue cone glows in his hand, projecting the face of one ugly slug. The name at the bottom, written in a language you had been forced to learn, reads: Salaa the Hutt.
Fearful eyes flick up to the veiled Mandalorian, “A Hutt?”
The helmet nods, “You will be my way in.” You make a whimpering noise, but the bounty hunter continues. “You’re a slave on the run. I will be returning you for a small reward.”
Crushing disappointment deflates your body. Believing yourself to have been wavering between freedom and the life you had known, you realize, now that the decision was being made for you, that you’d chosen freedom. Further adding to your pain is your misjudgement of the Mandalorian.
I’d have never made it to freedom - far too naive. Thought a karking bounty hunter was doing something out of the kindness of his heart. Unbelievable.
Still, to your credit, you take several steps back, almost as though you might try to outrun the nimble, strong bounty hunter with a kriffing jetpack, of all things. You’re proud of yourself for even thinking about doing it.
The Mandalorian doesn’t react. He pockets the puck and opens his weapons cache on the hull wall. He lifts a small item from the assortment and shuts the doors. You can’t see what it is, and he doesn’t return to you.
He opens the blast door to the child’s tiny room. The baby snores in his bungalow, and the ever-fascinating Mandalorian rubs the green, fuzzy head before closing the door. He turns and strides toward you.
You take one more step backward, just because you can. Because you should.
He still says nothing. Closer, and closer, the armored man advances on you until you can see your nervous eyes in his breastplate.
“Give me your wrists.”
Is his voice naturally that persuasive or is it the vocoder?
Overriding your fledgling autonomy, you obey him with a preprogrammed respectful nod. He clasps binders around your wrists.
The Mandalorian steps away to retrieve another weapon, then he lifts his chin toward the boarding ramp.
Shouldn't you at least try to gain freedom? Beg him to let you go?
“Please, I can try to pay you,” this is a lie and he knows it. “Or I could work off the debt of transport. Something!”
It’s the loudest your voice has been in living memory, and it both surprises and emboldens you. But the Mandalorian does not seem swayed.
“Walk,” he orders.
You minutely shake your head twice. It means nothing to him, but everything to you.
An electronic sigh, then he takes a single step toward you. Fear switches you back into the subservient girl of the last twenty years. You flinch, your manacled hands blocking your face.
The Mandalorian falters, slightly abashed. “I am not going to hurt you. But you need to start walking.”
Slowly, you lower your hands. His gloved fingers curl around your bicep, and he leads you out into the sunny air.
It’s a hot day on Niamos. The beachside resort that serves as the capital city is teeming with families of all species bathing in the muggy air. The sandstone path that Mando - that’s what everyone calls them, right? - parades you down is packed with beachgoers. Embarrassed by your plight, you try to hide the binders, but it’s impossible with the angle he holds your arm.
Finding another gust of will, you reason, “Surely you could find a way inside without turning me in? You’re good at your job. You could've killed my m-”
“Salaa angered powerful people. There is a bounty on him and it’s higher if he’s dead.
“What does that mean?”
“He's careful. Employs expensive security. Easiest way in is through the front door,” Mando finishes.
Mando’s leathery hold on your arm is soft. Unyielding, of course, but he doesn’t hurt you. It saddens you to realize how different that is from your usual treatment. He had still binded you and planned on turning you in, but hey! At least he wasn’t going to leave a bruise.
Directing you down a narrow alley, the Mandalorian stops in front of a tan-colored, generic shield door. He raps twice on it, standing casually still. If he feels you shaking, he says nothing about it.
A Yaka man is standing behind the door when it opens with a whoosh. His metal implants reflect the sun and you squint. Behind him are another two Yaka and a particularly menacing-looking Zabrak, all armed with pulse rifles.
“We ain't buyin'," he slurs.
“I'm here to claim the slave reward.”
The Yaka stares at the impenetrable, T-shaped slit in the silver helmet, scrutinizing, before stepping aside. Mando guides you ahead of him, then you hear the spur-like sound of his step over the threshold. The close quarters are sweltering, and sweat beads on your temple.
“This way,” the Yaka servant veers to the right and up a steeply inclined hallway. The other members of the security team follow behind you.
The Mandalorian’s thumb slides over your skin. You would give it more thought if a wide, dingy room wasn’t quickly coming into view.
On the second floor, a muted, sparsely furnished area overlooks the residence across the street, and the beach beyond. However, you can’t see the view because the balcony is being taken up by a massive, blob-like shape, and a tall, spiky silhouette.
“Ahh,” the huge shape speaks, and for the first time in your life, you’re thankful you speak Huttese. “What is this?”
Bowing, the Yaka guard explains, “This Mandalorian has returned a loose slave.”
He grabs for your arm, but you lurch when Mando pulls you out of reach, warning, “Careful. She killed her master before fleeing."
The bodyguard recoils as though you personally threatened him. He steps away, waiting for actual instruction from his boss. The green Rodian next to Salaa tuts in his sour voice.
Deciding it was best not to speak, you raise your chin with dignity as Mando drops his hand from your arm.
“Why do you return her here?” Salaa the Hutt inquires. “Surely you know that I have been removed from my associations. Including the slavers.”
“I am here for information,” Mando drops the ruse completely, his voice calm.
“Information,” the Hutt laughs horribly. “I have much of that, pateesa. What do you wish to know?”
“You should ask what I have to trade first.”
“Hmm. You do not wish to trade the girl, I hope. Must be better than that,” the slimy giant slug laughs derisively.
You don’t even bristle. Worse things had been said to you daily.
The green, mohawked Rodian chuckles. Though you do not understand his language, the human bounty hunter does: “She is too sad-looking to be any fun. Pity.” The reptilian-looking male then makes a vile comment about what he can see through your ratty, loose clothing.
The Mandalorian's eyes narrow, and his right hand drifts toward his hip of its own accord.
“Make your offer, Mandalorian.”
“If you provide the information I need, I won’t claim the ten-thousand-credit bounty on your head.”
That horrible, bulging laugh bursts from the ex-crime boss once more, hurting your ears in its pitch and volume.
“Far too aggressive, Mandalorian. I decline.”
Salaa’s stubby arm motions at the armed security who raise their rifles at the two of you.
While you freeze in terror, the Mandalorian stills in focus. Faster than a hyperdrive, he clenches his fist. Miniature rockets whistle through the tense air, eliminating all three bodyguards; the angry Zabrak, the mouthy Rodian, and the blubbery Salaa remain.
The Mandalorian draws his blaster, pushing you behind him, and fires from his hip as the Zabrak guard begins to raise his modified arm. What type of weapon it held, you’ll never know because he falls to the ground, dead, before he can use it.
The Rodian darts away from Salaa, circling the room. To you, it seems as though he is intending to flee, not fight, but the Mandalorian fires a laserblast at his bug-eyed head, dropping him.
Mando calmly swivels his blaster to Salaa.
Resigned, the Hutt slimily states, “Ask what you wish to know, pateesa.”
“I have been told that you have seen another Mandalorian. Where?”
“Ahh, that is all? I have seen one here.”
“On Niamos?” So surprised, Mando forgets to keep the tone from his voice.
“A beskar-covered man does not go unnoticed on a planet filled with water-bathers,” Salaa laughs again. You visibly wince.
“Where?”
“Where else? Water’s Edge.”
Mando twists his head toward the opposite window as if he could see his fellow Mandalorian from here. He holsters his weapon and turns to leave.
“Those Yaka were expensive guards, pateesa,” the Hutt grumbles ominously.
“You paid too much.”
He returns his hold on your arm, pushing you forward. Marching awkwardly down the sloping halfway, you try to make sense of his actions.
Your face screws up in confusion, “You didn’t turn me in or claim the Hutt’s bounty. You're earning no credits.”
That’s the defining feature of a bounty hunter.
The silence lengthens as you reach the ground floor, and hurriedly exit the sandstone building. As you soak in the blistering sunshine, the hand on your arm turns you to face him. The Mandalorian’s quick fingers remove your binders.
“That’s it?” You rub your wrists even though he had left them on the loosest setting.
“Passage for assistance,” he reminds you.
He then nods once and takes his leave. For an interminable length of time, you watch as he calmly walks away, breaking only when he turns down an alley and is lost from sight.
What the hell do I do now?
__________________________________
The new day is growing late. Din Djarin basks in the heat of the single sun. For being one of those odd planets without plural light sources, the strength of the lone sun is incredible. Din much preferred the scorching, arid planets to the ice-covered ones, and Niamos is perfect. The breeze gently carries through his light flight suit, while the sun warms whatever dark material is visible around the beskar.
While Din feels more comfortable in this climate, heat signatures can be a little bit more difficult to read. He had managed to track a faint heat signature around Water’s Edge. The day before, immediately after speaking with Salaa, Din had come to check the place out, but his quarry had left some hours previously and he had lost the trail.
Din enters the establishment for the second time in as many days. Inside is a large, open floor with dining tables set out across the expanse. High society clinks glasses as they wait for the next act to grace the small stage. Din surveys the room, switching between heat sensors and normal vision, before concluding that the Mandalorian he searches for is beyond the far wall.
Heads turn and stare as Din, strutting as if he belongs, makes his way to the unobtrusive doorway next to the stage. A Mandalorian stands out here. This was a place for people who employed bounty hunters, not those whom they hunt. Din slides the door open, and he is greeted by a dark hallway.
Light spills from a room to his right. Din flips on his heat sensor again, and presses his lips together in satisfaction when the heat signature picks up.
Rounding into the room with confidence, Din observes everything at once.
A large mirror, complete with lights, sits above a desk. A rack of clothing stands lonely in the far corner. And on a stool in front of the mirror sits a Mandalorian, their flaky, blue-painted armor having seen better days.
“My name is Din Djarin,” he announces. “I have been tasked with finding other Mandalorians in order t-”
“Oh, my stars!” The Mandalorian squeals. The helmet is removed by purple hands, and a humanoid species stares in awe. “I’ve always wanted to meet a Mandalorian. I- I do this character because I just love your culture so much.”
Blinking behind his helm, Din confirms what he's already becoming sure of, “That armor you wear - it is not real beskar.”
“What? This stuff?” The actor scoffs. “This is expensive paint and cheap wetboard.” He stands up, advancing unwisely on the real Mandalorian. “Can I ask you some questions? I’ve got a real opportunity here to elevate my perfor-”
Din backs out of the room in a single, fluid motion, punching the button for the door.
He sighs.
***
A blaster shot turns the corner of the building Din had just walked past into dust and debris. He spins, drawing his own blaster, expecting to see the Empire itself. Instead, a young human bounty hunter stands there, nervously fumbling with her jammed blaster. The Mandalorian rushes her, pinning her by the collarbone against the alley wall.
"Bounty?”
Terrified, she nods and whispers, “Yes.”
"Who contracted it?"
She wheezes from under Din’s forearm, “Don't know. It's open Rim-wide for now. Just told to kill you and the girl.”
Under his helm, Din’s brow pinches. “The girl?”
The wide-eyed woman shrugs, again in the dark. If this inexperienced bounty hunter managed to track him down already, it's likely another has found you. Din releases the woman roughly and rockets up into the sky.
_______________________________
The sights and sounds of the beach are incredible. The late-daylight is deliciously warm as it touches your skin through the holes in your clothing. You sit on the top step of the tiered beach area, staring out at the water as you try to come up with a plan of action. Having slept on a lounge chair last night, you’re nearly grateful for the decades of poor lodging training your body.
The sky is hazy, but the flash of sunlight glinting off of something tiny flying far above has you twisting your head and squinting. Unable to make out the object, you return your attention to the ocean and ignore it.
From behind you, a voice calls your name and you automatically turn.
As you stare down the barrel of the blaster pointed at you, you remember no one should know your name here.
"Let's go," the bounty hunter tells you.
It's a woman with red skin and long, blue, braided hair. Etches in her cheeks make her bone structure look even sharper.
You frown. What you’d told the Mandalorian had already been proven correct. You weren't able to run.
Resignedly standing to your feet, you take a step, but go stumbling forward as the woman kicks your back.
Your second foreign emotion of the last twenty-four hours sparks in your chest, glowing as hot as the sun above.
"Hey! I was going," you glare.
"Move faster, scum," she orders.
You continue walking, your eyes scanning for something, anything, to get you out of this.
Ahead on the right is a large crowd of vendors and their customers. If you can duck through them, maybe you can lose the blue-haired madwoman behind you.
A cold, circular shape presses between your shoulder blades as you march, and your bravery starts to fail. If you make a single wrong move, you'll be shot before you even get to the crowd.
Just do it - better to die now than live as a slave.
The crowd swells as a school trip pours out from a nearby museum. Your confidence rises at the sight of the increasingly busy, confusing horde.
Closer. So kriffing close.
The female bounty hunter cries out suddenly as a blaster shot scalds her arm. She defensively spins, kicking out powerfully behind her.
A large species you're unfamiliar with, tall and teal, is thrown sideways with the force of the kick. The competing bounty hunter recovers into a crouch and shoots at your captor, hitting her in the chest.
With a violent exhale, she falls. Too busy sprinting into the crowd, you do not hear her final, pathetic breath.
Weaving, keeping ducked and hidden, you whisper a constant stream of 'excuse me.' You don't want to push anyone, knowing a reaction from an offended beach-goer could give away your position.
The unblinking bounty hunter, your newest enemy, stands tall above much of the crowd, and it doesn't take him long to spot your trail.
Thundering forward, happily shoving people you had so politely passed, he roars. Fear ices your stomach.
The sound of a sputtering jetpack drowns out the noise of the people. Never breaking stride, you search for the source of another bounty hunter.
I know I’m a runaway slave who assaulted her master before turning him into a carbonsicle but, banthashit, is the price on my head really that high?
The massive hunter gains on you, and just as you clear the other side of the crowd, you gasp, pained, when he snatches your hair. You whirl, packing all of your strength into your right fist. Your blow lands on the creature’s lower jaw, which seems to be two pink tubes, and it wails grotesquely.
The grip on your hair loosens and you rip away, but the much larger creature lunges for you again. It pulls you upward by your shirt this time, and you scream. Kicking out, your foot knocks a breath from the ugly bounty hunter, but it does not release you.
Staring at you with shallow black eyes, it speaks in a language you don’t understand, but the intonation is clearly a question.
Gasping, you boldly say, “Let go of me and I’ll tell you.”
The creature seems to understand Basic because his three-fingered hand leaves your shirt.
Before you get a chance to make up a lie, the hulking bounty hunter vanishes in a flash of silver. Your head snaps in the direction of travel, and a trail of exhaust follows.
A hundred yards away, the jetpack flares out and the two fall to the ground in a tumble of fighting. A strangled laugh exits your mouth.
From bigger fish to bigger fish. Eventually the biggest fish would win and come after you.
The sound of the ugly creature roaring ends abruptly with a choked grunt. You push your legs hard as you run. The doorway to a cantina catches your eye as an intoxicated human stumbles out, and you rush past him.
Inside the dark, clamorous, smoky business, you slide into the booth furthest from the door, hoping that neither hunter saw you duck in. Panting heavily, you tell the droid waitress you’d like a bit of spotchka. You’ve never had it, but you’ve seen how relaxed and brave it makes people and that sounds wonderful right about now.
The circular cantina door slides open and the silhouette of a tall, broad Mandalorian is outlined by the glaring sun. You can’t tell what color or condition his armor is in, but your stomach clenches all the same. It had been an entire revolution of the planet since your Mandalorian had left, so it can't be him.
Wonder if he found his friend, you think about his ten-thousand-credit question for the Hutt. Must’ve been quite a reunion if it was worth that much.
Shrinking back against the wall of your booth, you shift completely out of sight and pray to whatever Ancient is listening that the stories about their helmets’ capabilities are exaggerations.
The droid waitress sets your pretty blue drink on the table without comment, for which you’re grateful. You don’t think your voice works.
Clinking metal is audible despite the volume of the rowdy bar. The sound gradually grows louder as he approaches your booth.
“What are you doing?” The Mandalorian has his hands on his hips, and though you cannot see his face, you’re certain he looks like a disapproving parent.
“I- what?” You squeak, completely confused by his question. And why he's here.
He moves to sit down across from you, and your nerves flare.
“Why are you still here?” He asks the same question you want to ask him.
“Where was I supposed to go? I have no credits.”
“There is work available on this planet.”
You pause, unhappy to give away just how out of your depth you are, “You mean paid employment? I’m not familiar with the process."
The Mandalorian doesn’t speak, he simply stares at you until you break your stare first.
Looking down at the grimy table, you trace a piece of graffiti with your finger and whisper, “Thank you.”
Mando shifts his head in askance.
“For saving me from the slave hunter.”
“He wasn’t a slave hunter.” Mando’s helmet tips down to where the bright blue liquid sits on the table. “You going to drink that?”
You shake your head, too self-conscious now.
“Good.”
He slides out from the booth and motions for you to walk ahead of him.
________________________________
Standing in the bay of the Mandalorian’s ship once more, you engage in a staring contest with the little green baby as it sits on the floor. Its ears move like he’s listening to Mando speak on his holocall above in the cockpit, but its eyes remain on you.
You’ve always liked children. While they could be blunt, they were kind to you and other slaves because they hadn’t yet learned any differently.
“How old are you?” You ask softly.
In your experience, children prefer to be spoken to as one would an adult, so you refrain from the baby-voice that springs to the surface when you look at the adorable infant.
He tilts his ears toward you.
“You’re pretty cute." The baby coos, then babbles once.
“You really are cute. And you seem highly intelligent. Have you been with the Mandalorian long? He seems to pick up strays easily,” you smile warmly.
The child awkwardly gets to its feet, toddling toward you. Remembering how quickly Mando had taken the child away when it last interacted with you, you slowly move backward toward the ladder. You don’t know if it's dangerous. Maybe the cuteness is a front.
A gurgling noise, as if it’s trying to tell you something, breaks from its little mouth. He raises his hand, pointing, and you whirl.
The Mandalorian is but a few feet away, watching.
How the kark did he get down the ladder so quietly?
“I’m sorry,” you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.
Mando strides around you and crouches to pick up the baby, “We're leaving this planet. I won't have enough fuel to get across the galaxy, but there is a job a few systems over."
He cradles the child so gently that it makes your heart ache.
Who is this guy?
The child in his arms makes grabby hands at his helmet, so he tenderly sets it back down. Mando heads back toward the cockpit, indicating you should follow.
Up the ladder, sitting once again in the same seat, you keep your eyes on the Mandalorian as he begins the lengthy takeoff procedures.
“The bounty hunter you encountered was not after the slave reward.”
“But she knew my name?”
“I am referring to the Aqualish you punched.”
“Oh.”
The Mandalorian does not immediately continue, focusing on his tasks for several minutes.
“There is a reward out for you,” he flips another switch. “And a bounty.”
“Both? Why both?”
“The bounty is secondary. Dependant on you giving them m-”
A panicked, childish cry echoes from below, and you’re only a moment behind the Mandalorian as he leaps down the hatch to the hold.
You gasp in horror as you see the long-eared, big-eyed baby squished in the crook of another kriffing bounty hunter’s arm. The loading ramp closes slowly behind him. He must’ve jumped in at the last moment.
Mando raises his hands, indicating his desire to negotiate.
“Do not hurt him,” he says. Instead of coming out as a plea, his vocoded words come out as a warning that makes your hair stand on end.
“Din Djarin, you are wanted for the murder of Senator Nesota’s son. I know your reputation, and therefore do not wish to fight. I’ll release your… this," he nods at the green baby, "when you’re in carbonite. There,” the human bounty hunter nods his head at Din’s own carbon freezer.
He killed a Senator’s kid?
The child frowns, his ears drooping, and he focuses hard on the bounty hunter. His little hand curls, and the man’s ruddy face turns purple. His eyes grow red and glassy.
Din reacts quickly, drawing his blaster and firing at the hunter’s face. The man falls with a clattering thunk, and the child rolls away, unmoving.
“No," you cry. "Is he alright?” You start toward the kid, fear in your voice.
“He’s fine,” the Mandalorian replies, holding his palm up for you to stay back. He reverently lifts the unconscious kid. “He’s just asleep.”
The Mandalorian - Din Djarin - murdered an important person’s child. And his own kid just choked someone without using its hands? I didn’t inhale spice, did I?
“You killed a kid?”
Din believes you’re still thinking of the baby in his arms. “I said he’s sleeping.”
“A Senator’s son?”
“Oh. Yes, the Rodian with Salaa.” Din hadn’t known he was the son of a powerful person, but it wouldn’t have mattered.
Relief floods you once again as your evaluation of the Mandalorian’s character remains intact. After seeing the way he cared for the little green one, how could you have believed he would harm any child?
“Okay." You return to the wildest topic, "What just happened with your kid?”
Din sighs. This was getting more dangerous than negotiating with a Tusken. He places the kid in his hammock and shuts the door.
Turning on you, he threatens, “Never speak of him outside this ship.”
“I- I wouldn’t,” you promise, surprised by the fierceness in his voice.
Din is satisfied. He’d watched you speak to his ward earlier, and the kid seems to like you immensely. But he doesn't solely rely on the kid's opinion.
The experienced, Mandalorian bounty hunter's own character assessment is top-notch, and he finds that he feels strongly about you. He doesn't categorize or identify the specifics, however.
The Mandalorian does not ask for your help in removing the dead bounty hunter from his ship, so you look on in silence as he does it alone. He lowers the landing ramp, drags the body to the edge, and watches it roll down unceremoniously. He turns and stalks past you.
“So, where's that job?”
“The Outer Rim.”
You sigh. “Of course it is.”
__________________________________
The planet blinds you when the Razor Crest launches out of hyperdrive. Brilliantly green, the single sun reflects the vibrant landscape right into your eyes.
Shielding your face, you venture a question. The Mandalorian had not finished explaining.
"Why is there a bounty on me?"
Even through the modulator, you can hear his dry tone: "You aided a bounty hunter in entering the Hutt's hideout through false pretenses which ended in the blasting of a Senator's son."
"Right," you frown, slumping in your seat.
"Don't worry. The bounty on my head is far larger than yours."
You scoff under your breath. So reassuring.
A deep breath, then you postulate, "Is that what the bounty hunter was asking me? About you?"
Din doesn't respond. He didn't hear the Aqualish's question. He was too busy aiming at its body with his own, but his best guess is yes.
"That's the reason you saved me," you mutter, oddly dejected.
A loose end. That's what you are.
Din often - almost constantly, actually - appreciated his helmet for the freedom it gave him to show any emotion at any time. No need to worry about a convincing poker face when no one could see it.
"You could have told them where my ship was."
"Except I thought you'd flown away the day before," you argue, saddened that he thought you would’ve talked.
Of course, he didn't know you, and he had a child to protect, but it still stings.
"Why not just kill me?" You wonder seriously.
You're a liability. Two separate prices on your head? The Mandalorian's easiest solution is obvious. A slave of no importance, no one would put a bounty on his head for your death.
Din Djarin's armor clanks as he spins the chair a quarter-turn toward you and he cocks his head.
"I don't want to die," you read his body language correctly. "But I don't understand you."
The Mandalorian silently returns to his piloting duties as he nears the lush planet. He does his best to shut his thoughts away, but he stumbles over you again and again.
Din had rescued you because he didn’t want to see you harmed for his actions with the Hutt. The idea of protecting himself from prying questions had been an afterthought.
He had flown above the city, looking for your trail. Since you hadn’t moved much, there wasn’t much of a trail to find. Then he spotted the crowd roiling and parting for the violent Aqualish.
When he watched it yank your hair, he felt angry. An emotion he experienced less frequently than many of his friends would believe. Frustration, irritation, sure. But true fury was rare for him.
Not wanting you dead was basic decency, but the anger had been interesting.
On some level, Din knows his emotional responses to you deserve greater scrutiny. But he doesn't have the time nor the energy.
When the Razor Crest lands in a grassy clearing between forest walls, Din rises from his chair and commands, “Stay here. Watch the child.”
“O-okay,” you agree hesitantly. “What do I do when he wakes up?”
The Mandalorian stares, uncomprehending.
“You… you don’t do anything for his… condition?”
“I told you he’s fine.” Din thinks for a moment, and remembers there is actually something you should know: “When he wakes up, he might be hungry. Do not let him eat the metal ball on the thruster.”
With that, he climbs down the ladder, and out of sight.
_________________________________
As the fist flies at you, you subconsciously register that your assailant must be right-handed, because this left hook is much sloppier than the other. Or maybe it's because his left arm is still human.
Ducking, you escape the jab and slam your palm-sized stick into the quarry's metal shins. He doesn’t react except to kick your thigh. You cry out, knowing it will bruise if you survive this.
The blaster you had taken from the Mandalorian’s cache lies just out of reach. The silver gleam is stark against the rich soil of the forest floor.
Enraged, the cyborg quarry leaps at your hunched form, knocking you flat. Surprised by his speed, you forget to keep hold of the heavy branch you use as a weapon.
The growling man rips the stick from your hands and slams it against your throat like a vise, choking you, “Die, wretch.”
You turn your head to the side, providing yourself with a precious moment of air before the quarry shifts to cut that escape route off, too.
Swinging your leg up, you kick him in the back of the head, pushing him forward. You take the opportunity to headbutt him - thankful that his head is still completely human - and he falls sideways. Right next to your blaster.
You snatch up your wooden weapon, but it's too late.
He laughs mechanically as he grabs the blaster, swinging it at you. “Too late, sweetheart.”
Panting, you don't raise your hands. If he's going to kill you, he'll do it when you charge him.
You take a step and the sound of a laserblast ricochets through the trees.
The creature cries out, dropping the weapon, his arm useless at his side. Wires spark from the elbow joint that had been blown away.
"Found you," the Mandalorian says flatly, his blaster pointed at the machine.
The metal man lunges but Din fires again - hitting the quarry in what should be its gut. It doubles over, groaning, then topples, fighting for labored breath.
He must still have lungs underneath, you shudder.
Still trying to catch your own breath, you gasp, "How-"
"Heard the fight. You were supposed to stay on the ship," his voice turns scolding.
Clenching your jaw, you finally find a steady breath. You had stayed on the ship. This piece of space junk had broken inside through the cockpit window.
As you sat in the hold, dutifully watching the kid, the sound of glass shattering alerted you that it was not Din who was back so soon. You had snatched up the baby, touching him for the first time with no concern about his potential dangers, locked him in the little room, and ripped a small blaster from the Razor Crest’s weapons cache.
You crouched at the far end of the hold, against the closed boarding ramp, waiting, uncomfortably far from the child.
A cyborg, more spidery-droid than man, with a human head and fleshy left arm had come skittering down, bypassing the ladder completely. Unwilling to chance a blaster shot going through the baby’s door, you hit the button on the landing ramp and scrambled out.
The forest. It was your home. Your element. If there was any chance you could kill it, to prove to yourself that you could survive this life - it was then and there.
Of course, you hadn't expected the quarry to get your blaster.
"I tried," you breathe as Din binds the still-groaning quarry.
The helmet turns to face you, understanding. "He entered the ship?”
You nod, and Din stands bolt-upright, his head whipping in the direction of the Razor Crest.
“It’s fine,” you assure him pointedly, walking with your hand outstretched toward the worried Mandalorian. You remember your promise not to speak of the child, “Your ship is fine. Knew you'd hate it if he trashed the thing, so I ran out here.”
The Mandalorian visibly relaxes his broad shoulders, and your heart tugs once again.
"Thank you," Din says with hidden feeling.
His sincerity wedges a lump in your throat.
He really loves that little guy.
Din turns and snatches the connector between the binders, pulling the quarry. Its metal feet dig trenches as it tries to stall, but the Mandalorian is far too strong.
Somehow, it's the first time you've truly noticed. Din is extremely strong. Is it the suit?
Can't be. It's just metal and fabric.
The realization might as well be a thunderbolt to your brain. Your assailant must weigh as much as a land speeder, and here your bounty hunter was carting him along like a sack of starfruit.
An unfamiliar feeling, something like hot, sharp sparks shoot through your stomach. Your eyes follow the Mandalorian as he makes his way back to the Razor Crest.
Is this attraction? You’ve never experienced it. Far too busy surviving, wanting someone in that way is a foreign concept to you. You roll your eyes at yourself. Din Djarin, a kriffing Mandalorian bounty hunter is not going to look twice at a slave, and it's best to kill those feelings before they take root.
***
Across the large clearing, at the ship, the bounty hunter waits patiently while the boarding ramp lowers.
“She yours?” The quarry asks curiously, his voice wheezing. "You orbited me like a karking moon, but as soon as I go after her, you come runnin’.” It laughs.
The cyborg doesn't expect a verbal answer; he wants a reaction.
Din turns his head slowly with a cold warning, “I would advise you to stop speaking.”
“I damaged her pretty good for you. Might wanna che-” his taunting words end in a pained grunt when Din slams his fist into the man’s cruel mouth.
Surprised by the sudden violence, you inhale sharply. Din hadn’t knocked the thing unconscious, so what was the point of that?
The Mandalorian hauls the creature up the ramp and shoves him into the carbon freezer.
“Should’ve killed me,” the cyborg threatens with a laugh as he freezes into a solid mass.
Din turns to face you and asks in a low voice, “Are you injured?”
The rush of adrenaline you had been riding on slowly fades, and you remember the only blow you’d received had been the one to the side of your thigh. Your hand falls to it, feeling the area through your tattered pants.
A small amount of blood comes away on your fingers.
“Oh,” you murmur.
You pull up the ripped, baggy material, exposing your entire leg. The skin had split with the force of the blow, but there’s no serious damage and it would heal on its own.
The cyborg must’ve been trying to unnerve us. Or distract the Mandalorian? Maybe he thought Din would check right away, you almost laugh aloud at the ridiculous idea.
Din, for his part, really wishes you would let your pant leg fall. It’s insane, it makes no sense to him. Millions of people walked around in far, far less clothing than you, and Din never reacted like this.
But here you stand before him, slowly checking out the inch-long cut on your mid-thigh, and the Mandalorian can’t tear his eyes away.
When you look up at the helmet of Din Djarin, he fixes his face as though you could actually see the way his lips had parted. You fleetingly, timidly, smile at him and, miraculously, let go of the flowy pant leg.
Released from the spell, Din exhales and makes his way to the child’s room.
“You can use the refresher to clean that, if you’d like.” He does not look at you as he speaks.
“Is the baby okay?”
Din need not answer as the child himself murmurs in happiness at the sight of the two of you. To Din’s abject shock, the kid lifts his hands toward you.
You laugh once, flattered. “Can I?”
Din simply turns sideways so that you can fit between him and the hull wall. You reach for the child and it snuggles into your arms, touching your chin.
A brilliant smile lights your face.
“Are we friends now?” You whisper to him.
The baby babbles a response you’ll take as an affirmative.
“I’ve not asked. What’s his name?” You turn your still-smiling face up to Din.
Again thanking the Mythosaur for his helmet, he stares, stuck on your glowing expression as you cradle his ward. His brown eyes swim with an emotion he’s never felt.
“I don't know.”
Taken aback, you realize that there is a far deeper story here.
Did he steal this baby?
You move on quickly, “What do you call him?”
Din shrugs. “Kid.”
The child makes a cooing sound, then reaches for the Mandalorian. You hand the baby to his stoic guardian, and your smile changes to a satisfied one.
“He looks like he belongs there,” you laugh. Then your eyebrows pull together as you regret the too-comfortable comment.
He’s a bounty hunter, a killer, and he may or may not have stolen this fuzzy, long-eared infant.
And you’re just a runaway slave.
You back up a step, feeling awkward now. “You said I could use the ‘fresher?”
Din simply nods his head in the direction of the tiny facility.
When you've shut the door, Din's body relaxes.
***
But not for long. He didn't account for the sound of your clothes hitting the floor and the sound of the sonics. You are steps away, unclothed, and some wild instinct inside him awakens. Ashamed, he sets the child back in the hammock and climbs up to the cockpit to relieve himself.
_________________________________
The planet is purple. Dark and cloudy, the yellow, green, and blue street lights cast strange shadows. Neon signs of every shade flash from every corner. You've been to thousands of cities like this one. An underworld.
The Mandalorian landed the Razor Crest on the outskirts despite there being a busy spaceport made for that purpose. He transported the carbonite body of the cyborg to the edge of the city where he was met by some anonymous creature in a cloak. He asked no questions.
Din had entrusted you with the care of the child. He directed you and the kid to go on ahead to one of the less-reputable inns. The worse-looking, the better. People were more likely to mind their business.
You've found the perfect one. Din wanted seedy, he was getting the seediest. After all, most of your tasks as a slave had been spent in this environment since your masters hated to be seen in them.
But seedy didn't always mean crumbling and derelict.
Din, having tracked the child's chain code, returns later that night. His eyebrows rise at the size of the room.
"I said find an inconspicuous place to hide. You got the emperor's suite," he places his hands on his hips.
There are technically three rooms: the main living space, complete with couch, table, and a space to prepare food; and two small bedrooms both on the same side of the building.
"It was their only available room. Trust me, this place is as disreputable as they come. And he didn't upcharge," you rise from the couch. "If that was what you were worried about. I… made a deal with the clerk."
Din advances on you, "A deal?" His voice is tight.
"I didn’t involve you. I promise."
The Mandalorian clenches his teeth. Anything involving you, involves him.
"The kid?"
You tilt your chin across the apartment and laugh, "He wanted the room with all the toys.”
Din disappears into the room, and you chuckle at how long the child had been fascinated by the weird sculptures inside.
A low, rasping voice travels from the open door, "Hey, kid. Missed you, too."
Your smile deepens and your heart swells with emotion toward the two of them. Though they are not your family, it's comforting to watch them be one.
The modulated voice sounds again with a short laugh, "She can't hear you. Do you want her?"
You shake your head fondly, the kid had been babbling and reaching for you every time you set him down.
After a significant pause, Din softly admits, "I agree. I like her, too."
Flushing with shame for eavesdropping, you move to the far side of the apartment, to another large window.
Several minutes later, quiet footsteps get louder as Din leaves the child's room and closes the door.
"He tried to lift one of the sculptures," Din scoffs.
You laugh, picturing the child peacefully sleeping after tiring himself with the effort. It wasn't the first time today. Growing serious, you turn to face the Mandalorian.
"He helped me today. Someone grabbed at me and he… did what he does."
Din takes two huge strides toward you. "Did anyone see? What happened?"
"No one saw. It was in a closed alley. I-" you pause in momentary reluctance, then remember who you're talking to. "I took care of it."
You glance at the blaster on the table that Din had given you earlier that morning.
For the first time in a long time, Din's sigh is one of relief instead of irritation.
"Thank you," he says. "Again."
You wave him off, "It was between a scumsucker and the kid. Wasn't exactly hard," you try to make light of it.
Din shakes his head slightly. "I've seen you use a blaster. I'm glad the kid was there," he deadpans.
You exhale in feigned irritation, pleased by his playfulness.
He comes to stand next to you at the open window, and the peaceful silence is companionable.
As the breeze flutters, you shiver noticeably and his torn, rough cape curls into your ankle. The Mandalorian turns his head to you and reads how low your heat signature is.
Din stalks back to the entryway where he had set down a cloth bag. He snatches it up and brings it over to you.
"I hope they are acceptable."
Hands outstretched, you freeze as you realize you're being given a gift. You blink and look up, desperately trying to read a face you know you can't.
"Um, I've never -" you whisper, needing to tell him why you look like you've been struck. "Never had someone give me something."
Inside his beskar armor, Din grimaces. Had he overstepped? It might get even worse when you see how personal the items are.
He releases his hold on the bag and you open it, pulling out a pair of clothes. They're dark blue, and, while somewhat flowy like your current clothes, these do not have holes, stains, nor bad memories associated.
And they are a gift from Din Djarin.
How do you thank him for these? They certainly weren't cheap. The clothing is sturdy but light, beautiful but practical.
Embarrassingly, tears collect in your eyes.
"Oh, wow," you look up at him, panicking. "I can't take these." It was too much.
Din has an excuse in his arsenal.
"Take it as payment for your help with the kid."
You look back down at the material in your hands, rubbing the soft fabric.
"Thank you, Din. Really. I- I don't know how to thank you. You have been so kind to me."
His cheek pulls upward when you say his name for the first time. How sweet it sounds in your mouth.
"You needed them. These," he waves at the shredded scraps on your frame, "are no longer clothes."
You smile timidly, unused to being treated so well. "I'm going to go take them off and burn them."
The Mandalorian taps his vambrace. "I have the means when you're ready."
"Thank you again," you murmur, escaping to the refresher.
Din steps to the center of the room and places a hologram disk on the low table.
While you're busy, he's going to figure out how to get out of this.
***
After an actual shower, real water loosening the knots in your muscles, you exhale in pleasure at the feeling of the clean, well-made clothing on your skin. You feel like a person.
It's similar to seeing hyperspace for the first time. It scares you with how good it feels, knowing you’ve missed out on so much.
You slide open the refresher door to see Din seated on the couch, facing away from you. He sits reclined, his legs spread wide. The Mandalorian hears the door open, but he does not turn.
Stomach growling, you head to the cold storage near the front door. The box of food you'd bought from a vendor sits on the countertop. You unpack it carefully, still in disbelief you can eat whatever you want.
"Are you hungry?" You call to the Mandalorian as you continue to pull items from the box.
"You are no longer a slave. You do not have to serve me." The deep, rough voice sounds from right behind you, and you jump in surprise.
"Dank farrik, you move quietly."
Din reaches around you for one of the fruits you had purchased with his credits. His nearness has your body tensing, but he backs away almost immediately.
"How do you eat with that on?" You wonder, clearly meaning his helmet.
"I don't," he answers, walking into the other bedroom.
***
A week passes in that calm hotel apartment. The child provided more than enough entertainment for you, attempting to lift different objects of his desire at random.
For Din, so used to the child's antics, you are the object of his attention. You brush it off when he stands near you at the window, when he ensures that you have something to eat, and when he silently takes the couch over the comfortable bed.
But you're unable to ignore his touch.
Just after you wake, the dual suns begin to peek around the tall city buildings. Trying not to wake Din on the couch, you tiptoe to the window in the main room, still enthralled with the city view. You’ve seen cities thousands of times throughout your enslavement, often imagining running away to explore. Now that you have the opportunity, you find that you don’t want to go.
Seated on the bare floor, your arms wrapped around your knees as you watch the suns rise, you're wandering down halls of your own thoughts when a voice drifts into your consciousness.
"I will get your bounty lifted."
Turning your head, Din leans forward on the couch, his forearms on his knees.
"If that's what you are concerned about."
You shake your head, "I'm not concerned. I think I'm happy."
You had just come to that conclusion a moment earlier. It's an emotion you don't remember feeling. It's like your lungs are expanding after twenty years of suffocation.
You look back at the city and smile contentedly, "This is the best my life has been."
The admission is extremely personal, but you can’t keep it to yourself. It’s liberating. You weren't ready to fight for your freedom when the Mandalorian came for your master, but you are now.
Din’s footsteps advance on you until he’s standing off to your right. He says nothing.
After an interminable length of time, wondering what he’s doing, you twist and look up at him. His helmet turns toward the window just as you face him.
His hands are folded behind him, but a sliver of something flesh-toned is visible.
Is that his wrist?
Your stomach drops. His bare skin. It looks warm-toned and soft. You close your eyes and turn away, back toward the window.
“I am glad,” Din says.
“About what?” Since it has been several minutes since either of you have spoken, you’re unsure if he’s responding or making a statement.
He simply looks back down at you as if that answers your question.
“We’ll be leaving today,” Din continues to study you, appreciating the way the orange dawn lights your face. “You’ve almost drained me of credits with this palace of a hotel.”
You deny the accusation with a laugh, “I did not. I told you I made a deal.”
“And you have not told me what that deal was,” he says, a hint of a threat in his tone.
Din is on edge about your ‘deal.’ The night before, he had gone down to the reception desk to intimidate the clerk about it, but the employee you’d dealt with hadn’t been there.
“I promised you already - it has nothing to do with you or him,” you motion toward the child’s room. “It is not worth your attention.”
Din scowls. “You are also under my charge, and if you’ve placed yourself in danger, I need to be aware of it.”
Your face snaps up, uselessly trying to make eye contact with him. His charge? Why does your face feel hot at those words?
Finally taking pity on him, you answer, “He was a gambler. I bet him I could win more rounds of sabacc. And I did.”
The Mandalorian is stock-still. That was all? Din had gotten incredibly worked up over what you could possibly owe this mysterious desk clerk, and all you’d done was a bit of hustling?
“Why would you not tell me that right away?”
“I didn’t want to seem like I was bragging,” you frown. Din had tasked you with something and you had wanted to complete it with as little fanfare as possible.
“What other skills have you been hiding?” Din’s tone is half-mocking, half-serious. He knows next to nothing about you despite the monopoly you’ve had on his thoughts.
You side-eye him, unsure of his intention. “I can do basic ship repairs. I can speak four languages. I know how to fight.”
“I am not convinced of that last one.”
“The cyborg caught me on a bad day,” you protest.
"It was fortunate you were not seriously injured. I wouldn't have the credits for this," he nods his head up at the high ceiling.
For the second time, your head turns to scrutinize him, but he’s as impenetrable as ever.
"Why not?"
Din's silver face snaps down to you. "The quarry would not have made it into the carbon freezer."
And as you open your mouth - to say what, you have no idea - a quiet knock raps on the front door.
Spooked, you whirl so that you face the door, still seated.
“It’s alright,” Din’s deep, rough voice soothes.
When he holds out his hand to help you stand, you take it without second thought.
But it wasn’t just a hint of his wrist that you saw - his gloves are completely off. His rough palm slides into your grasp, and his thick fingers close around your hand.
Eyes widening, you audibly gasp.
Din raises you to your feet with no effort, and you wind up far too close to him. Your breath fogs on his chestplate, and your pulse thrums in your ears.
Too-quickly, his thumb rubs your skin, and then he releases your hand. Do you imagine the sigh he makes as he steps away?
Your eyes are glued to his broad form as he retrieves his gloves from the couch, then heads to answer the door.
“Should I -?” You whisper.
“Stay,” he says simply.
It’s unbelievable how one word could affect you. You swallow hard and clasp your hands together in front of you.
***
“As you are well aware, Mandalorian, my esteemed patron was unhappy to hear about her son’s death. However, you are of concern to us for a different reason. If we are able to reward you for your silence regarding where her son was at the time of his unfortunate, accidental death, this business might be put behind us.”
The slimeball flashes her biggest smile at the bounty hunter.
“What am I being paid to be silent about? The Hutt was banished by the Republic due to his slavery connections. Is the Senator afraid of her choice in friends being known?”
The emissary smiles nastily. “Let us say that the Hutt is also on my list of individuals to speak with.”
“I require explicit terms regarding this agreement. I am a Mandalorian, I can assure you of my discretion.”
“Very well. You will not divulge the conversation regarding slavery you overheard between the Senator’s son and Salaa the Hutt, and we shall reward you with twenty-thousand credits to be paid over the course of three months.”
To your horror, Din rises from the couch and nods his head, saying, “I accept your terms.”
“And what about her?” The emissary wrinkles her nose as she indicates you.
“She is a slave,” the Mandalorian says with harsh finality.
You physically shrink next to him. He had insisted you remain while they spoke, but now you’re regretting agreeing to it.
The distaste with which he had uttered the word ‘slave’ makes you feel unclean, unwanted. Tears threaten to spill over, and you keep your head down in a familiar, submissive posture in case they do.
The bounty hunter escorts the Twi’lek emissary to the door while you sit, head bowed, on the couch.
“Senator Nesota will be most appreciative. If you are ever in Coruscant, she would be delighted to have you visit her apartments. They are most grand.” She disapprovingly glances around the hotel room. “I assume you had your slave pick this one.” The emissary briefly places her hand on the Mandalorian’s forearm, “Remember, we are friends now, Din Djarin.”
The helmet saves his entire operation, for Din cannot stop the disgusted scowl that mars his face. This piece of scum uses his name to both threaten and flirt; the difference in his feelings between her saying it and you saying it are blindingly stark.
“I do not have friends. My name is not for your use,” he says evenly as he punches the button for the front door.
The emissary walks away without another word.
When Din closes the door, he turns back to you with a sense of relief for more than one reason.
But something is wrong.
“Do you not feel well?��
You shake your head, “I misunderstood something. That’s all.” Your head remains bowed.
“You will not look at me.”
“I am… embarrassed,” you mutter honestly.
An emotion Din has never experienced or understood, he is at a loss. Instead, he sits across from you and tosses you the recorder.
The small, comm-looking device lands on your lap, and you pick it up, curiously rolling it in your hands. You press the button.
“Very well. You will not divulge the conversation regarding slav-”
You stop the device and look up at Din with renewed hope, “You were lying.”
Din leans forward in his seat, “I was not lying. I gave her my word as a Mandalorian. But you didn’t.”
“That’s a stretch and you know it,” you laugh.
Din shrugs. The moral reasoning works for him.
“I am to send this recording to the Republic, correct? Get the senator removed from office?”
“She will no longer have the funds to pay our bounties. They will be considered void.”
Your smile falters. He had done what he promised.
Din tilts his head, “You’re unhappy about that?”
“It’s not your problem, of course. But I have to deal with the slaver’s reward. And… and I am not sure what I should do, where I should go.”
Really, you’re saddened because there is no longer any reason for you to stay. You wish there was.
The Mandalorian is silent, weighing his choice of words carefully.
"There is room on the Razor Crest. The kid is fond of you. I can pay you for your services to him. And, occasionally, the ship needs repairs - you can assist me with those.”
“Is this that ‘legal employment’ you told me I needed?” You grin. “I would like that very much.”
“You will need to learn how to fight, though,” he shakes his head, his tone teasing. “The kid can’t save you every time.”
____________________________________
You sit on the hold floor, the child in your arms. Having left the inn rather early, the child is still asleep.
Jostling as Din lands the Razor Crest on a new planet, you slowly stand and place the little lump in his hammock and shut the door.
The Mandalorian drops down into the hold, passing you and hitting the button for the boarding ramp. Deciding to trust him, you don't ask where you're being taken.
The answer isn't far. Din stops right at the treeline and hands you the same silver blaster from the previous week's fight with the cyborg.
"You need to learn to use it."
"I've done well with a blaster before," you protest. "I shot Rathos."
"But you didn't shoot the cyborg," you can hear the frown in his deep voice. "Pick a tree."
Nervous to be evaluated by a master of the craft, you hesitate briefly before aiming at a massive trunk a few speeders lengths away.
The plate of his armor brushes against your back as the Mandalorian gingerly sets his heavy hands on your shoulders, straightening them. With his boot, he taps the inside of your foot, indicating you should widen your stance.
You blink rapidly. Your face flushes with warmth. Why is your heart thundering? Can he hear it?
He can.
His own heart rate increases when his helmet's display shows your heat signature rising. Din pushes it further: his leather-covered hands slide down to your waist where he turns you a fraction - completely unnecessarily.
Close enough that, were he unveiled, you could feel his breath, he murmurs, "Fire."
Utterly distracted, you squeeze the trigger as a matter of following his command. The blaster shot continues on through the treetops, singeing leaves.
Din straightens, his hands leaving your body, and he huffs.
"You distracted me," you explain. "I can hit it."
You realign the weapon and inhale deeply, releasing on the exhale just as you would with an arrow.
The tree sizzles as you hit it dead-center.
Spinning to face him triumphantly, the smile freezes on your lips.
One of the suns on this planet has begun to drop behind him, and his large frame casts you in shadow. He still hasn't moved away from you. The way his mask is angled toward you makes you believe he's lost in thought.
"What is it?" You whisper in the tense silence.
Din feels dizzy. You're a natural with a weapon you'd fired all of three times. Your words cudgel his mind. He had distracted you enough to miss a huge karking tree.
"Do it again."
You nod and return to the target. Throwing your mind back to your childhood, you once again hit the tree dead-on.
Weighing the blaster in your hand, you turn back to him and say, "I still prefer wooden weapons. Or at least something resembling a spear."
"Why is that?" His voice is rough, and his hands find a home on his hips.
"That's how I grew up," you answer.
"Okay. Grab one."
Your mouth drops open in confusion, but he finally leaves your personal space and picks up a slender, twigless branch.
"You can't be serious," you sputter a laugh, certain he had just found a sense of humor. "I'm not fighting you."
"Why not?"
"Um. Because I can't."
"You can." He holds the stick out toward you.
You stare at him, watchful, as you curl your fingers around it. Din removes a small, cylindrical object from his utility belt. He pumps it once and it unfolds into a thin cane-like weapon.
"It's been twenty years," you frown. "You're going to win."
But, when that makeshift spear is in your hand, it all rushes back. The key to winning is in gaining ground. Whatever you do, push your opponent back. So, you launch at him first.
Only partially surprised by the speed of the typically-timid girl now coming for his throat, Din manages to duck out of the way just in time. But you whirl to the opposite side he expects, and swing your weapon into his helmet. It clangs, and you stand upright.
"I'm sorry!" You react, fearful both from years of mistreatment and not wanting to hurt Din.
He ignores you, swishing his weapon toward your middle, and you jump backward. Hating that you conceded even that little ground, you quickly drop to a crouch and sweep at his knees like Rathos did to you.
Din rockets upward a few feet, then drops back down on your other side. He swings at you and you parry.
Dancing for several steps, you eventually land a blow to his ribs where the beskar does not cover. Din's modulated groan makes you feel a rush of two separate emotions.
You don't want to hurt him, but that sound ignites a heat between your legs.
Din retaliates, kicking his tipless spear into your chest and shoving you backward. He knows your move, now. You don't like giving up ground, so you'll throw yourself at him, arms raised to strike.
When you do exactly as he predicts, he drops his weapon completely, grabbing you around the waist and spinning. He throws you to the ground, coming down on top of you.
You laugh, exhilarated, "Almost."
Something is jabbing your hip, and when you shift to identify it, Din grunts again. Your eyes shoot to his hidden face.
Under the helmet, Din's brown eyes are blown, pained at how aroused he is. He can't handle much more of this. Your wide eyes and galloping heart match his, but underneath him you look so vulnerable that he feels downright predatory. His stiff length twitches.
Din’s voice is raw, barely contained, "Tell me to stop and I will." His gloved thumbs push your bottoms down.
Speechless, your core pulsing, you nod.
Din unfastens the material around his middle, pulls his desperate cock from the flight suit, and hastily positions himself against you. Your slick coats him as he drags himself through your folds. He groans through the modulator.
“Oh,” you gasp when he eases the tip past your entrance.
Unable to wait a moment longer, Din sheaths himself inside you with a determined grunt, his patch of dark curls mingling with yours.
Your hands try to fist in his flight suit, eyes wide at the incredible feeling of him filling you. His right hand cradles your jaw as he starts to rock his hips, cursing as he does so.
For the first time in his life, Din resents his helmet; both for the separation from your soft skin, and the heightened senses it gives him. How is he supposed to last when he can see your heart racing, hear your quiet cries as though they’re inside his own head?
In an insufficient compromise, he rips off his gloves. His tan skin is calloused and scarred.
“Yes,” you plead.
Din intertwines his fingers on both hands with yours, hypnotized for a precious second by the intimacy. Reverently, you press a kiss to his knuckles. He makes a wild sound deep in his chest, then plunges your hands above your head.
Pushing your chest to his, you signal that he can do anything he wants to you. He collects both your wrists in one hand.
Din rhythmically arcs into you, the sound of his body - soaked from your arousal - striking yours nearly driving you insane. When you’d imagined it before, you wondered if looking into the blank face of his helmet might be off-putting, but you find that it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter because it’s him. If anything, it’s erotic to trust him so blindly.
Din is resolved to know your body better than you do. With his free hand, his fingers nimbly massage your clit until you jerk.
“There?” He confirms.
You nod, unable to speak. His heavy, straining cock dragging through you, and his rough fingers replace the output from all other senses.
When he finds the perfect combination, he doesn’t let up until your eyes screw shut and you shake, incoherent underneath him in ecstasy.
“You can say it,” he hoarsely encourages through the modulator.
It was already on your lips, “Din.”
The hand that acted as a manacle releases you as he places his palm on the ground, giving himself as much leverage to bury himself as deep as possible. The toes of Din’s boots dig up clumps of grass as he thrusts into you, the sound of skin slapping skin lost in the breeze. Your legs curl around his waist, pulling him deeper.
He feels the spark at the base of his spine and knows he doesn’t have much strength left. Your fingers twist into the fabric of his flight suit again, clinging to him for all you’re worth.
Din makes the mistake of looking into your lust-filled eyes as you speak.
“Let go,” you whisper tenderly, feeling his tense body begin to fracture.
Din has no choice but to obey you, pumping himself into you with a long, harsh sigh. He works his release inside you, gradually slowing until his arms shake.
He finally drops to the ground beside you, breathing rapidly.
Suddenly shy, you want nothing more than to reach over and take one of his hands, but you lack the confidence. You also don’t know what to say.
Din doesn’t believe there’s anything to say. He had never been so tempted in all his life, and he had not passed the test. A shred less self-control and his helmet might’ve followed the gloves.
In fact, the temptation is still so strong that he begins to plan for its eventuality.
____________________________________
#din djarin#my fics#the mandalorian#the mandalorian fanfiction#star wars#star wars fanfic#din djarin fanfic#din djarin fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal fanfiction#Spotify#din djarin x reader#din djarin x you#the mandalorian x reader#the mandalorian x you#grogu#baby yoda#my writing
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like a leopards tongue in the mouth of a snake
roman roy | reader - 3.2k
cw: NSFW, fem.reader, bribery???, scummy roman, fingering, oral (f. receiving), slight power dynamics, office sex
a/n: blah blah intimacy issues, blah blah canon roman is scared of pussy I KNOW but let me have my fun
Outside, tipped street lamps have buzzed awake and shine cones of orange light onto the roads. It’s past hours, the other workers long gone by now. The office is empty, save for the skeleton crew that cleans up when no one else is around, but they're on the lower levels.
The sky is yawning into night, the dusty blue darkening with each passing minute. You can’t hear the bustle of New York from how high up you are in the tower, the shimmering golden lights of other skyscrapers mimic the stars.
You’d like to go home, like to just go to sleep so you don’t have to deal with these corporate douchebags any longer. But your boss is still here, still drinking in here his personal office like the rest of you don’t have lives. To him, you probably don’t.
He’s said it before, “What? Do you have more important things to do than me?”
Like most people at Waystar, you steer clear of having to interact with Roman incessantly, despite the fact you’re his assistant. It’s already hard enough, being his glorified babysitter. It’s even worse when he’s in a teasing mood, which is all the time.
He’s like his family, the classic “I’m too important to interact with anyone out of my pay grade” type. Only really indulging in you because you’re the type to just shoulder his weird comments without taking them seriously. Brushing off his crude, absolutely shit, remarks. And you have a great ass too, or so he says.
He calls you his “little paper pusher”, an oversimplified pet name for what you actually do. You’re so important to his well-being, if you left now you’re sure he’d dissolve into nothing. But you let him think all you’re good for is being an emotional dumpster for his whiny rants. He’s more clingy than he realizes, always calling you late at night for menial bullshit and practically nipping at your heels when you try to work.
You do your best to slip under the radar; typing away at your desk, bringing coffee when asked, shuffling, and shredding papers in the file room. Occasionally, you’ll be asked to accompany Roman to his home (where he’ll ask if you want to suck his dick or get finger-banged over his couch). But most of the time, you make sure he’s not getting into a lawsuit for making lewd comments at the interns. Which is hard when that’s his whole farce.
He’s not bad all the time. Sometimes, he buys you lunch, really expensive lunch. He’ll even sit with you while you eat, pointing out you have horrible taste and he should really help you with expanding it. Plus you get bonuses on top of your stellar pay, Christmas gifts, and your very own lovesick slime puppy who can’t help but be obsessed with you. The last part wasn’t in the contract, but you guess it’s not so bad.
Another perk of being an assistant to the Roys is that you can’t leave until they tell you to leave.
So you’re stuck in the Waystar building, watching your boss sip on Lagavulin Offerman malt, observing how he sits weirdly on his loveseat and makes crude comments to you about his brother or Tom or the fucking weather. Lavishing in the space, relishing in the fact he’s made another person listen to his bullshit.
You mostly drown him out, looking over invoices and discrepancies while he sips his whiskey, sitting in the corner while you contemplate what you’ll have for dinner. You don’t even look at the time, only knowing it’ll make you itch to go home more.
You hear him say your name, drawing you from the excel sheet of numbers on your screen. He’s lazily draped on the cushions, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms, and the first few buttons on his shirt are opened.
He beckons you over with the flick of his fingers. You assume he wants more alcohol, or maybe he wants you to fetch his driver. You don’t expect him to-
“Hey,” he drawls, lips curved into that cheeky bastardized smile, “I’ll give you a million dollars if you take off your shirt.”
You’re dumbfounded, standing in the office of the boss’s son, holding your little Waystar table like it’ll save you. For a minute you think he’s joking.
“Huh? What-“
“Yeah, come on. I’ll give you a million, in cash or check or PayPal- whatever, if you take off your shirt.”
Roman Roy has always had an absurd amount of wealth, you know that. Everyone from fucking New York to Timbuktu knows that.
He can make million-dollar bets like it’s nothing, throwing away pocket money that could very well pay off your student loans, that could make sure you’d never go hungry or have to worry about keeping the fucking lights on. It’s shouldn’t surprise you that he’d make stupid little bets with you. Especially, when he’s bored and slightly buzzed.
Your eyebrows draw up at his words, mouth dropping open in a mix of shock and incredulous.
“I- um, I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir.”
Not only would you get in trouble for having that much money, but you’re also not going to just strip because he asked you to, no matter how much you think he’s attractive.
Roman gives a mocking scoff, lips parting as he takes a sip of his stupidly expensive whiskey that you’re sure tastes like shit. Your confusion and disdain must show because he’s raising an eyebrow at you, looking up at you with clear moss-green eyes.
“Oh, don’t be such a prude. It’s only your shirt.” He says it so casually - like you’re the one being unreasonable, swirling the glass in his hand as he crosses his legs. He’s dressed with a casual cocktail of his usual confidence and mockery.
“Besides I can see your tits through your blouse anyways,” your eyes widen and you feel yourself get fever-hot in embarrassment, and Roman is still grinning, “not like I’m gonna see anything I haven’t already.”
He laughs at how you fluster, you can see his pearly white teeth in his mouth. His eyes crinkling to the point you can see the lines on his face. Mouth quirking as he watches your eyes get misty, it’s always been a strange hobby of his.
There’s something fundamentally wrong with him. He’s always known that. He pretends not to be the slithering black snake that creeps from the underbrush, but he can’t help it. It’s just what he is naturally.
“Mr. Roy-“
He waves his hand, your eye catching the vacheron constantin watch on his wrist as he uncrosses his legs so he can lean forward towards you.
“Oh come on, how about 2 million?” He’s dead serious, his stare piercing through you as you gape at him. You hate that you’re actually considering it. Two fucking million-
“Don’t tell me you don’t need the money.” He’s got that confident ‘you’ll do what I want’ look, and you chew the inside of your cheeks till you feel it sting. Even if you didn’t, two million dollars could last you for a long time.
“Just my shirt?” You ask quietly, despite the office being completely empty. Roman takes another sip, the large ball of ice clinking against the crystal.
“Sure, unless you wanna take it all off, just let me see what’s underneath this fucking thing.” He makes a point to flick your skirt, grazing his fingers across the top of your thigh. You twitch at the feeling, there’s an icy hot shiver that runs up your spine, a dark whisper in the back of your mind that tells you it’s worth it in the end.
You inhale before reaching up to unbutton your blouse, standing right between his knees. Slowly pulling apart each opal-colored button, watching how Roman is practically purring at how you strip. He’s set his glass down on the side table, uncaring that it’s not on a coaster and will leave ringed marks on the wood.
It’s a weird rush, the feeling in your tummy fluttering and your throat tightening. You peel off the cotton, dropping it to the carpeted floor and standing only in your pencil skirt and heels. Roman can see how the swell of your breasts move with each exhale, the subtle curve of your waist down to the pretty way you shift in your black heels.
It’s erotic in a debauched way. Borderline gross and repulsive, but arousing all in the same fashion.
You’re standing, waiting for… waiting for you don’t know what. Roman is well, Roman. He’s entitled, immature, and such a prick you’d feel more guilty about doing this if he wasn’t the coddled baby of a multi-billion dollar company.
He's spontaneously compassionate and flips on a dime. He's so used to being mean, being cut-throat and crass - it's like second nature to him. Like most people, you can't stand Roman on a good day, even less on a bad. But there's something about him, maybe it's that air of frail egocentric bullshit, the sopping sweet stench of someone so high-strung on power and his own entitlement that shows you just how pathetic he really is.
You’ve always liked men who were a bit fucked in the head. Roman is no exception.
“Got a nice pair, prettier than a fucking pornstar.” You’re resisting the urge to cover up your chest, but for some reason, you don’t. Letting his eyes roam over the dips and curves of your body, staring ahead at the glass windows that gleam in the skyline of Manhattan.
Roman swipes his tongue across the plump of his lower lip, reaching forward to hold your skirt-clad waist, thumbs digging into your hipbones. Dragging the pad of his fingers over the band, where skin meets fabric. You’re sensitive, knees practically buckling from the feeling alone.
It’s not the first time he’s touched you, he usually makes his quirky gestures at random times. It’s usually a pat on the head or a pinch on the shoulder. A peck when he’s truly drunk. Never like this, never so intimately. But you bite your tongue to keep from whining out that you want more.
His hands are soft, never having to do a hard day's work in his life. He trails the tips over your exposed stomach, fiddling with the zipper of your skirt. He smirks, leaning forward to brush his nose across your belly, up to your ribcage, his hair tickles the underside of your breasts, the licked-up strands wild.
He, thankfully, doesn’t comment on your peaked nipples, your skin flushed in goosebumps from his touch. Instead, he murmurs into your skin, “I’ll give you another million to take off the rest.”
A pitched whine catches in your throat, the vibration of his voice against your ribs is making you squirm, and you look down at Roman to see his blown pupils and rose-bud colored cheeks. The slicked-back gel in his hair starting to come undone, strands falling across his forehead. You resist the urge to run your fingers through them, biting your lip.
“Whaddya say, my little paper pusher, gonna take off your skirt for me?” He already knows you will, he’s just prodding you for more. Nipping at the exposed skin of your abdomen, dragging the tip of his tongue across it, wetting the flesh. He’s dipping his fingers inside the band, trying to weasel his way into your panties, which are fucking sopping.
It’s like Roman always says, there’s no point of having a babysitter if he can’t fuck ‘em.
You’re so hazy, head foggy and clouded over - you’d think you were the one that drank. You puff out what he thinks is a quiet okay. Giving him a soft nod, hands shakily going to unzip the tight fabric. He hums, already ahead of you and hooking his thumbs into the band and tugging down.
With it, comes your skirt. You squeak at the sudden rush, stabling yourself on his shoulders as he rolls it down your thighs, letting it pool around your ankles. He makes a muffled aw at your panties, a pretty lacy thing that makes him giggle.
He snaps the band with a finger, teeth flashing at how you squirm and yip like a puppy. “Wear this just for me? You’re so sweet.”
It’s patronizing, like he knew all along you were weak-willed and soft for him.
Roman nudges your legs apart with his knee, making you stand out in the open like his just for him. He presses two fingers against the drenched spot on your panties and gives a little circle.
“Jesus, you’re fucking soaked,” He throws his head back and laughs. Observing how you tremble around the pressure on your clit. Sliding them to the side so he can run his fingers over your slick folds, dipping them between the seam and feeling the honey-thick arousal that’s smeared against your cunt.
He pulls his fingers back and Roman looks at his fingers quizzically, spreading them to see the clear slimy strings that web along his knuckles from your slick. It makes a fluttery feeling settle in his tummy, one he hasn’t experienced. He ignores the raging hard-on in his pants.
“Get this wet because I’d pay you to take off your clothes? That’s kinda fucked, you’re kinda like my personal whore then.” Even now he doesn’t shut up, but his words make you clench around nothing.
He’s different like this, the air around him is electric and heavy and makes you want to just sink into the floor. He watches how your knees wobble, the way you grab his shoulders to keep from falling into him - he’s got you right where he wants you.
“Yeah, you’re a fucking slut.” He swipes his fingers through your folds again, hardly even caring if he brushes your clit or not.
Roman curves a hand around your back, brushing along your spine and settling on your tailbone. He pushes you backward by leaning forward, allowing your back to meet the cushions. Your legs coming up to drape over his hips. You glance down at the bulge that’s poking at your inner thighs, the faint damp spot on them has you itching to reach down and touch.
You wonder, faintly, how your relationship will change after this. If it’ll chance at all. You know Roman isn’t… the best, when it comes feelings. Maybe this is a one-and-done kinda deal, even so - it’ll still be worth it.
You get drawn out of your head when he’s playing with your pussy, fingers swiping up and down slowly, making you messier and sticky with your slick. You inhale, the tip of your tongue ready to beg for more when he pushes two fingers in your cunt, eyes wide and watching how you gasp and grab his wrist.
“Please-“ The way you say it, so breathily and desperate, it’s making him get hazy in the head.
He pushes in, down to the base of his knuckles, immediately going to hook them up and rub that sweet spot inside. It’s effective because your knees jerk and you’re half an inch from kneeing him in the chin.
The way you moan is so fucking hot, it has him twitching in his pants. You grab at his button-up, twisting the fabric as you hump his hand, it’s cute.
“I bet this is your wet-dream, huh? Getting your boss to finger-fuck your pussy.”
“So easy too, little corporate slut who’s been waiting for me to fuck her.” He says it with a pinch to your inner thigh, giggling when you flinch and try to snap them shut.
He’s taunting you, scissoring his fingers open and shivering at the sound of wet clicking that reverberates in the office. You’re tight, gripping his fingers and gushing down his wrist. He’s never wanted to see someone cum so bad before.
“That right?” He asks, his other hand coming up to grope and squeeze your tits. You shake your head, not even able to answer him with how he’s punching the tips of his fingers into your spot, the gooey sweet one that has you drooling and starry-eyed.
He slides the hand that’s pinching your nipples down to your hip, trying to settle the writhing and bucking of your pelvis.
“Making a fucking mess,” he mumbles, his other hand is occupied by pinning your hips to his sticky couch, which you’re sure is drenched with your cum. Trimmed nails dig into the flesh of your hipbone. The feeling of wetness clings to your inner thighs liberally, soaking down to the curve of your ass. You whine, hips squirming in his tight grip.
He pulls away suddenly, it makes you want to cry. You look at him with glassy eyes, the lashes wet and you’ve got bitten lips that quiver when he doesn’t hurry.
“Rome, I need-“
He’s scooting down, scooping your thighs up. His face is right in front of your heat, and he leans forward, flicking his tongue against your cunt, it makes sparks shoot through your lower half. Your hand shooting out the card through his hair, nails raking over his scalp.
You wouldn’t expect him to eat pussy so good, but god- he does. He sucks a fold into his mouth, he nips the other. You’re panting, practically grinding down against his face. His tongue lapping at you with such fervor you’re almost embarrassed. It’s sloppy and wet, and his chin is covered and shiny.
“So good, so good, it feels so fucking good.” Roman shivers, he’s not used to hearing praise. But he likes it a lot more than he realizes.
The light stubble drags across your skin, pricks the inside of your thighs from how hard you squeeze around his head. It’s like lightning, the build-up. It gets impossibly hotter when he’s pressing back his fingers and sucking your clit into his mouth. Your tummy clenching and spasming.
“O-oh fuck, Rome, I’m gonna-“ He hums, doubling his efforts, suckling harder while curling his fingers. It pays off when you gush and clamp down on him, moaning and mewling with leaking tears down your face. You tug on his hair when he licks a stripe up the seam of your cunt, jerking from the sensitivity.
Roman pulls away with a dopey grin, mouth shiny and god- he looks lovesick. Dark lashes fluttering at he crawls over you, palms resting on either side of your head. He’s so different like he suddenly doesn’t know what to do anymore. Retreating as if he hadn’t had his face in your pussy.
He presses a light kiss against your mouth. He smells of Dior Homme, the powdery iris and lavender that bleeds into vetiver, it’s intoxicating. He tastes like whisky and your cunt.
“You taste so much better than I thought you would.” Your hands flirt with the buttons of his ruffled shirt, untucking it from his waistband.
“Fuck, I’m so hard I think my dick is gonna fall off.” You giggle at his admission, leaning up to press kisses along the column of his neck.
“Well, let me return the favor, Mr. Roy.”
#val.writes ❦#succession.✥°#roman roy x reader#roman roy smut#succession x reader#succession smut#roman roy x you
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You’re Gonna Go Far
Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader, BAU x fem!bau!reader
Summary: Time passes, and people change, but one thing will remain steady.
TW: nothing
a/n: I read something on tiktok that was like, "You have to let a girl name a fic after a lana or noah song(it's a canon event)." It's so funny because it's true. Here is My Noah Kahn titled fic!! Let me know what you think!! Also thank you @magic-is-beauty and @teddy-the-teddybear for reading it over! :) love you guys
After consulting with The BAU Section Chief and your Unit Chief, who also happened to be your long-time boyfriend, you decided it was your next step in your career. Even if you didn’t want to leave behind your work family, you knew they would understand.
—
You flopped down onto your bed, letting out an exhausted sigh. The week had been filled with meetings and tying up loose ends. Next week would be your very last week at the Quantico branch of the BAU. If the team got called into a case, you would stay behind with Penelope and work it out from there, hoping that it would end quickly so you wouldn’t miss your plane.
The familiar sound of little running footsteps made a small smile appear on your face. No matter how down or tired you felt, Jack could always make you smile. The door was flying open, and seconds later, he had pounced on you, wrapping his arms and legs around you and shoving his neck between your head and neck.
“Hey Jack. How was your day at school?”
“It was awesome, we got to take the class pet out of her terrarium.” He spewed the words out fast as he pulled his head up to look at you. “ Do you know what frogs feel like?” As you shook your head, no, he had already begun to talk again. “They feel icky, and they look kind of scary because they can’t smile. And we had to wash our hands after, really well. And for snack today, I brought those vegetable chips. Everyone thought they looked weird, but I remembered that it didn’t matter because I liked them. And-“ You put your finger to your lips, telling him to stop for a moment. The giant breath he took was almost comical.
“I’m glad you liked the chips, but please take a breath. Or you're going to get so dizzy you’ll fall over.” You both laughed, but his face turned sad.
“I just want to tell you everything because I know you’re leaving, and then I can’t tell you anything. Because dad says you are taking a plane to your new home. Which means I can’t talk. To you anymore.”
“Oh, honey.” You brought a hand up to his cheek, rubbing your thumb against his cheek in a comforting circle. “You can always talk to me. You can write me letters, and I’ll come back to visit sometimes. You can also call me sometimes. There is no need to be super sad.” Sitting up slightly, you gave him a cheek kiss. “Now, let's go find Daddy and see if he’ll buy us ice cream.”
——
Aaron did take you out for ice cream, but he stood back a bit… taking it in. Jack had been observing all the ice creams, even though he would pick play dough, the most sugary kind, every single time. You were crouched down next to him, looking at all of them, making comments about each of them.
“Aaron, honey, do you know what you want?” Your smile never fails to make his heart light up.
“Strawberry of course.” He chuckles before coming up beside you and paying for the cones.
You three made your way to one of the bench’s near the parlor.
“Can I try some of yours?” You asked Aaron slyly. He was about to offer you his cone, but you kissed him instead, tasting the strawberry on his lips. Jack started to make fake throw up noises.
“Stop it! You guys are icky.” He laughed before pushing on his fathers chest, attempting to put some space between you two. It was like a scene from a movie, a happy family of 3. You made sure to take a mental picture to save for a sad rainy day.
——
Now, your heart was beating out of its chest. You were standing in front of the monitor where the cases were presented, but you were all meeting for another reason. Aaron gave you a quick kiss for some reassurance before taking his seat at the round table.
As everyone began to file in, you could feel your heart was going wild, and your eyes began to feel heavy, as if the unshed tears weighed a ton. But when you saw Penelope walk in with he bright smile and sparkly headband, you knew you wouldn’t survive this.
“What’s going on here?” Dave asked first. Both him and Blake looked like they knew what was happening. Maybe they could tell. Penelope then jumped up from her seat.
“Oh. My. Gosh!! Am I getting another god child? I need to know, I’ll start shopping now, maybe it could be an elephant themed room or-“ But Aaron cut her off.
“No Garcia. Just take a seat, please.” You could hear the pain in his voice. Her face physically dropped before she took a seat, Derek reached out and held her hand on the table.
Why was it this hard? You knew they would support you, that they would be happy for you. You watched it happen when Emily left. It would be hard for a bit, but they would get past it, and they would persevere.
“So. A while back, I was looking at this program. I signed up for the company newspaper just to keep up with it, even sent a few emails asking about the projections for the next year and its supporters. It seems that the company also did some research on me.” You sat down in an open chair near you and ran your hands down your legs. “So they asked me to join them!”
“That’s amazing, Y/N!” Spencer exclaimed with a boyish smile on his face.
“That's not all, though, is it.” Derek stated, he had enough people leave him. He didn’t have to be a profiler to see what was coming.
“Yes, there’s more.” Here was the kicker. Taking a deep breath, you finally let it go. “It’s in Europe.” The atmosphere changed drastically. But it was hard to place what it was. “I don’t expect anyone to know what to say. But I’ve already accepted, and my ticket is bought. I am kind of regretting it now, I feel like I should stay here with you guys. You’re my fami-“
“No, you need to do this Y/L/N,” Blake said with a smile on her face. “We all understand.” It was comforting to hear it from her. She had that mother kind of aura around her.
—
The week progressed slowly. People milling around the bullpen, pens scratching on papers, the humming Spencer didn’t know he did, the coffee machine, all the normal sounds. It felt different. It all felt different now. You tried to commit every little thing to memory because if you were to never return, you’d want to keep this with you forever.
——
Your final family dinner, everyone was there, even Strauss stopped by for a bit. Henry and Michael made you a picture. It was the whole unit in Rossi’s backyard. Of course, there was an abundance of paint handprints and glitter, but that’s what made it even more special.
The sound of a utensil tapping a glass caught everyone’s attention.
“As we all know, this is our going away party for Y/N, the best in our unit. Even though we will hopefully see her all week. Tonight is about reminiscing on our past times. But it is also a time to look forward to our future. We have lost agents in the past, and we have mended our hearts. But we have never forgotten them.”
“You make it seem like I’m dying, David!” You tried to lighten the mood a tad. If he kept going on like this, you would begin to cry.
“Of course not! But we are losing you, are we not?” He chuckled a bit before continuing. “It is a once in a lifetime opportunity you have been given. And though we’ll miss you, I think we would be even more hurt if you didn’t accept” Penny stood up then, tears already filling her eyes.
“It makes me smile to know that when things get hard, you’ll be far from here. Which I know sounds bad since you have been here for all this mess for the past 8 years. But still, you are getting a chance to see some more kittens and less… gore.” She shuddered at the thought. Spencer spoke up next.
“We aren't angry at you. You’re the greatest thing we’ll have lost. But the birds will still sing, and Penelope and Derek will still keep up their banter. The bull pen will still be filled with the noises of shuffling papers and the dying coffee machine.” You let out a watery chuckle. You had tried to fix the poor thing so many times and never seemed to win, but it was still running. “Things will continue to move along. And we’ll be here waiting for you, waiting for you to come home.”
“Don’t worry, I will make sure to mention you all in my speech when I win some great award.” Bringing a hand up to wipe away your tears, you noticed how shakey they were. They always seemed to do that when you were sad. “And trust me, I will be coming back. You won’t be getting rid of me that easily!”
—
When you got home later that evening, you sat in the bathtub for a while with a lavender candle in hopes of riding yourself of a headache. It all felt like too much. You were leaving behind the past 8 years of your life just like that.
You hadn’t heard Aaron enter the bathroom, not even noticing him until he kneeled down next to you.
“You told me in your initial interview that you wanted to make a difference, darling. And that is what you are doing. Please don’t feel bad for leaving because you are chasing your dreams. Something not many people get the chance to do..” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then your cheek, then the other.
“I know. But in leaving behind you guys, my family. I’m leaving behind my Jack, and my goldfish, what am I supposed to do with her?!” You whined. Obviously, you knew it was something stupid, but all the little problems seemed so much bigger.
“You know Jack is going to be okay. He is in his room making a colander of when to call you. I told him the time difference so he could figure it all out.” He kissed you gently on the lips, pulling back a bit, he continued “And you know he will be more than happy to take care of her for you. It will be another reminder of you.”
It provided a little comfort, though you know it would only last so long. Everything was running through your head, so many emotions were trying to be processed.
“Let’s get you out of the bath and into bed.”
“If you wanted me naked in bed so bad, you should have just asked Hotchner.” He simply rolled his eyes at your antics. You got dressed and bundled up underneath the comfort, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.
——
Today was the day you were all packed up and ready to go. What you didn’t know was the whole team had come to see you off.
As Aaron, Jack, and you made your way towards your gate, you and Jack holding hands, you recognized the gangle of people waiting near the waiting area. Penelope was the first to spot you. She began to wobble her way over to you. That was something you would miss dearly, her and her high heels.
“Oh Y/N!! I'm going to miss you so! But just know I will be out there next month! I have already got some tickets lined up!” She squished you tightly before letting you go. Derek came up to you. His smile was as bright as can be.
“One day you’ll see how proud of you we are.” Pressing a kiss to the top of your head, he pulled you in for a tight embrace. JJ covered her face with her hands. You assumed it was to try and hold her tears at bay.
“Y/N, my sister.” You could tell it came out quieter than she meant it to. “What am I going to do without you by my side? My partner in crime.” She rubbed her hand over your arm in a motherly way. Even now, she couldn’t turn off that mother instinct.
David held your head in his hands. You knew what this meant.
“Y/N, I don’t think I have ever met someone as compassionate as you, someone as smart as you, sorry Reid,” he turned to face the doctor for a moment before turning back to you. “I trust you with my life, and I would have it no other way. You are going to do great things, kid.” He pulled you in for a hug. Blake came next.
“I haven’t known you for long. But for the time I have had the pleasure of knowing you, I have found you to be extraordinary. Like everyone else has said, you will do great things.” She shook your hand firmly.
You didn’t know how you were holding it together. And then Reid stepped forward with tears in his eyes and a few having already fallen.
“I don’t want you to go,” his lower lip quivered “but I know you need to do this. And I am glad to have known you. I love you, Y/N. Don’t forget to write.” He held you tightly, as if he was afraid you would disappear when he let go. Though you suppose you were.
Little Jack, who had been standing next to you the whole time, let out a little cry.
“Y/N, do you really have to leave?” Crouching down to be at eye level with him, you could feel the tears falling down your face faster.
“Honey, I do. I’m going to help people. Remember what we talked about, though, right? You even made that schedule, and Aunt Penny made me a copy, too. I’ll hang it up on my fridge so I can see it.” He grabbed hold of you, looping his hands around your neck. You could feel his tears stain your shirt.
“Who is going to get ice cream with me? Or tuck me into bed and wish me that the bed bugs won’t bite? And dad can’t fold my shirts the way you do. He can’t play with my legos the right way, either.” He was desperate for you to stay. You knew this would be hard on him. Having lost his mother at such a young age and now losing the other mother figure in his life.
“It’s going to be hard. But you will just have to teach Daddy how to do those things. I’m sure he will learn.”
“But he’s not you.” He let out another cry, and it shattered your heart.
"NOW BOARDING FLIGHT BA 98”
That was you. It was time to leave behind your life, your family. But you were starting something new and exciting. Standing up, you straightened out your shirt a bit. Looking around, you absorbed the moment, trying to memorize all their faces, taking in all the memories.
Finally, you turned to Aaron, your lover. It had been decided by the both of you that it was best to go your separate ways for now. Not necessarily forever, but just for now.
You had only seen Aaron cry a handful of times. The stone cold face, his work facade, was something you had grown used to. And so was the smiling face he reserved for you and Jack, as well as the team after hours. But this Aaron, this was something new. He grabbed your hand and pulled you close into an affectionate hug.
“If you want to go far… then you gotta go far.” He said quietly in your ear. He pressed a kiss to your lips, just a small short peck, but then came back for more. Nothing flashy or anything, just more… meaningful, filled with more emotion.
”BOARDING FLIGHT BA 98”
——
As you sat in your seat, you pulled out a picture you had kept in your wallet for the past few years. It was one of your team members at your first ever Rossi dinner party. The smile upon each of your faces was a reminder that no matter how far apart you were, no matter how many horrors you had seen, you would always have each other.
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Duck!
D is for Duck
Ohstars Alphabet Prompts | G | 667 words | cw: N/A
---
“We don’t get here enough,” Steve says as he pushes the stroller.
Robin hums. “No, we don’t.” She tugs down the visor on the stroller to hide Charlotte from the sun more. “I’m surprised their parents let you take them.”
Steve’s eyes count each kid again, all seven accounted for, as they head to the next exhibit. “I think the Feds’ story about me helping get them out of the fire really put the final nail in the ‘Steve’s a Competent Babysitter’ title. Kind of hard to come up with an excuse why I can’t take them somewhere when I saved their lives.” It's not that simple, he knows that, but he’s proven time and time again that he’ll do what it takes to get those little shits out of harm’s way.
Erica stops in the middle of the walkway and points to the ice cream stand with a raised eyebrow. Their deal still rings in his head.
“Fine,” he calls, “go.” He can’t deny her anything, especially not when it’s as hot as it is out here. They hadn’t really taken into account the August heat when they made the last minute plan for a day at the zoo.
She holds her head high as she passes the others and heads for the stand.
By the time Steve and Robin make their way to the stand, the others already have their ice cream cones – arguing over which flavor is supreme. They’re all wrong, nothing beats butterscotch, but Steve doesn’t have the fight in him to get in the middle of that. He pays for everyone and takes Charlotte over to a nearby table so he can share the cup of ice cream he got for them.
She’s been grumpy all day. He’s pretty sure it’s the fact he won’t let her down to run around, not with the cast still on her leg. He’d love nothing more for her to be able to play like she should, but he also needs her to heal right, so stroller jail it is.
“C’mon, Lots,” Steve says, holding out the spoon for her to take a bite.
Charlotte pushes away the spoon with a mighty, “No!”
Steve sighs and takes the bite for himself.
“I thought she liked the zoo,” Dustin asks, pointing to her.
“She does,” Steve says. “She’s mad at me.”
“How do you anger a toddler?” Mike asks, a snotty little eyebrow raised.
Steve just shrugs. His patience is thinning and as much as his little girl lights up his life, right now, he needs a goddamn break. He keeps trying to feed her, every few bites, while the kids decide where they’re going next. The reptile house seems to be their next hit.
Suddenly, Charlotte lights up, straining against the seatbelt on her stroller. “Da-ee! Duck!” she cries, pointing past him.
He looks over his shoulder and, sure enough, a few ducks are waddling through the gate toward the tables. Huh. Steve sets down the cup of ice cream and quickly pulls Charlotte out of her stroller for a better look. “You see the duckies?”
“Duck,” she says, toothy grin wide as she carefully watches them.
They drove all this way to see cool animals and spend the day together, and the one thing that puts a smile on her face isn’t even a part of the zoo.
The ducks quack as they get closer. Steve knows he shouldn’t encourage them, but he reaches into the diaper bag for some of Charlotte’s crackers so she can feed them. It’s the least he can do to make this day better for her.
“Gentle,” he says, helping her scatter the cracker around.
She giggles, squealing with delight as one of them investigates her cast. “Duck! No!” she says, reaching down to shoo the duck away.
He looks up to see the kids all done with their ice cream and ready to move on. “Go on,” he tells them. “I think we’re going to be here a minute.”
---
Thank you to @lady-lostmind for beta reading!
Ao3 Link
#ohstars fic#steve harrington#stranger things#steddie#robin buckley#stobin#adventures of steve and charlotte#hold on to me#ohstars posting challenge#alphabet prompts
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surprise! (pt. 2)
synopsis: planning nilou's birthday, your assigned baking partner, alhaitham, blurts out something unexpected. he finds out you're sweeter than the cake you both baked.
contains: not proofread, literally rushed, sfw (implied nsfw at the end but i dont go into detail), a smidge suggestive, gender neutral reader, other characters, maybe ooc, mainly self indulgent.
a/n: me desperately including cyno every chance i get (also him throwing shade at paimon)
part 1 here !
Everyone received a handmade party hat from Paimon. The party hats had glitter on them and were made of cardboard. Streamers were attached to the pom-pom-topped portion of the cone. Everyone's pupils dilated when they set their eyes on them.
“Did the children make this?” Tighnari questioned, meaning no harm. “Hey! Paimon made that!” She huffed.
“It’s… something,” Alhaitham muttered.
“I know, I know. Just put them on. In any case, it’s for Nilou,” Dehya sighed.
“Paimon can hear you, ya’know!?” She stomped her feet in the air. “Whatever, just go to your places!” she sulked. The Traveler had planned that they would all sneak up on Nilou and surprise her. They used the same partners for the arrangements: Traveler, Dehya and Paimon, Tighnari and Cyno, and You and Alhaitham. A thought immediately appears in your mind — Oh great, the archons must hate me.
The lights turn off, and for a while, it’s an awkward silence. You and Alhaitham hid in a tight, cramped spot behind some boxes.
“Stop breathing so loud,” he whispered. “What do you want me to do? Stop breathing?” You elbowed him in the arm. “If that keeps you quiet, I’m not stopping you.”
The audacity. He called you cute earlier; now he’s telling you to stop breathing? Even from behind, you can still feel him towering over you. You wouldn't deny that you found him attractive; he checked nearly all the boxes for the qualities of your type, yet you just couldn’t raise his ego any higher. You thought he was cocky and proud enough.
[Name]’s so close. Alhaitham thinks to himself. His mind is cloudy and hazy; why does he always end up in situations like this? He couldn’t stand the absence of space between him and you. Of course, he ended up muttering things he didn’t even mean. When he first saw the spot you both were meant to hide in, he wanted to back out. He knew he would lose his mind in that small space with you.
Then suddenly, the lights switched on.
“Surprise!” They cheered, followed by Cyno’s deadpanned version— “Surprise.”
You both completely forgot about the surprise. When the lights turned on, Alhaitham realized what you guys looked like and the position you both were in. He immediately took a step back. You ran to Nilou, and Alhaitham followed behind you.
“This is amazing!” Nilou had stars in her eyes. “We’re glad you like it!” Paimon clears her throat, “Can Paimon—ehem, I mean, can we eat now?” Nilou nods, “Of course! You all worked so hard. Thank you!”
As you all make your way to the table, Dehya unexpectedly comes your way. She wraps her arm around your shoulder and says, "Hey, [Name], what's up with you and that scribe? Are you two dating, or what? You’ve both been acting really weird.” You appreciate her concern, but her words leave you puzzled. “Dating”, why is it that your heart flutters? You wave her off, “I’m not sure either.”
Everyone takes in the beauty of the feast, some, far too much. (Paimon’s drooling) “Traveler, can you control your pet?” Cyno hissed. “Hey! It’s not Paimon’s fault that the food looks sooo tasty!” She whined. "Let's save the arguing for later, now let's celebrate the birthday of our dearest friend, Nilou." Tighnari expressed. Nilou thanked him. "Let's sing happy birthday!" Paimon started clapping. Everyone had a look of uncertainty on their face, "If you all are uncomfortable with it, I don't mind." Nilou reassured the rest, to tell the truth, she didn't think that most of the people present would be willing to sing. "Nonsense, it's tradition." Dehya noted, of course she had two reasons. One — she wanted Nilou to be happy, and two — she wanted to make fun of Alhaitham and Cyno.
(Cue them singing and clapping, which I won't write bc im laughing too much imagining it 🥹 CYNO ALHAITHAM AND TIGHNARI WOULD BE 100% MONOTONE AND THE WAY CYNO AND ALHAITHAMS VOICE WOULD STAND OUT)
You can hear Paimon's embarrassed chuckle as Nilou cheered insisting, "That was fantastic." Dunyarzad asks "Alhaitham, would you do the honor of slicing the cake?" As he is the closest to the cake. "Sure," He says. Alhaitham proceeded to cut the cake into pieces and placed one on your plate. “Thank you," you muttered. You took a bite, the sweet frosting coating your lips. While you were focused on the cake, he was focused on you—on your lips. He fantasized about using his thumb to wipe the frosting from your lips as he stared at them. He didn’t know what came over him, but he gave into his impulses.
He looked around, he saw that their nation's god, Nahida, arrived. The rest had gone to greet her— no one could disturb you two.
Before you could leave, he grabs your jaw and turns you to face him. You look at him with confusion; you were practically redder than the cherries on the cake. He glides his thumb across your lips, wiping the frosting off your lips, and licks it off his finger. “You’re sweeter than the cake, [Name].” He stares at you, the way your ears turn red, and the way you melt in your seat. “You– you could’ve told me I had frosting on my lips!” He was stunned. Were you going to ignore the fact that he just did... that? “Right.” He stood up. “I’ll get you some tissues.”
“Wait.” You grab his hand. “There’s still a lot of this cake left.”
…
Nilou turned around, "Huh? Where'd they go?"
tags: @fabrebre, @whipped-for-fictionals taglist is open !
#genshin fluff#genshin impact#genshin fanfic#genshin fics#genshin impact x reader#genshin x you#genshin x y/n#genshin x reader#genshin imagines#alhaitham x you#al haitam x reader#al haitham#alhaitham#alhaitham x reader#cyno#dehya#tighnari#nilou#genshin impact fanfic#genshin alhaitham#genshin impact alhaitham
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THE PRINCESS AND THE PARLEY
for @jilymicrofics / april prompt 15: stage / words: 2194 / rating: mature
“Are you mental?” Lily adjusted her straw hat, casting a panicked look out onto the stage, where James Potter stood giving the performance of his life. Remus rubbed his face, grimacing.
“I’m really sorry,” he said. “I’m so sorry. But I couldn’t ask Mary, and Marlene’s already been out -” He wrung his hands. “I’d send Sirius, I really would, but his evil queen costume takes the best part of thirty minutes to get him sewn into and they’ve already started.”
Lily took a deep breath. She only had two lines to remember – that wasn’t the issue. It was that she’d gone from being a wordless fishwife to the titular character – and naturally, the titular character was a sidelined damsel-in-distress that could have been replaced with an aristocratic lamp. Why Lockhart kept choosing these sorts of plays, she didn’t know. Why had they allowed a megalomaniac of an eighteen-year-old to direct anyway? He wasn’t even making the calls – he was just in the audience basking in it, the useless knob.
“Lockhart will skin me alive,” Remus said, clasping his hands together. “He’ll wear me as a cloak and use my blood to shampoo his hair. Please, Lily. I’ll owe you. And,” in his begging, he grasped at something. “You’ll humiliate James. He’s expecting Lisbete to prance out. You know he can hardly talk to you. You’ll get the last laugh.”
James. That much was true. In rehearsals, they quarrelled over everything, which was a miracle in and of itself as they were never in the same scene. Fortunately, however, as of late he could scarcely look her in the eyes, which made winning the arguments a lot easier. Lily huffed and folded her arms. “That’s a bit evil, Remus.” He shrugged.
“It’s show business.”
She blew air through her lips. “Fine,” she said. “But don’t lose it if I become a diva.” She hesitated. “And I want kebabs after the show.”
“Whatever you want,” Remus promised. “Anything.”
Lily skulked further backstage, past where Lisbete sat holding an icepack to her ankle, and reluctantly greeted Dorcas Meadowes.
“I’m the princess now,” she announced glumly. Dorcas blinked.
“Oh.” She looked to the costume rack. “We haven’t much time.”
Five minutes later, Lily had transformed from a humble villager to the King’s kidnapped daughter, clad in a ridiculously over-the-top pink gown and a matching cone with a long veil. Dorcas hurriedly braided her hair as she repeated her lines under her breath, and then Lily was shoved into the wings as the stage went dark. Benjy and Caradoc threw a red tablecloth over the metal structure that was to be her ‘bed’ and patted it.
“Hop on,” Benjy said, and Lily obliged, sitting on it.
“This is like one of those things they wheel bodies around in the morgue,” she informed him, laying down. It was terribly uncomfortable.
“Well, you would be a body if he didn’t come save you,” Caradoc said. “So it’s a fair thing.”
They wheeled her past Remus, who gave her a thumbs up and mouthed ‘thank you’, and then out onto the stage. It was terrifyingly empty, the audience glaring with narrowed eyes, trying to make sense of the shapes in the dark. An unfamiliar set loomed around her, with painted castle walls. In her only scene it had been a market square, and there’d been so many people on stage and her so far at the back that she’d been sure nobody was watching her. Now she’d be a main feature. She swallowed hard, and when Benjy and Caradoc hurried off, she was alone. She shut her eyes. Please, please don’t let me fuck up.
She sensed the lights going up, and James’ voice filled the world. With its disconnection from his actual face, it was almost pleasant-sounding.
“In the depths of the castle lay the Princess Acanthus, locked in an endless slumber, trapped by the Evil Queen Rostra. With every moment,” a clock tick, tick, ticked, “her life ebbed away. If Sir Arthur could not wake her, she would be lost forever.” Lily fought to keep her face still, trying to ignore the gazes of near fifty people on her. The lights warmed, and the clash of swords echoed in her ears.
“En garde! Get back!” James shouted from offstage. “Begone, foul creature!” The swords died and romantic music started as he entered the scene. He gave a strangled cry. An unscripted cry. Lily fought to keep her lips still. It would work with the character, perhaps, but it was all James.
“Princess?” he gasped, with more question than usual. He padded across the stage. After a moment, she felt the warmth of someone nearby, and the light behind her eyelids changed. “Could - could it be? This is where the Evil Queen has kept you all along? So close, and yet…” he sighed. “So difficult to find. Had I only known.” A rummaging sound. “And this antidote! Why, this antidote! The wizard has promised that this should wake her, and I must believe him. If he has lied…all hope is lost. We will never defeated the Evil Queen. All of Etrariana will be lost to her wicked powers!” His footsteps circled, so that he stood behind her. Lily squeezed her hands where they held each other, praying she kept still. Her body tensed in anticipation of his touch.
It was all she could do not to jolt when he lay his hands upon hers, heart pounding in her throat. His fingers brushed her cheek. Sleeping. You’re sleeping. Stay still. His thumb touched her lips, and her stomach clenched. His hands were softer than she had expected, and gentler. Something cold replaced his thumb.
“Please, let this potion work. Please, or I will be bereft! So very bereft!” he declared. Lockhart had written the play. He was the sort who named himself a great fan of Shakespeare after reading the Sparknotes of all his works. The mouth of the vial tilted against her lips. Crap. Now she had to wake. She hadn’t thought about how to act that.
Lily flung her eyes open and sat slightly. James snaked an arm around her. She almost looked to the audience, but his fingers curled around her waist as a reminder. His brown eyes were wide, faintly accentuated by the mascara on his lashes. She had never been so close to him. His breath stroked her cheek. A gold ring outlined his irises, and his lips were slightly parted, revealing a little of his white teeth. It took her a moment to remember what she was to do. She made a small sleepy sound – James held her a little more firmly – and opened her mouth in shock.
“Prin – princess.” James’ voice shook. She didn’t recall that from the matinee, but then, she had never paid much attention. Lily bit her lip, trying not to smirk. “You – you are awake.” He held her face with his free hand, and guided her gently into leaning back a little more. It sent her a little off-balance. If he pulled his arm, away, she would fall. She had to trust him. The heat of the lights flushed her cheeks. “I feared you would never wake.”
“Sir Arthur!” she said. “You have saved me! I thought I would die here, because of the Evil Queen’s evil intentions. I have been asleep so very long.”
“Of course I saved you,” he said, drawing nearer. Her tongue felt fat in her mouth. “I vowed to be your protector.” It’s worse for him than for you. She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek. There was colour in his face, too – she must have been harder to prop up than she thought.
“My saviour,” she breathed. “I am so very thankful.” She had to initiate. Her stomach rolled. It was stupid – she had done this plenty of times, with plenty of different people, on dares or dates or when she was drunk or dancing. What did this matter? Lily tilted her head and bridged the gap between them, pressing her lips softly against James’. He inhaled sharply, but it was only the briefest meeting, and he was the first to draw back. His lipstick had smudged a little. That hadn’t been so bad. The first was done.
“Princess,” he said. “Oh, Princess. How I have dreamed of this day.” And then he kissed her. A strike of lightning ran through her. His kiss was hungry, passionate – as it was directed to be – and his tongue swiped her lips. Fine. She could do better than that. She pressed harder against him, tasting the inside of his mouth, and lifted her other hand to hold onto the back of his jerkin. He could take all her weight, if he liked. He kissed her harder, stealing her breaths until she was gasping against him, desperately breathing through her nose, which crashed against his. Fine. If the audience wanted a show – if he wanted to make this a show – that’s what it would be.
Her teeth skimmed his lower lip, tugging gently, and then she moaned softly. His arm jerked in surprise. She dropped back. No! But he saved her at the last moment, cradling her in his arms, and then lowered her to the table. Now James was directly above her. By rights, the kiss ended there, but she kept on, trailing her fingers up his back until they reached his hair, where she then twisted them into his locks. James leaned over more, pressing some of his torso against hers, and trapped her tongue between his teeth, slowly drawing back and releasing her. Lily could up the stakes. If they were going to send her out to do this with little warning, as a favour, this is what they would get. And besides, he couldn’t win. No fucking way. She arched her body against his, whining a little. He gripped her face with both hands and kissed her harder again, pressing down until the metal of the ‘bed’ was firm against her back. Her head spun, the lack of air getting to her. Her whole body was warm under the glaring stage lights. The music had passed where it was supposed to be, and they were dragging on too long. She had to put an end to it.
She pulled back as best she could – her head hit the ‘bed’, and he only leaned down further, lipstick now smeared.
“James,” she whispered, very quietly. He flinched and opened his eyes. She stroked his cheek and pulled back, before sitting up of her own power. She could improvise.
“Sir Arthur,” she said, loud enough for the audience to hear, smiling pleasantly. “My saviour. My love.” Even if the line didn’t change the fact that the Princess didn’t pass the Bechdel test, at least she had three lines instead of two.
“We must run, my princess,” he said. Here, he was meant to step back and help her to her feet, but instead he stayed dangerously close. Lily’s palms sweated. Something in her core was on fire. As he let go of her, one finger swiped at the corner of her mouth. He subtly showed it to her as he finally did the blocking he was supposed to. It was marked with red. Her own lipstick had been ruined. He cleared his throat. “We must go now! The Evil Queen will realise I am here at any moment!” He circled to the front of her bed, took her hand, and helped her up. His palms were as gross as hers; she could feel his pulse jumping through his wrist.
There was only thing left; the music changed and swelled, and he started to run slowly, pulling her offstage. Lily joined him in the overdramatic fleeing, pretending to look terrified, and followed him into the wings.
As soon as they were in the darkness, James grabbed her waist; she rasped in surprise and he pulled her flush against him, hands stronger than she had known. Her heart raced. His face was only inches from hers, near as close as it had been on the stage. There was a wildness in his eyes, and his hair was still ruffled where she had messed it. Lily scoffed, mostly to herself. Was this his attempt at surprising her? She could do worse.
She smashed her lips against his, throwing her arms around his neck, and he stumbled backwards. But he returned her kiss with his own, fierce and insistent, and bit her lips. She stepped forward, pushing him against the theatre wall. How did he like being beneath her? But he gripped her waist harder and it became difficult to think clearly; her body ran on pure animalistic frenzy, only caring about his tongue against hers, his lips against her, the taste of his mouth.
“Are you mental?!” Lily broke from him at once, staggering backwards, and Remus gaped at them, holding his clipboard only by the string-attached pen. Lily smoothed her hair back, attempting decorum.
“You were the one who put me out there,” she said calmly. “I wanted to give it a hundred percent.”
Remus blinked. “Jesus Christ.”
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perfect, solider. Now we have all the tools we need at our disposal. So, Im thinking:
Jingliu, Luocha, Tingyun, and a flex, probably Gepard or another buffer like Bronya, Pela, or Asta.
Buff the hell outta that Jingliu, for she is your lifeline. First phase isn’t too hard, and if your ting Yun or Luocha get stuck in a gamble they can easily heal it back. Second phase though, I’m assuming you’re getting killed by the gamble, which yeah, makes sense. For the second phase, try to save Luocha’s ultimate for the gamble. He’ll probably have to spend a SP for his healing uptime, but you’d have a Tingyun to generate SP, and asta and pela also generate a ton of SP which mitigates if. Ofc, this assumes you’re running a fast Luocha and if you’re not, put some speed boots on him, as you either want him generating SP or spending one to heal. but saving his ult for the gamble means he’ll get all the points, and another ult to keep up his healing while also staying alive to keep Jingliu alive; I would say sustain priority is Jingliu > Luocha/Gepard > Tingyun/Buffer
for tingyun and a buffer if you opt for that instead of gepard, you will want a ton of speed, but try not to neglect tankiness. So you could run 2pc hacksrsoace and then 2pc knight, disciple, or guard. For planar ornaments, broken keel or belobog will be good to go either way.
if you just run Gepard, then yeah, if you have him on 4pc knight it’s all good. But he doesn’t have any way to amplify the team’s damage, so see if you can put broken keel on him so he can at least give jingliu some dmg.
Hm, I do indeed have a Bronya. She has her signature light cone, E0.
I'm always trying to keep my healer alive because he's super important LMAO. However, I didn't think of using Bronya or Black Swan as some of you suggested (I have her too). I'll see if I can buff the ever living fuck out of Jingliu.
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Saw your post! (Hope you will get better soon)
How do you feel about Nami and Usopp? I really like their general relationship, a bit "sibling like" and "we're the only sane people around".
How do you feel about them ( plus Chopper) being called the "weak trio" or "coward trio" in comparison to the 'monster trio' ? (Personally idk, i don't really mind but the "pure strenght" fighting ability is not really my focus with OP chaacters)
And about their dynamics in general?
Hello Dear friend O’Mine! Your question interests me and has left me puzzled for the last few days because there’s just so much to discuss! I have decided to start at the beginning and work our way that way! Then we’ll talk about the groups themselves.
In the beginning, there was light…more specifically the fires of the war that Nami and Nojiko were saved from (I’m starting with Nami cause she’s older). Nami’s story is about trust and determination. She’s the child of a hardy ex-marine who taught her grit, but was unable to stop her nasty habit of pickpocketing (would have probably gotten the chance without the lead between her eyes). The result means she ended up with half of a childhood lesson and a half taught out of habit…leaving her with stealing and trickery but only from people who deserve it…like dirty pirates for example. Nami’s a spit fire greedy asshole who takes advantage of her charm to get what she wants while still having a kind of moral compass (it doesn’t work great but…it works about as well as any of the strawhat’s does).
Usopp on the other hand was a momma boy (I assume). No grand story of misery, just a kid who wanted to make his mom feel a little bit better as she slowly died of some unknown illness. He’s never been good at coning people or tricking them or anything like that…nor was he seemingly taught any lesson on bravery or hard work…
They’re functionally opposites.
You can also look at the way that Usopp and Nami view pirates. Nami (for the most part) has always understood them to be no-good rotten assholes who function on nothing more than blind greed. Usopp on the other hand has idealized them in a way that almost makes the job impossible, never really understanding what being a pirate actually means beyond the fantastic lies he makes up to see Kaya smile and the lies he tells about his dad that he tells his mom so he doesn’t have to think that hisdad actually abandoned them both. Usopp lives in a fantasy land of swashbuckling heroes and Nami lives in the real world full of greedy assholes….it’s just their luck that Luffy’s crew is a healthy(?) combination of both.
This is to better define the age differences between Nami, Sanji, and Zoro compared to Usopp and Luffy (Notice how both the monster trio and the coward trio have a healthy dose of both?) Nami is a realist who has a defined skill set built on years of discipline and who’s been keeping the lesson’s shes learned from Bellemere held close to her heart so she never becomes the rotten thing that took her mother from her. Usopp doesn’t have any of that.
Nami acts to ground Usopp and, in a way, pass on the knowledge that Bellemere taught her about hard work and discipline onto this insecure teen. She reminds him that not only are there actual stakes in being a pirate, but that those stakes are scary because you should never give up.
Usopp on the other hand brings a healthy dose of stupid teenage boy bullshit but being smarter than Luffy…but still pretty stupid overall. He doesn’t take everything so seriously and it must feel like a breath of fresh air to Nami who’s been living every day like it’s the last day of her life.
That’s their differences, now let’s talk about similarities or what makes them a part of the ‘cowards trio’ (we’ll talk about Chopper a bit more in a sec because this question is about THEM specifically).
They both avoid confrontation like it’s the plague. Sure Nami is more willing to attack when she feels threatened but more like a scared shelter animal might…self-defense isn’t exactly assault (I’m looking at you Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji). She has always looked out for herself so she’s got some good ‘stay-the-fuck-away-from-me-or-i’ll-make-your-digestive-track-work-in-reverse’ energy that helps her get outta dodge before the big powerful guy shows up, but now she’s just Luffy so…it becomes a stamina problem.
Usopp’s got the same practical issue, stamina, with a different reason… lack of experience and area of expertise…he’s a 17-year-old sniper who’s never really had to fight anyone before…
Nami’s used to tricking her way out and Usopp is used to running…neither of which are really that viable in a strawhat fight.
Because Nami has never needed weaponry that does any more than deliver a clear (and metal-tasting) message then it takes til the iconic scene between her and Usopp before Alabasta where she asks him to make her something better suited to actually fight with. The physical fighters on the crew rely on either pure strength or fucking devil fruit magic which leaves them both at a sort of disadvantage. Nami knows she can’t compete melee-wise with her metal pipe (Sabo scoffs somewhere) and asks Usopp for help because he does a good job not being melee and she wants in on that skill set which turns them both into….
Support fighters! (Clapping ensues).
We’ll go into what this means in a second but this combination of similarities and notable childhood differences leads to the sibling-like interactions between them…Nami trying to teach her younger brother the ropes, only to find that some of the ropes she’s been relying on are no longer needed. She finds out that the younger brother in question has found his own ropes that provide tremendous aid and says that she wants in. They start carrying the same general load, even if Usopp’s a smug asshole about it in the beginning (the ‘party tricks’ thing with the climatact made me want to pull my hair out but it’s actually what a smug younger brother would do….make a useful but humiliating weapon only Nami could really use).
In regards to why they’re the only sane ones, that answer is notably easier…they’re the only humans. Sanji and Zoro are excluded from this category for genetic reasons, all the devil fruit users are excluded for Magic reasons, Jimbei is excluded for Fishman reasons, and Franky is excluded for SUPER reasons, it only leaves Usopp and Nami. They’re mortal and very aware of it. Nami knows just how close to death she can dance and the strawhats tend to consistently drag her to dance WAY beyond that safety net while Usopp, on the other hand, lacks the experience to be comfortable anyway closer to death than explicitly necessary…which is apparently not strict enough criteria for Luffy and his gang of monsters to leave the poor son of a bitch alone.
To briefly mention Chopper (because I’m gonna start more formally discussing the various trios and the doctor shouldn’t be just casually dismissed altogether) his inexperience with the human world almost acts as a middle between Nami and Usopp. He lacks Nami’s experience but his lack of an appropriate starting place doesn’t leave him quite as discombobulated as Usopp. In other words, he doesn’t know how to handle the strawhats crazy but he doesn’t know anything but that crazy so he’s not as bothered as either of them. All of this paired with him being the youngest strawhat overall, and you’re left with a scared kid who wants something rational he can hold onto for stability…nothing about Luffy, Zoro, or Sanji is stable in the combat sense but Usopp and Nami…their fear is entirely rational. It makes complete sense. He’s also a doctor which means he doesn’t want to cause unnecessary harm without a valid reason + the pirate king and his goons aren’t quite the post-op patients a doctor dreams about late at night so preventing his future patients from harm whenever possible might also act as a bonus for peaceful conflict resolution.
Now let's discuss the various trios and what they mean. I would argue that the ‘coward trio’ is an accurate way to describe Nami, Usopp, and Chopper in a fight the same way the ‘monster trio’ is an accurate way to describe Sanji, Zoro, and Luffy in a fight….the first three are cowards that want nothing to do with a fight on principle, while the later three are demons from hell with little regards for self-preservation, property damage, or levels of sadism (Zoro, I’m mostly looking at you for that one). ‘Weak trio’ though? Thems’ fightin’ words. Weakness is all perspective. Is Luffy’s weakness to seastone put him in this group? How about Sanji’s weakness to women? How about Zoro’s weakness to Milhawk or Kuma? It’s all about perspective. I think a more fitting term would be ‘support trio’. You get a wizard, a marksman, and a healer… they’re supporting characters for the barbarian, monk, and fighter classes that are gonna find themselves in quite the consistent predicament if they keep just trying to fit things as hard as they can. That’s not all Nami, Usopp, and Chopper are in the same way that not all Luffy, Sanji, and Zoro are…if we’re defining these characters purely by their fighting style then it works but I try to take the harder path of analyzing them individually as well as through the relationships that they form (hence the reason behind me wanting these asks).
Hope this was what you wanted, I sure had fun writing it! Any and all thoughts as well as feelings would be much appreciated! Thanks for the ask! (Also here ya go @certain-arcade-dinosaur , this is what I postponed my Classics final to write, and it was worth it!)
(Loving the recently Usopp Love!!! Big fan of my favorite dude getting some love recently!)
#one piece#minty musings#god usopp#cat burglar nami#straw hat nami#one piece usopp#one piece nami#straw hat usopp
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MURDER DRONES HEADCANON #3: Where Everybody Else Went
(Continues from: Black Boxes)
- RUN FOR IT!
[N leaps in front of Uzi, swinging the severed head still connected to the wire at something in the darkness. It unplugs and strikes something, faintly visible in the cone of the flashlight, an indistinct jagged shape merging in and out of the black. It has a mouth. It has no eyes.]
[Uzi springs up and darts back to the exit, nearly tripping over again and again. There’s no time to tell whether what she’s tripping with is metal or rock, or whether it’s dead or not, and the flashlight constantly bouncing up and down forbids any chance of seeing them coming.]
[N tries to keep up, flailing a sword behind him, meeting metal only sometimes, but most often nothing at all. One miss threatens to trip him off balance, and right then his feet get dragged from under him.]
+ N... N!
- Keep going! Kee-
[Before she can hear the end of the sentence, N’s voice grows distant, echoes starting to reverberate then just as quickly fading behind a veil of metallic rustling. Uzi stares into the dark, glimpsing more things encroaching beyond the tiny cone of the flashlight, threatening to obstruct and choke it. Her eyes are as if dead.]
[Bits and pieces of a human ribbing, linked together by plastic pipes melding into the bone, crawl up the hand holding the flashlight. They skitter up the arm, wrapping around the elbow, then the shoulder, then tightening, starting to pull. Uzi can't move: it’s all too familiar. It brings her back to the cryogenic station. Her father torn apart. The oil pouring from his torso, held up by that horrible hand, so alike to the rib-hand around her arm.]
[She can’t bring herself to see it happen to N.]
[His voice echoes one last time, so distant, the sound barely meeting her before falling silent. Have to do something. Now.]
[Her mouth opens to speak, almost without thinking.]
[It’s my turn now.]
+ ... SUSUME!!
[Her right eye changes. Purple light flares up from her left hand: a knife appears between her fingertips and she skims it across the ensnared arm, ripping off the rib-hand. She jumps back, releasing the flashlight. Her free hand glows then fills up with a flare, its red light shining on the mass of gaunt, oil-slick limbs encircling her.]
[The flare is barely enough to see the contour of oily claw after oily claw lunging, but it’s enough to react in time. It’s a frantic dance, wildly flailing the sharp edges of the knife without much finesse, seeing progress only in the occasional yellow light going dead and metal joints wrapped in skin piling up on the ground.]
+ N! Don’t you dare save yourself! It’s MY turn now!
[N’s voice echoes from afar. Uzi pursues it.]
[She charges away from the exit, lobbing forward flare after flare to light the way, their faint radius of light peppered by shadows of strange melted protrusions. Her legs manage to skip over most but inevitably trip over some, clambering away from the droning noise of metal, squelching and ripping that follows close behind.]
- Here! HERE! TO YOUR RIGHT!
[N’s there, somewhere close: Uzi almost missed him. His eyes are distinguishable from the myriad of yellow lights dotting the cavern only by the look of panic in them. Two trunks of intertwined metal wires hold him up from the legs and left arm, and his remaining limb doesn’t have a good enough angle to cut them off. Repeated stings of nanite acid are slowly eating at the wires, but without providing any immediate help.]
- I’m sososo sorry to ask but if you could… [His free hand points somewhere in front of him. Uzi can see the vague shape of a massive curved blade lit in yellow emerging from that direction.] THAT! THERE!
+ A… Scythe?
[Heavy breathing. She glances at the knife she’s holding, then back at N. A thought crosses her, putting a smirk on her face.]
+ A scythe! Heheha-
[A creaking noise alerts her to a claw crashing from above and she lunges to the side: only a near miss. The claw crashes and digs into the ground, then goes still: innumerable joints and wires pull it back up, but it’s stuck. The knife on Uzi’s palm spins and lengthens into a black scythe, swinging right through the thin metal bars connecting the claw to its joints. She leaps onto the inert appendage, now surrounded by a spinning purple symbol, and rests the handle on her shoulder.]
[The claw propels into the air, launching Uzi toward N. The curved blade is also on its way, followed by a clamor of giant mechanisms struggling forward. She flails her left arm just in time: the scythe catches onto the tendril holding his arm, cutting both of them off. Held up only by his legs, he falls down – just enough for the giant blade to graze the leftmost eye on his forehead, shattering it.]
[A pair of purple symbols envelop the remaining tendrils and pull them apart, aided by the slow action of the nanite acid, and N plummets to the ground, head-first. As he struggles to get upright, Uzi tumbles past him, panting, and he clambers to offer her a hand.]
- I- I know I told you to run, but ohohoh [Panicked chuckling.] Thanks fo–
+ [Turning, then leaping up, ignoring his hand.] Off me, N!
- [Retreats hand.] What… Did I…
+ HOLD THEM OFF ME!
[Uzi lobs the scythe aside, then holds both of her hands up. Another purple symbol stretches across the ceiling of the cave. The ground rumbles. Uzi struggles: unseen weight surprises her, buckling her legs.]
[N looks around him. Yellow lights peek everywhere out of the dark. Other spots shine with the distinct color of light reflected by human skin. Even rockets won’t do it, especially with only one arm left. From above, a dangling mass approaches: a single drone’s head, hanging upside-down from a tubular mess of metal and pulsating flesh, its mouth deforming into a wide jaw, dripping oil from rows upon rows of teeth. Pieces of white hair dangle from its scalp, followed by a wide array of arms – not like the thin limbs from before, but impossibly long and innumerably-jointed arms, made either of bone or white metal. N grimaces then extends his arm forward, holding his head as far away from it as he can.]
- Please don’t burn me, please don’t burn me, please…
[A plume of fire emerges from his arm. Everything near them catches it.]
[Their surroundings quickly transform into an inferno of long chains of joints on fire flailing around, hitting each other. Servos fail and beating torsos burst from the heat, severing entire masses of limbs like branches from a tree. Uzi gasps, finally gaining ground against the weight: the ceiling cracks, steadily opening like a lid, letting the snow cascade into the cavern.]
[As soon as his wings allow him, N catches flight, barely managing to hold Uzi to his chest, threatening to slip without the support of another arm. Between the effort and the sudden vertigo, she screams and almost lets go: the lid starts sliding back down. They barely fit through the narrow gap, wings sparking against the rock, but a gust of cold and toxic snow welcomes them back outside.]
[The wind knocks N off balance and they both tumble onto the white ground, spinning into a half-buried car. Still groaning from the impact, both look back in unison: the flames lick the snow outside then retract, pushed by the freezing wind. The giant blade from before is squirming out, hooking onto the floor and using itself as a lever to push the rock lid further up.]
- Uzi, run back! I’ll-
+ NO! Just… One second, okay?!
[The lifted slab of rock still shines purple from the inside. Uzi’s left hand trembles beside her. She can barely raise it. Slowly, painfully, the hand extends forward and lights up again: the purple glow disappears and the slab comes crashing down, severing the arm holding the blade. It stops moving.]
[All of a sudden, it’s almost silent. The snowstorm almost buries the distant crackling of fire.]
+ [Long, labored sigh.] What I’d give for twenty hours of sleep mode…
[N stumbles over. His remaining hand curls into a fist, then slowly pushes against Uzi’s shoulder. It takes a moment to register.]
+ … Uh? What?
- I almost got SCORCHED there! A-and you were right on the way of that huge scythe!
+ [Glancing at N’s missing arm.] Yeah. The fire. That’s what scared you?
- Oh, oh that’ll grow back, not a big deal. [Sighing.] But- Just listen to me sometimes, alright?
[N collapses onto the snow beside Uzi.]
[Silence.]
+ Want to watch Attack on Titan when we get to the pod?
- I'd love to do anything... But I don’t even have my arm back yet.
+ Yeah. Sorry.
————————————————–
NOTES:
There are almost certainly other MD teams and other WD outposts out there on Copper-9. I really wonder what happened to them. Some might have suffered a rather cruel fate.
That one line in italics Uzi says – “Susume” – is Japanese for “advance”. It’s an anime quote. I thought it’d be fitting.
Did I say “continues tomorrow”? I meant “next Monday”. Tuesday, actually, it’s 0:24am as I write this. This weird ass theater script formatting really isn't working anymore and I'm not super happy with the descriptions, but what can you do. Next one will probably be different.
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Luke fell from the sky and accidentally went through a portal to a parallel universe. He was picked up by a man wearing a bow tie in a blue box. He calls himself the Doctor. He looked a lot like Daemon, but younger, and sadder. Lucerys felt safe around him.
“Go away.” The Doctor said. “Let me travel with you.” You’re the only one I have closest to home here. Luke thought, blinking his teary eyes. “You’re an anomaly in time. The TARDIS doesn’t like that. You’re supposed to be dead.” The Doctor looked away, avoiding Luke’s sad face.
“Please. I have no where else to go.” Luke was sobbing, tears wetting his lashes. “I’ll drop you off to the closest time of your old life in this universe. You can start a new life there, farming, or be a fisherman.” The Doctor shifted the control stick.
The TARDIS tilted, Luke tripped and fell right into the Doctor’s arms. “She doesn’t want me to go,” Luke whispered, “you’re lonely, like me. I can tell.” “You don’t know me.” The Doctor scoffed. “Yet I feel so close to you. It must be fate that let we meet.”
So time went on, and as much as the Doctor resisted it, Lucerys traveled beside the Doctor. Each time the Doctor tried to drop off Luke to his time, the TARDIS dragged him to a different time. “I know. I hate to let him go too, old girl.” He caressed the console table.
“He’s…impossible.” The Doctor looked back at Luke, napping beside him, holding a book, a Brief History of Time. He chuckled, “Better find out what kept him alive, eh?” A light on the console table beamed to show approval.
“Someone worked really hard to keep him alive, changing a fixed point in time like that.” The Doctor mumbled to himself, not realizing Luke was awake. “What fixed point? Time, tis so confusing.” Luke stood up, holding the Doctor from behind, “I’m hungry.”
“What’s that sound?” Luke was holding a ice cream cone when a sound turned the Doctor pale. The cloister bell. The Doctor fumbled up, checking the screen, “A burning star. It’s drawing us near it somehow. In 90 seconds it’s turning supernova.”
“In English!” Luke yelled, grabbing on the console so he wouldn’t fall. “We are going to be toasted alive!” The Doctor yelled back. “Well do something!” The Doctor gave Luke a piercing look, “I am!”
“The radiation is too high, the energy left in the TARDIS isn’t going to shield the whole ship. She’ll only be able to shield her core.” The Doctor lifted a piece of the console panel, “Get inside.” He commanded.
Lucerys did not move. “Thanks for rescuing me,” He smiled, “Thanks for taking me to see the universe. Look after yourself when I’m gone.” Luke pushed the Doctor inside. A heavy thud onto the TARDIS floor was the last thing the Doctor heard.
When he woke up again, the Doctor was pointed at by a blade. The legendary Rogue Prince, looking down at him, eyes cold. “Where is Lucerys?” was the first thing the Doctor asked. Daemon froze in place, “You know Lucerys?” “Wait. You…we…we look the same!”
The Doctor exclaimed, but the blade of the Dark Sister moved an inch closer to his neck. “How do you know Lucerys? The boy has been dead for over a year.” “He’s not,” the Doctor panted, “he was supposed to but somebody changed a fixed point in time.”
It all added up now. This was the parallel universe that Lucerys was supposed to die in. The burning star fueled the TARDIS and got him through to this reality. The Doctor realized, he just uncovered why Luke didn’t die. It was because of him. Well, not him, it was another version of him.
“I have a feeling it was you who’s responsible for that.” Though looking confused, Daemon put away his sword, letting the Doctor stand on his feet. “You’re telling me there is a way to keep Lucerys alive?” The Doctor hesitated, “Yes. But I should warn you, changing a fixed point in time can bring catastrophic consequences to your world, bloodshed of many families, an end of a species, perhaps.” “What would happen to Luke if I saved him?” “He’ll live, in another universe, but yes he’ll live.”
Daemon nodded, “I’m assuming he’s with you?” “Yes.” A pause. “What will I need to do?” The Doctor looked at the man with the same face he has, and solemnly nodded back, “terminating the cause of this chain of events at a specific point of time in a specific place will open a temporal portal.”
“Will you take care of him after I kill Aemond Targaryen?” Daemon asked, his voice low. “I promise you.” The Doctor breathed, watching the Rogue Prince striding away. The surroundings started to move in reverse, the blast of the supernova closing in on itself, and the Doctor started feeling dizzy again.
“Hey. Wake up.” Luke’s hand patted his cheek. The Doctor jerked his body up, jumping from the floor. “Lucerys? You’re alive!” He grabbed Luke’s face, squeezing it a bit too hard. “What are you talking about? We were eating ice cream and you passed out. Had me worried for a while.”
“You don’t remember? Of course you don’t, the course of time changed, it worked! You’re alive!” “Of course I’m alive, have you lost you mind?” Luke eyed him, looking concerned, didn’t notice the Doctor’s reddened eyes. “So, where are we going next?”
“I thought you were dropping me off.” “Oh that can wait. I know, Barcelona, you like the sound of that?” The Doctor danced around the TARDIS console, like a weird looking giraffe, Luke thought. He smiled, taking the Doctor’s hand, “I’d like that.”
#hotd#house of the dragon#lucerys valeryon#daemon targeryan#doctor who#eleventh doctor#crossover#not serious
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Here's my contribution to @jancyweek2022 day 2 - childhood
The Elder Tree Campaign
September 1979
‘On behalf of her people, the Elven Princess thanks the Party for saving the Elder Tree’s forest from the rampaging Dracolich. In recognition of their courage, she bestows gifts on all of them and pledges her unending loyalty … she also vows to do all their chores for the next week, and to quit hogging the bathroom all the time.’
‘MIKE!’ Nancy glared at her little brother. ‘Shouldn’t “the Party” be thanking the Elven Princess for helping them with their campaign?’
He rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. ‘Fine,’ he huffed. ‘The Party refused the Princess’s gifts, saying that seeing her people safe and happy is all the reward they need, and thanked her for her loyalty and assistance.’
‘…Then the Princess replied, “You’re very welcome,” and returned to her tower,’ Nancy said. She skipped up the stairs two at a time, eager to change out of her costume, which had started to itch about two hours into the campaign. It had been fun, though, dressing up and playing with the little kids. She’d be mortified if anyone from school found out, since being in 6th grade apparently meant you couldn’t do anything remotely babyish, and were just supposed to talk about pop music and clothes and which boys you liked. Those things were fun, but so was pretending to rescue elf villagers from a zombie dragon. (Nancy could just imagine the way Carol Perkins, who actually wore makeup to school, would sneer at that.)
Just as she was thinking how glad she was no one from school could see her now, in last year’s ballet recital dress and a homemade flower crown, with little cones of paper on the top of each ear to make them pointy, the door at the top of the stairs opened and she nearly crashed into someone from her class. Not just any someone. A boy.
Jonathan Byers.
Nancy felt her face get hot, and just knew she was blushing like crazy. Then she saw that Jonathan’s face was also red. Oh god, did she look like such an idiot that he was embarrassed for her? Even though he wasn’t the cutest or most popular boy in her class, he was pretty nice, and she definitely didn’t want him to think she was a baby.
‘Sorry! I didn’t mean to walk right into you. I’m just here to pick up Will.’ Jonathan looked down at his feet, then back up at her, taking in her costume. ‘Are you … an elf?’
The burning in her cheeks intensified, and a knot formed in her stomach. ‘Yeah … I was helping the kids with their Dungeons and Dragons game.’
Jonathan smiled. ‘That’s so cool! Will’s always talking about how great your brother’s campaigns are. It sounds really fun. Maybe … maybe I could play too, sometime? With Mike and Will and you.’
The knot loosened as she took in how genuine his smile was. It started to feel more like butterflies. ‘That’d be really nice,’ she said, suddenly shy.
‘Cool,’ said Jonathan. He was still blushing, which made her butterflies flutter more intensly.
‘Cool.’
‘I should—’ Jonathan pointed past her, down the stairs, and she let him pass, noticing how the light glinted off his hair. Maybe he wasn’t the cutest boy in her class, but he was still kind of nice to look at. And he definitely wasn’t going to make fun of her for playing D and D with their little brothers.
She floated up to her room, imagining what type of campaign they might go on, and what monsters they might battle together.
#jancyweek2022#jancy#nancy wheeler#jonathan byers#jancy fic#my fics#stranger things#stranger things fanfic
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@lee-sol asked:
it’d become routine at this point, once the last class of the day was over, and he didn’t have to go straight to work after, he’d head right to the track pit to wait for someone. this particular day, things went mostly the same, except the class had ended about ten minutes early. there was a substitute, and the other students had convinced the poor guy the class ended earlier than it did. no matter, he already had a headache, and he was grateful to get out.
he didn’t even consider the possibility of potentially being the only one there, that he should probably wait until school had officially ended, he just went about his routine.
the track pit is painfully empty when he arrives, save for the coach, who seems to be in the middle of setting up. oh, looks like he’s a bit too early. he starts to turn on his heel, head to his car to wait there, but their eyes seem to meet before he can actually head off. it’d be awfully rude of him to walk off after his presence has been realized, so he just freezes like a deer in headlights.
“ u-um… hi, i was just— i was just waiting for someone, i guess i’m early. ” he rubs the back in embarrassment, offering a sheepish smile. “ i can just head back and wait… or i could help? looks like you’re still setting up. ” and he just interrupted her.
It was a meditation of sorts, setting up the field for pratice. There was something methodical about dragging the supplies out, running them across the quarter mile stretch and coming back. There wasn't much to set up beyond the cones, the hurdles and the clock. Routines were instilled in her, coded into her DNA, but there was something refreshing about the extra ordinary, about breaking the mold of everyday monotony. Sol appeared to be that break.
Lena sensed him approaching, his footsteps loud against the blacktop of the parking lot. She had seen him around more and more lately, lurking on the sidelines of the field for Byan to finish practice. In some cases, she had seen them slink off early, running cleats clacking on their way to Sol; their departure, usually, followed by extra laps the following practice.
A snort as he freezes, pretending like he wasn't looking for the punk that's usually around by now. Lena broke into a light jog across the field to meet him on the field.
"Sol, right?" She offered breezily, raking her fingers through wind-tousled hair. When the kids got there, she'd have to tie it back; she promised them a race later, if everyone showed up. "I've seen you around a little bit. Byan's told me a bit about you. I'm Lena, though I'm guessing you know that already. But sure, if you want to help, you know anything about timers? Will you plug that one in for me?"
She gestured to the folding table and clock sitting on it as she picked up the few remaining cones.
"So, you and them. Glad to see things are going okay, at least from what I've heard."
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Book of Lightning Chapter 58. Back to the Kalikori
https://archiveofourown.org/works/43208574/chapters/113780461
Kalikori Village
Ranna Tao’ven sat on a chair outside her little cottage, waiting for the lights to go out. Since relinquishing the title of Matriarch, she had moved into a house on the outskirts of the village. Partly to vacate the Matriarch’s building, but also to distance herself from her fellow villagers. The incident with the Fallen Jedi had changed her perspective on things, and had shown her just how little power she actually wielded in this village. Her people had forced her to betray her true love in their name, then gone on to pretend they were good, simple, decent folk.
They had acted brashly again during the Sith attack, in trying to storm the same barge that had brought them food. They had killed two innocent spacers. One of the women had begged for mercy, saying she had a child at home. The thought made her sick.
More and more, Ranna wished that Kolovish had never gotten her dirty fingernails on her mother. And now, she had avoided consequences yet again by using her people as a shield.
And still they refused to move! They had reverted to their stubborn dogma once the danger had passed, despite their oath to do so. At least Kolovish was gone, for now. Ranna hoped the old Twi’lek would face consequences for her actions.
She was so lost in her thoughts that it was some time before she realized that everyone had turned in for the night; the embers on the bonfire had started to cool.
She entered her home and locked the door behind her, intending to go to bed rather than dwell on her frustrations any longer.
She was annoyed to hear the knock on her door. She opened it, intending to verbally lash whoever had chosen to intrude on her privacy, only to find the words catching in her throat.
She ducked inside, letting Vajra enter the room. “Close the door,” she whispered as she began pulling off her clothes. “And lock it.” She pulled her blouse over her head. “Hurry!”
“Why the hurry? Don’t you want to savor this?”
“Not today,” she said as she tossed her belt onto the floor. “Please… I need this.” She leapt on top of him, kissing him fiercely. “I’ve missed you… I’ve missed us…” Thankfully, he didn’t need further encouragement. He carried her to her bed, where he proceeded to take her rather more roughly than he had before. Perhaps he understood her craving. Perhaps he needed it himself.
Ranna wished she could scream at the top of her lungs, but her walls weren’t the thickest, and the night was quiet. She closed her eyes, and focused on the sensations her body was experiencing. The passion, the hunger, the love, and when it finally came, the climax.
When he was finally done, she was left deeply satisfied. “That was exactly what I needed,” she said, kissing the hollow of his neck. His body rolled over to her side. She frowned as she felt his chest. “You’ve lost some weight since we last met.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize!” she exclaimed. “I’ll make you something to eat.” She tried to scramble out of bed, but was pulled back into his arms.
“Please don’t. I’m just here for you.”
“Mmmhhh,” she nestled against his hot chest, feeling his heart beating against his ribs. “Alright. If that’s what you want.”
“You’re what I want.”
She giggled. “Music to my ear cones! Can we get married tomorrow?”
He laughed uncomfortably.
“You’re a hero, again!” she gushed. “You saved the Jedi Council, and the Temple, and us! Surely they’d look the other way if you chose to take a wife.”
“How are your people?” he deflected her question. “I heard they caused a disturbance during the attack.”
The good mood almost threatened to leave Ranna. Almost.
“I don’t know how, but Kolovish got wind of the situation. She’s good at coaxing information out of people.”
“I’ve heard.”
“She had the whole village in a frenzy. They tried to seize one of the barges that had come to deliver food to us, but only ended up crashing it. The other ships took off, of course, and Kolovish took that as an affront. She tried to demand aid from the Jedi, but your Master Kaedan showed her a side she wasn’t quite prepared for. She’s been placed under house arrest, somewhere inside the Temple. The Jedi are holding us accountable for killing those poor spacers.”
“As they should!” Vajra said angrily. “I had no idea the Kalikori had taken it that far!”
“It gets worse,” Ranna went on. “Our Matriarchs promised to leave if the crisis ended, resettle elsewhere. But she’s reneged on the deal. She claims that the Jedi unlawfully detained Matriarch Kolovish, which renders our agreement void.”
“So we’re right back to square one.”
“Not quite. As you know, the Jedi are not monsters; they won’t force us to move at gunpoint, but they’ve withdrawn all support. The farmland never fully recovered from the Flesh Raiders’ poison attack almost a year ago—or has it been longer? —nor do we have enough seeds left over for planting. And since the Jedi have also confiscated most of our weapons, hunting is no longer possible either. They’ve shown us that we can’t survive here without their aid.”
“I doubt that’s helped matters.”
Ranna chuckled. “You know us so well. They’re angry and resentful. And feeling self-righteous about this all. They’re going to stay here until they begin to starve again. After that… we’ll see.”
After some silence, he kissed her nose. “What about you?”
“Me? I want to leave the village. They’ve brought me nothing but sorrow. They took away my mother, took away my childhood, my happiness… then there was the incident with Bengel Morr last year. They forced me to give up Master Orgus, to give you up… and then they had the temerity to hold a damned orgy after things worked out.”
“I remember,” he chuckled.
“I want to leave. But there’s nowhere else I can go. I wasn’t taught how to be strong or adaptable. This village is all I have. But… I hate it here! There have been days where I wanted to just go to the Temple and ask for their assistance. Surely someone would help me, right? But then…”
“But what?”
She kissed his lips. “But then I might never see you again. I want you, Vajra. Whatever happens in my life, I want you to be in it. Even if it’s once in two years, or ten, I want you. I love you. Now and forever.”
“I love you too,” he said.
“So what’s stopping you from saying yes? Marry me! Take me away from this world, from these people! Let us raise a few children and grow old together!”
“I can’t answer that yet,” he said at last. “This year… it hasn’t been kind to me. Master Orgus is dead. Killed by Angral on a live broadcast.”
Ranna jumped. “What?”
“Sometime last year. And then, just a day before he came to Tython, he burned Uphrades with his superweapon.”
“WHAT!?”
“I don’t think he knew. But he did. And I was there. I saw it. I Felt it. I Felt them all die. All seventeen million of them.”
“Oh…”
“Which is why… I’m a little lost right now.”
“I understand.”
“I’m sorry. It looks like I’ve gone and killed your good mood.”
“Better that than pretending everything’s alright,” she said fervently. “You can take all the time you need. And if you need someone to hold you in the night, my bed’s just big enough for the both of us!”
“Thank you.”
“Now, let’s try to sleep. You can sneak out in the morning.” She brightened up as an idea occurred to her. “I know! Let’s meet up at the meadow by Bright Hob Hill, around noon! I can bring us some food. We can have a picnic!”
“I can’t. Maybe some other time.”
She thought she heard a ‘maybe never’ in his voice, and it made her hold him all the tighter. For this one night, at least, he was hers. “Alright. But I want another round tonight.”
*
Vajra rose well before dawn and decided to take a quick look around the village before leaving. He kissed Ranna, who rose to bid him farewell, holding her sheets around her naked body.
“How can you stand this cold?” she shivered.
“It’s just my physiology. I promise you, I don’t do nearly as well with heat.”
“Yes, I remember.” Her shiver seemed unrelated to the cold this time. “I hope I never see you in a hospital bed again. My bed is a different matter, however. Please come back, someday? And I’d like a proper answer someday.”
“Of course.” Vajra quickly left her house and began scouting the village. It still had the walls he’d helped erect, but the turrets were gone. There were only five blasters in the armory, plus the two the guards carried. The Kalikori didn’t even have blasters enough to hunt.
They were trying to build bows, from what he could see in the carpenter’s shop, but none of them seemed to know much about bow making. There were plenty of serviceable spears, however. And the smithy had several crates full of traps for smaller animals. The stores did not have nearly as much food as he’d have liked either. These Twi’leks would not starve, but nor would they eat their fills.
Satisfied, Vajra left the village and began the run back to Keleth. The wilds of Tython were a good place for freerunning practice, as the terrain was mountainous and the trees dense. It was easy to just let his feet do the navigation for him, to just allow himself to plot his course as he ran. As he advanced, he thought about the Twi’leks. His feelings about the Kalikori were mixed.
He had spent months among them, getting to know them and helping them train to protect themselves. He had risked his life for them several times. And he had killed for them, killed legions of Khrayii. But their gratitude had only ever extended to lip service. They had betrayed the Jedi several times now, and taken innocent lives in this most recent incident. People who had come here to help the villagers.
But could he really blame them? They weren’t soldiers after all. They should be allowed to fear for their lives… no, that was giving them too much credit. They had been warned about the dangers, repeatedly, yet they had chosen to endanger themselves merely because of their pooh-bah. A case might be made for their innocence, if they had agreed to leave after that crop poisoning incident. Or even after the one where Bengel Morr showed them the dangers of facing an enemy of the Jedi Order.
But even the appearance of Darth Angral and his planet-killer hadn’t been enough to convince them. The next time danger came knocking, they would still be here. They would be a liability once again.
When he looked over their stores, he’d had half a mind to set it ablaze. Not because he wanted to hurt them; no, he wished to force their hand. The only reason he hadn’t was Ranna. If the Kalikori were forced to move, she would be too. As pathetically selfish as it was, he wanted her close.
You are unfit to be a Jedi, he told himself. You always were. Memories resurfaced, of all the people he’d killed. The Khrayii, the bandits on Taris, the Imperials on Coruscant and Nar Shaddaa, the Thul soldiers on Alderaan, and the Power Guards. Them more than anyone else.
He nearly fell from the treetops as his head travelled down the foggy paths. He stopped without really meaning to, drawn in by the memories of death and carnage.
By the time he woke from his reverie, he didn’t have the energy to run. He returned to the ground level and returned to Keleth at a slow pace.
*
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