#// I’ve been wanting to see if this does happen or if they remove the helmet

[ymirgel]

oh my god you CAN see the helmet during kiss scenes

[hellhound5925]

Cyare Verd

*OC Raven X Hunter

Previous Chapter - Chapter Three: Ruins of War

Chapter Four: Nerf Nuggets

Finally, back on the ship we are all able to take a deep breath. I slide my helmet off with a sigh of relief. Hunter looks back from the pilot seat, the two of us lock eyes. Concern etched into his features, eyes pleading with a question ‘is everyone alright?’ A tight smile and nod seems to set him at ease.

I turn to Tech and gesture to his leg. "Did you want help properly setting that?"

Wrecker strolls past us for the bunks. "What happened?"

"150 kilograms. And yes. I will." Tech’s reply.

He throws an arm over my shoulder and I help him to a seat in front of the navi. computers, setting my helmet into the seat next to him. Once he is settled, I head towards the back in search of med supplies and find a kit.

Tech removes his armor, while I dig through the kit. I pull out a bacta patch – which will do nothing – to find a more suitable bandage and splints to support his leg. Quietly, I get to work wrapping while he holds the splints in place.

“You were a great help to us today.”

"I'm sure you guys would have been fine without me. You seem quite capable" I quirk a brow, quoting him from earlier. He chuckles followed by a grunt.

"Ni ceta (sorry)" I’m suddenly conscious about how rough I might be.

"It's quite alright" he assured, pushing his goggles up on his face.

I nod at my work. “You should be all good now.”

"Thank you again" he says looking up at me from his seat.

"Ba'gedet'ye (You're welcome).”

Grabbing my helmet off the seat next from him, loud snores fill the space. Through the doorway, Wrecker has one leg off the bed sound asleep. I shake my head and continue towards the cockpit. Echo and Hunter quiet when I approach.

"Don't stop just because I'm here" I jest.

Echo offers me a smile before getting up, "You can sit here, I'm going to try and get some rest. Good job today." I nod at him as he goes.

Making myself comfortable, I place my helmet on the console in front of me and let my hair down. Hunter gives me a look out of the corner of his eye, but I notice he doesn't look away.

"Something I can do for you Sarge?" I run my fingers through the ends of my hair to get the knots out. A playful smile dancing across my face. He shifts before speaking.

“Echo told me. What you did for them.”

“Just got us out of a bind is all.” I can’t help but wonder what else he told him.

Silence overcomes the two of us. For a moment he studies my face like he’s seeing right through me. Those warm amber eyes could melt your soul. That thought does some funny things to my stomach and I find myself studying his face. For the first time I think I’m really seeing him. And he's not bad looking.

Wavy brown hair that’s kept at bay with a red bandana. A few rogue strands brush his forehead. From there begins the skull tattoo that covers half his face trailing down to his chin. Followed by a strong jawline that’s currently sporting a 5 o'clock shadow. Why have I never noticed?

He shifts - probably feeling uncomfortable under my heavy gaze. Now who's staring.

Clearing my throat, I turn back forward and watch as space flies by at hyper speed. My curiosity gets the best of me again and I peak one eye open, Hunter is focused on the console in front of him. Rolling my eyes, I cross my arms over my chest and get comfortable. Space is so mesmerizing I end up falling asleep.

Hunter

I wait until breathing evens out before stealing another look at her. Her features are soft and peaceful compared to the conflict that's been written all over her face. Though even with the weariness painted across her features, she's still the most alluring woman I’ve ever seen.

Something deep inside of me craves to have those hazel eyes on me. The thought sends goosebumps erupting all over my arms. She shifts slightly, causing a few pieces of her golden hair to fall in her face. Unable to stop myself, I reach over and brush them behind her ear, gently dragging my knuckles over her cheek bone. Her soft supple skin is a feeling I savor. It’s only then that I notice the jewelry in her ear. A few small silvery studs sparkle. A constellation between her lobe and cartilage.

I wouldn’t have considered her complexion to be pale but compared to my tan calloused hands. For a while I watch as she sleeps far more peacefully than she did the previous time. Mentally I pray to whatever powers that be it stays that way for her sake. Though, even with the weariness on her features, she still is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.

For a time, I let her sleep there before moving her to a bunk. She doesn’t so much as stir as I slide one arm behind her knees and the other behind her back. Her head lulls against my chest and her scent drifts to my nose. It's so delicate yet so intoxicating. Forever altering the chemistry of my brain. I can’t help but take it like a man deprived of water.

Her heart beats at a slower cadence. The sound floods my ears and I swear my heart syncs with hers. She buries her head further into my shoulder and breathes in deep. “You smell nice.” My chest vibrates with a quiet chuckle.

My senses start working overtime trying to focus on one thing but there's too much of her too close. For all that time, I cursed the Kaminoans for making me this way. Overwhelmed by everything and anything until I learned to tune it out. Now, there's nothing I wouldn’t do to let them get lost in everything she is.

It’s then that the entire galaxy comes to a halt- a screeching standstill. Echo was right. I’ve got it bad for her.

Raven

I feel myself slipping slowly back into consciousness but don’t bother to move or open my eyes. The dead silence is quite peaceful until it registers there's no hum from the Marauder’s engines.

Blinking open my eyes, it takes a moment for them to adjust. The sight before me is none other than the frame of the bunk above. Alright. This is definitely not where I remember being before I fell asleep.

It takes me a few more minutes to wake up enough to roll over. Inhaling, a musky male scent fills my nostrils. There’s something warm and inviting in it. I savor it, not wanting to get up. How in haran (hell) did I get here though? I wrack my brain but don't remember getting up or laying down. For that matter, I don’t remember having nightmares either.

Shuffling under the blanket, my foot hits something hard before it clatters to the floor with a loud ringing. “Osik (shit)” I cringe at the sound of beskar.

Slowly I raise myself onto my elbows and lean out into the walkway. As far as I can tell I’m alone. My elbow slips and I catch myself just before my face meets the floor. I can’t even remember the last time I slept that good.

With a second to collect myself, I stand and scoop my helmet up. A quick inspection proves there’s no new marks in the paint from where it hit the floor. I place it over my head and grab my things before making my way down the Marauder’s ramp. My stomach clenches because Cid is not going to be happy. I'm also not going to get paid now.

----

The Parlor for once is quiet which is a nice relief. Wrecker is playing Dejarik with one of the frequent flyers, Echo and Tech are talking to Hunter.

Thankfully I have my helmet on otherwise I probably would look like an animal in speeder headlights. Let’s face it. I’m still waking up. A shower would be helpful.

Heading over to Hunter I toss my bag on the bar top. "Where's Cid?"

As if on cue she comes bursting from her office, "Alright let's get to work shall we. Oh. Well look who finally decided to join us" She says putting her hands on her hips.

"That last job wasn't on us-" I get defensive before she cuts me off.

"I know, I know. But I've got something else." For once she seems to be expressing understanding. Imagine that.

"Who says I want another job?" I sass crossing my arms. I’m definitely awake now.

"You technically still owe me" Cid gives me a nasty look.

"Fine."

"You too, Bandana. Just the two of you. Should be easy enough" Cid gestures at Hunter. He and I exchange a look - sending heat spread throughout my core - before we follow her to her office.

"This one is easy, I promise. All I need you two to do is pick up 50 cases of Nerf nuggets and get them to their destination." Cid explains.

Disbelief replaces the anxiety of being alone with Hunter. "You're joking right? You want him - a highly trained clone with enhance senses - and me - a skilled Mandalorian warrior - to make a milk run?" I sass gesturing between Hunter and myself. He huffs out a small laugh I almost missed before rambling. "Don't you think that's over kill?"

I think about it for a second, taking my helmet off putting it under one arm "You know what? Never mind, I'm sure it's as bad as it sounds. But please continue." Out of the corner of my eye I catch Hunter watching me with an amused expression.

Cid gives me a look, "You'll need to leave soon to pick them up. Here are the details." She hands Hunter a datapad.

"To think I could just relax." I shake my head and run a hand down my face.

"Oh and you’ll need plain clothes . Alright now get out" Cid gestures to my armor. Rolling my eyes, I head for the door.

As Hunter and I leave her office, I mumble a string of curses in mando’a. He looks over his shoulder at me with a raised brow. My annoyance gets the best of me.

“Don’t enjoy it too much.”

Before he can respond I make my way to the bar and grab my bag. As much as I understand why she probably asked me to, I don't have to like it.

"Where are you guys going? Can we come with you?" Wrecker asks, trying to see what's on the datapad.

"No, Raven and I are leaving tonight. We should be back in 2 rotations. Stay here and stay out of trouble" Hunter commands the group.

It’s the first time my name has left his lips and the way he says it? A shiver threatens to run down my spine.

"Roger.”

Echo offers Hunter a nod. "Stay safe out there."

"We'll be fine. Besides, ‘Bandana’ has me as a copilot." Hunter scoffs at the nickname but all I can do is smirk.

Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I make my way towards the stairs.

“Where are you going?” Hunter sounds as if he was planning to leave now.

I scoff. “We can leave as soon as I’ve had a chance to shower.”

”The Marauder has a shower.”

Spinning around, I cross my arms over my chest. ”I’m not showering on the ship.”

My unyielding eyes meet his. He doesn’t seem to appreciate the challenge but something sparks behind his eyes. “One hour” he barks.

Turning on my heel I slowly saunter up the stairs. If he thinks he can order me around like one of his men, he’s got another thing coming.

It takes me an hour and fifteen minutes to get myself cleaned up in one of the spare rooms. What can I say? Hot running water was just too good to be true. I also took the opportunity to clean my flight suit.

With one last look in the mirror, I’m not disappointed by what looks back at me. For once the bags under my eyes weren’t that noticeable. I also find I’m not mad about not wearing my beskar.

Clad in dark gray skinny jeans, my tipical boots, and a fitted blue tank top that allows my tattoo to be seen. One of a raven - naturally - in flight. With one wing out stretched across my back and the other peaks over my left shoulder just touching my collar bone. The way the feathers curl, from the front they’re all that's visible.

The day I got this and showed Kal’Buir he admired it expressionless. At first I thought he was going to scold me, but when his smile spread of ear to ear. He told me that a wolf and a raven was a good omen in an upcoming battle. I never thought about why he gave me that name until day. He always just said I was good luck.

A bittersweet smile forms at the memory.

Grabbing my bag and black leather jacket, I collect myself before facing the others.

————

My boots click on each step as I make my way back to the main floor.

“I said an hour. It’s been well over that.” Hunter snaps. He doesn’t bother looking up from his spot at the bar.

A devilish smile spreads across my face. Testing his patience is way more fun than it should be. The others are doing whatever it is they do when they’re here but by the tension in the room, they’re listening.

“An hour and 15” I sass tossing my jacket over my shoulder for added effect. It’s only when I make my way over to the bar and sling my pack on it does he look up. I watch as his eyes roam over my exposed shoulder and the tattoo. Those honey brown eyes finally make their way to my face.

I quirk a brow. "This gonna work for you Sarge?" Might as well call him out for staring.

"Yeah. That's fine." he says, trying to act relaxed. A smile pulls at the corner of my lips, "We should probably get going."

————

Hunter wanted to check a few things on the Marauder while I head inside. Settling in I tuck my bag away before taking the co-pilot seat. It takes him about 10 minutes before I hear boots on the durasteel floor.

“Get lost back there?” I jest. He just throws me a look before taking a seat next to me.

Quietly I watch as he programs the hyperdrive and preps the ship to take off. His jaw muscle flexes periodically like he’s deep in through. With a glance from him, I look out the window and watch as Ord Mantell becomes smaller and smaller until we’re out of the atmosphere.

I break the silence. "We should eat." He hums in response like his mind is somewhere else. Alrighty then.

I make my way to the kitchenette at the back of the Marauder. Truthfully it isn’t much but I guess when you have 4 adult men on board they really don’t need much. Just simple meals to keep them going. But I swear if I have to eat another ration bar I might lose the little sanity I have left.

After spending a decent amount of time scouring the place, I find odds and ends of things to make us some version of pog soup. Typically there are far more spices in it - not to mention some kind of protein - but they seem to be running low on supplies. With two steaming bowls I head back to the cockpit.

“Here” I shove one practically in his face.

He takes the bowl with a cautious look. I move to the seat next to him and fold my legs underneath me.

“Pog soup. Or what I could make of it.” Swirling my spoon in my bowl I realize now how sad of an excuse for a cook I am. Most Mandalorian women were raised to fight and cook. Being that it was only me and Kal’Buir for the longest time, I only learned how to make what he knew. What all Mandalorian hunting parties ate- Pog soup.

The two of us quietly lift a spoon to our mouths. The warm soup hits my taste buds and I realize now why there were so many spices in it. This is awful. One glance at Hunter and I can tell he’s trying not to cringe.

“Alright so I’m no cook. It's better with all the spices in it I swear.”

He goes back for another spoonful. I’m stunned to silence, unsure of how to take that.

“It beats the ration bars.” A small smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. My eyes are immediately drawn to it.

“I’ve eaten far too many of those lately myself.”

He huffs a laugh and the two of us go back to eating. It doesn’t las long, my mouth gets the best of me.

"I still don't get why you don't just disappear. Head to some back word and lay low."

He sighs. "None of us know life outside of war."

I choose to say nothing, more knowing I'm really in no place to judge. Hunter hesitates to say more. The silence is deafening to the point where my thoughts wander back to my time on Kamino.

Conversations that seem like so long ago with the Sargent before me. They flowed with such ease. Discussing missions and what they could have done better.

That last part always threw me for a loop. ‘What they could have done better’ they did their job exceedingly well during the war. I don't think anyone even dared to question their tactics - even as unoradox as they were. I admired them for it.

“The other day, Tech asked how I knew Cid.” I start deciding to come clean about that at least. “Let’s just say a friend of mine and I got into some trouble and she bailed us out. Now I owe her when she sees fit. But I’m sure by now you know how she can be.”

He huffs his agreement but says nothing more.

The Marauder makes a noise like it's preparing to come out of hyperspace. I reach out a hand to take his bowl. He hands it to me and offers a nod.

“Vor entye (Thank you).”

His use of mando’a throws me. This whole time he’s never indicated he knew any. A small smile. The first one I can remember in a long time, finds its way to the surface. The way he looks at me kicks up butterflies in my stomach.

“Ba’gedet’ye (You’re welcome).”

After cleaning up our bowls and spoons, I grab my pack to find my vambraces. Once they are secured to my forearms, I shrug my jacket on. Hunter meets me at the ramp.

"Ready?" He asks.

“Let's get this over with" my usual sass making it’s grand entrance.

Hunter nods at me and presses a button. The ramp groans as it unfolds for me.

The brightness of the sun takes my eyes a second to adjust to as I stand in the doorway. Once they finally do, I spot a short man with a data pad. He pays me no mind as I approach, more focused on what he’s doing - this feels familiar.

"You must be Cid's pick up person" he says craning his neck to finally look up at me.

With a quick survey of the area it’s clear our cargo isn’t here. "Where are the cases?"

Nervousness visibly sets in the man's features, "Getting ready to be loaded, they'll be here any second.”

We both stand there in silence for a while and I contemplate my interactions with Hunter. It’s admirable what he’s clearly doing for his men. The man I met on Kamino would have done anything for them then too. I might even mind myself caring a little more than I should about him. Everyone I care about ends up getting taken from me. The final thought agitates because with that logic I’ll be alone forever.

I place my hand over one of my blasters. "I'm getting impatient, Where are the cases?"

The man fumbles with the datapad and seems to be trying to make a call.

"Everything alright?" Hunter’s impatient.

I raise my vambrace - consealed under my coat sleeve - to my mouth, "Not sure, checking on it now. I'll keep you updated." So much for a milk run.

"Something is wrong. I can't get a hold of my men. There are bandits you know, they steal stuff. Anything!" The man says frantically.

"Hunter, we've got a problem. you're gonna wanna come out here."

"Roger." The fact that he answered me like his men answer him is funny.

Hunter comes down the ramp. "So much for a milk run." So he can make jokes can he? I roll my eyes. "What seems to be the problem?" He asks the man.

The man explains what he just did to me but this time he tells us where the cases are supposed to be coming from.

"Great. We can track it from there" I suggest.

Hunter doesn't say anything but I follow his gaze - to a speeder bike.

"Oh, No. I'm driving."

He looks at me "Nice try." I quirk a brow.

“I’m not one of your men you can order around.”

Hunter gives me a look with a hint of amusement. "You like arguing with me."

"Do not.”

"Do too.”

"I'm still driving and that's an order.”

"Orders only work on your men!" I’m practically yelling at this point. Thinking I've finished the argument I head for the speeder.

I get on so that Hunter is forced to get on behind me, or so I thought. Before I have time to process, he’s picking me up and tossing me over his shoulder. Too stunned to speak, I scoff. Heat floods my veins.

“Hunter. Put me down. Right. Now.” I swear I feel him shutter when I say his name.

Gently he places me back on the ground and climbs on the bike.

"You coming?" He asks, quaking a brow.

“Mir’sheb (smart ass)” I make a face - forgetting I’m not hidden within my helmet - and he smile. He actually kirffing smiled.

A string of curses in my native tongue later, I reluctantly climb on behind him snaking my arms around his waist. I try not to lean in too close - so it's not obvious - and breath in his musky scent. Strangely enough it's a comfort.

Hunter opens the throttle up wide and we’re off. He takes a turn a little too fast and I bear hug his core. Pressing my cheek into his back. His warmth radiating off him into my skin.

"Relax." He shouts so I can hear.

My blood boils. "Yeah, well typically I prefer to be the one driving!"

He pulls the bike to a screeching halt and I practically throw myself off. Hunter half smiles at me. A micheviousness even sparkles in his eyes.

"I don't wanna hear it" I wag a finger in his face.

We begin our search of the area. Sticking together in case these bandits are still around.

"Sure enough we were right, cases aren't here" I think out loud.

"They must have been intercepted, we'll follow their route to the Marauder and see what we find on the way.”

I give him a look.

"What?" He asks.

"Seriously. I'm driving this time." I rest my hands on my hips.

"Fine" is all he says, before heading back to the bike. That’s it? What’s his deal?

We speed down the roadways until suddenly Hunter reaches past me and grabs the handle bar, turning the bike and pulling the break. We both tumble off. I’m given no time to even stand up. Hunter is grabbing me by the arm and dragging me to cover. I give him a nasty look and am about to go off on him when he covers my mouth. He shifts his body infront of mine, pressing himself against me so we are hidden behind the alley wall.

My eyes widen with shock and I’m suddenly very self conscious of every part of my body that is touching his. His face is turned so that he’s looking out the end of the alley, tattooed cheek only mere centimeters away. A few stray pieces of his hair not confined by the bandana brush over my nose.

After a moment he lets go.

"You di'kut! (fool) You could have gotten us killed!" I whisper yell.

"There was someone watching. They were waiting for us." he says, breath fanning over my face.

At this moment, being that he is so close to me our noses brush. It’s only now I realize he's about 4 inches taller than me. I look back and forth from his eyes. There's a hint of gold swirled through them that at a distance you don’t see.

He steps back, realizing we’re still close. "Sorry" he says quickly.

I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding. "We should probably tail them.”

"Yeah. Good idea.”

(Next Chapter- I’m not posting here any more but my fic can be found on Wattpad at this link.)

Taglist: @cloneloverrrrr @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @idoubleswearimawriter @techs-goggles9902 @clonethirstingisreal

[nicad13]

Swimming Lessons

Summary: “The thing that really gets me, is that I saw you take your helmet off to say goodbye to your kid. You gave us hell for removing ours, but when it came down between your Creed and showing your love for your kid, you chose love. And now you desecrate that love by calling it a transgression! You drowned yourself trying to wash away the sin of showing love to your child and you have no idea how stupid that is!” --- Bo-Katan teaches Din how to swim, reflecting on her own transgressions in the process.

Lifeguarding is more than just swimming lessons.

Tags: Death Watch, Children of the Watch, Regret, Attonement, Religious Discussion

AO3 link in the Source below.

---

I know you’re gonna have it your way or nothing at all But I think you’re moving too fast

TLC, Waterfalls

Bo-Katan Kryze stands at the edge of the shoreline. The sea is calm today, even if the sky remains grey. The day is mild, the air can almost be called “warm,” and the water laps with a pleasant slosh against the low bluff.

A perfect day for a swimming lesson.

Din stands next to her, still clad in the armor. His weapons and ammunition lay on a nearby rock, wrapped in his cloak.

The Darksaber lays swaddled in the bundle as well.

Grogu sits in his pod, ears perked and flared, eager to see what happens next. Bo had shared a quick word with him earlier. “I’m going to put your dad through some challenges today. He won’t like it and he’ll probably make some noise about it, but I promise you that he’ll be safe. Do you trust me?”

The kid had tilted his head from side to side in a way that seemed to say “We’ll see.” About as enthusiastic a response as she could’ve expected from the little guy, but he seemed to understand. The last thing Bo wants is to be on the wrong end of a Jedi-powered temper-tantrum, and she’s done all she can to avoid any misunderstandings.

Here goes nothing.

“This’ll go better if you take the armor off,” she says.

“No.” Din shakes his head. “I’ll be wearing it the next time I get dunked. I need to be ready.”

“Just to start,” she counters. “We’ll start light, then add pieces back as you get comfortable with it.”

Another head-shake. “I don’t want to get used to it without the armor.”

Bo heaves a sigh. She can’t say she’s surprised. The man is just as stubborn as any other Mandalorian.

“But… thank you,” he says, his tone easing up. “I appreciate you taking the time to train me.”

“Don’t thank me till we’re done,” she says. “I’ve hauled your soggy drowning carcass out of the water twice, now. You’re heavy. I’m doing this for my benefit as much as yours.” The words come out exactly as she intends – equal measures of irritation and light-hearted teasing. No trace of guilt.

Because, dear gods, does she ever harbor a load of guilt about this clueless Child of the Watch standing next to her staring down the sea like it’s yet another enemy he has to vanquish.

It had taken her a few minutes to notice, back when they had first crossed paths on Trask. Not until after he had slung his self-righteous accusations about the arcane helmet rules. Only then had she noticed the design of his armor, details that only a select few know to this day. Certain angles of his chestplate. The cut of his T-visor. Subtle features that marked him as a Child of the Watch. Details that she’s pretty sure even Din isn’t aware of.

Not yet, at least.

A Child of the Watch. One who was kidnapped as a child and raised in the Fighting Corps to fill out the ranks to aid Death Watch in re-talking Mandalore.

Hell, she might have even participated in the raid that stole him.

She’s not sure how old he is. She’d only gotten a good look at the back of his head when he’d removed his helmet on Gideon’s light cruiser to say goodbye to the kid, committing the “transgression” he’d held against himself like a blade against his own throat. All she had seen was a mop of dark, unruly hair. Maybe a few flecks of grey, but it had been hard to tell with the lighting. He could be anywhere from ten years older to ten years younger than her, depending on when it had happened and how old he’d been.

But she’d been young. Young and stupid when she’d joined Death Watch. Jealous of her sister’s inheritance of power by simple virtue of being born first. Easily seduced by Pre Vizsla’s words of supremacy and Meritocracy of the Strong. Anyone who was strong enough to take power deserved it. Anyone who could fight hard enough deserved it. And Bo had been strong. Bo had been a skilled fighter. She’d been good at war. And she’d thought that was what made a good Mandalorian.

Until the day she’d watched Pre Vizsla’s end, on his knees at Maul’s feet, his head parting company with his shoulders at the edge of the Darksaber. Even so, his last words summed up the madness entirely.

“Only the strongest shall rule.”

Maul had been the strongest that day. But he was no Mandalorian. Never had been. He was nothing but a criminal. She’d known Vizsla’s alliance with the Shadow Collective was nothing more than calculated opportunism. Vizsla had just mis-calculated.

And she’d been an idiot to follow him.

But not a big enough idiot to swear her allegiance to Maul. Not a big enough idiot to follow whoever was best at swinging a big stick on any given day regardless of who they killed with it.

And thus had begun her journey to determine what it meant to be a Good Mandalorian.

Decades later, she still hasn’t quite figured it out. But here she stands next to a Child of the Watch who is doing his damnedest to be the best Mandalorian who’d ever Mandalorianed, and he has even less of a clue than she does.

Not out of any fault of his own.

Gods, Death Watch hadn’t even taught the poor bastard how to swim. Just like they’d never taught him about the Darksaber or other Ways of the Creed or even fed him pog soup. They’d only taught him what they’d needed him to know. How to fight. How to kill. Nothing but gun fodder. They’d locked him in his helmet to make his life miserable. No shared meals. No intimacy of looking a lover or a friend or even his own child in the eye. So that when his time to die would come, he would welcome it. He would welcome the warrior’s death because his warrior’s life had been nothing but pain and suffering.

The Children of the Watch had been meant to die in the service of reclaiming Mandalore, but the Empire had destroyed the planet before they’d ever gotten the chance. They’d abandoned Concordia like a sinking ship, afraid the Empire would hunt them down there, as well. Din Djarin is just another piece of flotsam, drifting out from the wreckage, and he has no idea.

The difference is she’d known what she was getting into, and even with the benefit of knowing, she had taken far too long to get out. Din… he… well. He’d had no idea. Still has no idea. And the words keep getting hung up behind her teeth. You weren’t rescued. You were kidnapped. You were brainwashed. You may have a lot of sins under your belt – most bounty hunters do – but taking your helmet off isn’t one of them. You never had anything to atone for in the eyes of Mandalore. It is very much the other way around.

But she can’t say it. For a man who knows nothing of Mandalorian history, culture, or food, he has staked every gram of his identity on being Mandalorian. She has no doubt that he would’ve killed her for her heresy on Trask had Woves and Reeves not been at her side. Outnumbered and outgunned, he’d jetted away instead, shaken to his core at the discovery that Mandalorians who were different from him existed. Even now, he clings to the Old Ways because he doesn’t know anything else. He’d asked her the question point-blank, himself. “What do we stand for?”

She’d bitten the answer back. War. Murder. Betrayal.

And then she’d watched him drown, again, as he’d tried to wash away the sin of removing his helmet to say goodbye to the child he loved so dearly.

What did they do to him? The question burns through her. What did they do to him that he thinks that saying goodbye to his child eye-to-eye is a transgression?

She frowns, knowing damn well what they’d done to him. She’d watched them write the book. The transgressions are hers, not his. She wonders if he would kill her if she told him everything. That she’d thrown in with the people who had stolen him and made his existence a living hell. She figures the chances on that are pretty good. She can’t blame him in the least.

So she stands here instead, at the side of a man who is so broken he dare not take the armor off for fear he’ll crumble apart at the seams, and offers to teach him how to swim.

A pitiful reparation for sure, but better than nothing.

“Lesson number one,” she begins, “is to seal your helmet before you even get wet. Don’t just panic and dive in. The two seconds it takes to pressurize first is worth it.”

Din nods his understanding and taps the side of his helmet. The thunk of the gasket closing around his neck and whistle of pressurization are followed by the harsh whoosh of his breaths though the oxygen exchangers. The components sound good. Solid. She had also noticed the kid’s chainmail, earlier. Whoever had built Din’s helmet and the kid’s shirt may have been a cultist holdover, but they’d been a damned good armorer.

Bo points to the water before them. “The drop-off is sharp. It’s three meters deep here.” She points a little to the right. “But that’s a gavel bar right there. Only about a meter and a half deep. See it?”

Din shakes his head. “My gear isn’t equipped for getting readings through water.” His voice is clear through the com interlink in her helmet, but she’s still not quite sure she’s heard him right.

Bo turns to look at him. “What?”

He shrugs. “All of my prior work was on arid planets. Bounties don’t come to lake country to hide out.”

She retracts her prior opinion of his armorer. They may have been skilled, but they had certainly skimped on certain tech. Again, only giving Din what he’d needed to serve their purposes. “We’ll fix that later, then. Just keep the depth difference in mind. Show me what we talked about for treading water.”

He brings his arms up and makes the sweeping motions she’d shown him earlier, moving as if he’s gathering the air around him and pushing it down. “This and the scissors kick.”

“That’s right,” she says. Then she looks back out over the water. “Lesson number two. Always be ready to fall in when you least expect it.”

Her service droid had been standing behind them, silent and motionless until now. It steps forward, and before Din has any idea what’s going on, it knocks him forward. Din lets out a startled “Oop!” flails, splashes into the water, and sinks like a rock.

Grogu pipes up with a whine. He’s not startled. In fact, he’d probably seen that coming a kilometer away, but he gives Bo the biggest, saddest eyes she’s ever seen.

“He’s okay,” she says with half a smile. She wonders if he can sense it through the beskar. “I had him seal his helmet, remember?”

The kid grunts and points out to the water, which is bubbling and boiling with the thrashing Mandalorian submerged beneath.

“Go to the gravel bar,” Bo says, hoping Din can still hear her over the com through his panic. The water stills, then eddies around Din’s armored form as he clambers up onto higher ground and breaks the surface. The oxygen exchangers are still whooshing away and he’s not coughing or choking. So far so good.

“That wasn’t funny.”

“Wasn’t supposed to be. So next time you fall in, what’s the first thing you’ll do?”

“Get to the shallows.”

“Good. Now walk out a little deeper and practice the arm tread.”

He does as he’s told, but shakes his head after a few moments. “I don’t think it’s working.”

“Close your fingers together and cup your hands. Like you’re scooping the water down.”

His helmet tilts as he figures it out. “Oh. Okay. Yeah. Got it.” He rocks to and fro a few times, learning how to push through the water to move himself around. He figures out how to flare his arms so he can push himself up, noticing little bobs of buoyancy with every sweep. At the same time, he notices how the vambraces drag. Sharp surfaces that he’s learned how to use to control his pitch and roll in the air with the jetpack now create resistance in the much denser water, hindering his movement. He rolls his forearms to compensate, but he has to over-rotate his wrists to compensate for that. It feels unnatural, but he’ll have to get used to it. Just like he’s learned to get used to everything else that comes with the armor.

“Ready to get back in over your head?” Bo’s tone is encouraging. He looks up and sees Grogu next to her in his pod, scooted all the way forward and gripping the edge, ears up, eyes wide, ever vigilant.

He’ll have to kick with his legs – he’s not strong enough with his arms to stay afloat. Not with the armor, anyway. He understands now how it’s more than just about the weight pulling him down. The shapes that protect and allow ventilation on the surface pull and drag in the water. Bo’s armor is more streamlined, probably less of a hinderance, more adapted for life on Kalevala with its vast oceans. But the tradeoff is evident. He remembers how well his plate had served in their battle against the Imps when they stole the freighter on Trask, better able to stand up to a full assault than what the Nite Owls had worn.

He's paying the price for it now, though. He steps off the ledge of the gravel bar and sinks before he can even begin to kick. He’s ready for it this time, though, trusting the exchangers in his helmet, keeping his breathing even. His feet hit the sea floor, the water’s surface a bit more than a meter above his head. He pushes off, just enough to get his arms going again and try the scissors kick. The plates on his thighs drag this time, and it takes him a few moments to figure out how to compensate – shifting his body from a straight vertical line to more of a sitting position, bringing his knees up and then kicking down, using the plates to scoop down with them. It’s awkward, but it works, and he eventually makes his way back up, breaking the surface and holding position.

Bo stands on the shoreline, head tilted, arms crossed over her chest. She notes his breathing – heavy but steady, his motions becoming more fluid as he gets the hang of it. “Not bad,” she says.

“What now?”

“Keep going.” She checks the time on her HUD. “Aim for ten minutes.”

“Huh… okay…” His tone suggests that it’ll be a challenge, but he can probably manage it.

“Keep it up for twenty and I’ll make you and your kid some more of that pog soup.”

“Aaaahhhrrrgh…”

“Batu!”

Din makes it the full twenty before he promptly sinks to the sea floor, crawls up the gravel bar, and hauls himself back up onto shore, flopping face-down in the grass and panting.

---

Lucky for Din, Bo had used the twenty minutes of tread time to gather wood for a fire and get it going, sending the droid back to the castle for a fresh set of clothes. Now, he sits by the fire, wearing Bo’s father’s old under-armor gear. The sleeves are short on him and the pants stop a bit above his ankles, but everything is more than roomy. The important thing is that they’re dry, and he watches his own clothes and armor steam on rocks warmed by the fire as he sips soup through a straw. A dull, metallic clunk beats through the breeze as Bo stirs her own soup before taking a drink, her helmet on the ground beside her.

Grogu takes a gulp out of his cup, then lets out a belch.

“Mind your manners,” Din says. His tone is mildly scolding, but gentle.

“Tuu-uu tuu.”

Din sighs. “Close enough.”

Bo smiles at the kid, and Din sees the warmth behind it. So far, she’s been the only person other than Ahsoka and Skywalker to talk to him like he understands what she’s saying. Like he’s a child, not just a baby. Indeed, she had been the one to send him in Ahsoka’s direction in the first place. He takes another sip, savors the warm, kelpy, brininess in his mouth for a bit, then swallows. “How do you know Ahsoka Tano?”

The smile drops from Bo’s face. “Long story.”

Whoops. “I’m… sorry. I thought you were friends.”

The ice thaws a little. “We are… strong allies. Made necessary under adverse circumstances.”

“A story for another day, then.”

“Maybe.”

Din knows a Keep Out sign when he sees one, so he steps clear. “Have you had any contact with her lately?”

Bo raises an eyebrow. “Why do you ask?”

“I just… the last time I saw her was at Skywalker’s school. She seemed concerned about Grogu’s attachment to me. It’s why she wouldn’t train him in the first place. Now that he’s back with me, I’d like to understand it better. Why she seems to think it’s a bad thing.”

“Is his attachment to you reciprocated?” The set of her brow is calculated, now. Searching.

Grogu squeaks as his head swivels up to look at Din. “Eh?”

Still, the silence lasts longer than Bo expects before Din finally answers. “Of course.” His tone is low, warning.

“Have you spoken the gai bal manda to him yet?”

“The what?”

Bo heaves a sigh and Din catches the sight of rolling eyes before she turns her head away from him. “The Mandalorian adoption vow. The ancient tradition of recognizing your foundling as your own child. Your cult never taught you that?”

Again, another squeak from the kid.

Again, a lengthy bout of silence before Din answers. “… No. I was raised in the-”

“The Fighting Corps, yes, I know.” Bo turns to face him again, and her eyes are as hard as her voice. The words almost shake as she cuts him off. “Din, haven’t you figured this out, yet?”

“Figured what out?”

“Haven’t you wondered why you don’t know anything about Mandalore? Why you didn’t know anything about the Darksaber? Why you didn’t know about other kinds of Mandalorians? You’d never even had pog soup! What else haven’t you had? Have you ever had shig tea? Tiingilar? Ne’tra gal? Have you ever seen the art of Veraslayn Kast? Alrich Wren?”

Silence.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why they kept you on Concordia? Why they never let you set foot on Mandalore before the Purge?”

“We were cloistered-”

“We were exiled, Din. Death Watch was banished to that moon because we nearly destroyed Mandalore in the wars before that.” Bo is almost shouting now, voice raised, eyes shining.

Din cants his head with a very slow tilt. “What do you mean, we?”

“I was part of it,” she admits, the tremor returning to her voice. “I thought war was a better measure of strength than civilized society so I joined Death Watch and I waged war on my own family and I got thrown to that moon with the rest of them and we deserved it. They had to dome Mandalore’s cities because we destroyed the rest of the planet with warfare. Why do you think the Empire’s fusion bombs turned the surface to glass? Because we’d already turned it to sand decades before! And we never bothered to teach you any history because we didn’t want you to know you were growing up on the wrong side!”

Unable to look him in the visor any longer, she turns back to the fire. Grogu, finished with his soup and sensing the tension, crawls into Din’s lap. Din picks up his cloak and wraps it around the little boy, who snuggles into it against the chill of the oncoming evening.

Bo pokes at the fire and the flames perk up a bit, radiating more warmth. “I left, eventually.” Her tone is quiet, now. Sad. “But it was too late. My sister led the pacifist government on Mandalore until Death Watch imprisoned her. I tried to save her but I was too late. I lost everything.” She turns her head back to Din, looks him in the visor, looks the kid in the eye, back up to the visor, then back to the fire. “I recommend you get out, too. Before the same thing happens to you.”

The silence is much shorter before Din responds, this time. “Our secrecy was our survival. We survived on Concordia because we were hidden. We survived out in the galaxy because our Way prepared us for harsh conditions-”

“Oh stop with the empty platitudes,” Bo says, her face twisting with disgust. “You survived on Concordia because the Empire wanted to leave witnesses to see what they’d done to Mandalore. They left you to spread the cautionary tales of what happens to anyone who crosses them. And you weren’t exactly thriving when we hauled you out of the mamacore tank on Trask.” She gives the fire another poke, lips pressed into a tight, thin line. “The thing that really gets me, is that I saw you take your helmet off to say goodbye to your kid. You gave us hell for removing ours, but when it came down between your Creed and showing your love for your kid, you chose love. And now you desecrate that love by calling it a transgression! You drowned yourself trying to wash away the sin of showing love to your child and you have no idea how stupid that is!”

Din is very still, but his breathing is labored enough that she can hear it through his modulator. It looks like he’s staring into the fire, but she can’t really tell. She’s pushed him about as far as she dares, but she wants to know one more thing. “Why are you so eager to go back to them? Why are you so eager to go back to people who taught you these things?”

Another bout of silence. Just when she thinks he won’t bother responding, he pulls in a breath.

“… They saved me. My parents were killed when Separatists attacked my village, and the Mandalorians saved me. They raised me as one of their own.”

Oh dear gods he really doesn’t know.

And she can’t tell him. Not right now. She doesn’t dare. She can’t tell him the truth. But she won’t lie to him. She can leave him a trail. A path out, if he chooses to take it.

“When are you going back?”

“As soon as I leave here.”

“They’ll take you back now that you’ve redeemed yourself?”

“Yes.”

“And then what? Back to bounty hunting? Hide in caves and sewers for the rest of your lives? Live happily ever after while they take your kid away and put him in the Fighting Corps? Are you really going to let them seal him up in a helmet? Jam his ears under the bucket? You’re telling me you’re okay with never seeing those big brown eyes again? You’re okay with never showing your face to him again? Are you okay with these things because that’s what you’re used to and you just don’t know any better? Have you really thought this all the way through?”

He turns his head, just a little, away, out toward the sea. She knows he won’t give her an answer. He can’t give what he doesn’t have.

“Do yourself one favor,” she says, before he disengages entirely. “You saw the remains of Sundari. Even you recognized that it was once beautiful. When you go back, ask your Armorer why they had to dome the city. If they lie to you, maybe reconsider your choices. If not for your sake, at least for the sake of your kid.”

Din is still for a few more moments. Then, he heaves a perfunctory sigh, hauls himself to his feet, gets the kid settled in his pod, gathers up all his weapons and armor into a bundle with his cloak, and plucks his almost-dry clothes from the rocks and slings them over his shoulder.

“Thanks for the soup,” he says, and he turns and trudges back up the hill to his ship.

A few minutes later, the N-1 slips by through the clouds. Din Djarin, the man who just today learned how to tread water, flying a ship built on a world covered with oceans, a ship modeled after the rays that live in those waters. He’s still drowning. She’s saved his life at least three times now, but she’ll keep saving him. She’ll save him and his kid every chance she gets.

Because she has her own transgressions. Transgressions that can never be forgiven. Ameliorated, maybe, but not by ritual. Only in deed. Only in action. She spreads the coals out, letting the incoming drizzle extinguish the fire.

“Did you put the tracker on his ship?” she asks the droid.

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Good.” Her eyes follow the N-1’s vapor trail out over the sea. “With any luck, he won’t get himself killed before I can get to him.”

Lifeguarding is more than just swim lessons.

[cobaltswriting]

Luckily, you have connections. You heard from one of your minions that there was a reporter who had, by some chance, found out the truth.

You didn’t tell your superhero partner, there was no need to worry them with this. Instead, you had the minion capture the reporter, knock them out, and bring them to your hideout.

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

“Wakey wakey...” you say, giving the reporter a few gentle slaps to the cheek, until he woke up. He was understandably a little panicked at first, snapping to attention and his feet moving as if to stand up, before realising he had been tied to a chair, and finally, raising his view to your face. He seemed to relax a little as he did so, a small, confident smirk coming to his lips. It was a little irritating.

“I wouldn’t look so happy, if I were you.” You said, turning around, making sure to give your cloak a dramatic sweep as you did so, walking away from him, as you continued to walk. “You have been kidnapped by a supervillain, after all.”

“Oh, please.” The journalist said with a scoff. “I’ve found out your secret. You and Fortitude’s secret. You’re working together!”

You stayed silent for a moment, turning your head slightly to look at them out of the corner of your eye.

“...And? What are you going to do? Report us for doing good?” You said, after a few moments, turning around to face them again.

The journalist looked confused as you strode towards him again.

“You’re going to report us for damaging a building in such a way that forced the owner to bring it up to code, to make it safe? You’re going to report us for exposing crimes that were being swept under the rug, ignored? You’re going to report us for exposing the corruption in the police force that was ignoring those crimes?” You were getting a little worked up now, your dramatic nature coming through, as you slammed your hands down on the arms of the chair the reporter was tied to, putting your face a few inches in front of yours.

Ah, there we go. There was the fear. Maybe their information wasn’t so ironclad as they thought, if they actually though you would hurt them.

You straightened up again, dusting off your clothes.

“...I’m going to have to ask you to withdraw the story, if you have already said you would submit it. If you haven’t, just burn all your notes and anything you have written upon it.”

“..Why?”

“Eh?”

“If you are doing all these things for good, why don’t you want people to know?”

You sighed for a moment, adjusting one of your gauntlets.

“...I don’t care how people see me. Honestly, if you revealed me, I could probably make the jump to superhero pretty easily.”

You looked them in the eyes.

“...I’m doing this for Fortitude. They’ve always wanted to be celebrated, be a hero. You should see their eyes light up when they’re praised. It’s like a child. Normally I would be worried that it’ll go to their head, but I don’t think I need to worry about that. Not yet, anyway. If that ever does happen, the world will see how much of a villain I can be, in taking down a hero.”

You sighed.

“But I digress. They crave praise. I don’t care what people think. We both have superpowers, and despite differences in wanting to do it, we both want to help... But did you know?”

You lifted your hands, a small hiss coming from your helmet as you removed it, placing it down on the table. Luckily, the journalist didn’t seem to know who you were. Good.

“...A hero is no use without a villain. That is the purpose I serve. We stage fights, both of us making sure that collateral damage... by that, we mean civilians deaths and injury... are kept to a minimum. Often times to zero.”

You leaned on your helmet.

“And the damage we DO end up doing is what reveals things. We make sure to do it in a dramatic way. If we just exposed them, people wouldn’t pay as much attention. By doing it dramatically, we are forcing people to take notice. And they are forcing the police to actually DO something, as well as the heroes allied with them.”

You walked back to the reporter, lowering yourself down to put yourself on the same level as them.

“If you exposed us, I could easily bounce back. I could disappear for a bit, and then come back as a superhero. Fortitude, though... He’d be crushed. And not only that, the police and the other heroes would turn again him. Even moreso than they already have, when they think these things being revealed are coincidence or chance. Imagine how they’d turn against him if they knew what we were really doing.”

You stood back up, stretching a little.

“...You know I’m not going to hurt you.” The journalist nodded.

“...I’m still going to have to ask you... nay, beg you, not to publish your story. And to burn all your notes.” The journalist hesitated for a moment, before nodding.

“And I’m going to trust you to do that.” You said, and with a small click of your figures, the leather straps holding the reporter to the seat retracted, letting him free. “My minion will take you to wherever you want to go.”

There was a few moments silence, before the reporter spoke.

“Um... Genesis?”

“Speak.”

“I won’t post the story... but... I do hear things, you know.”

“I have an information network.”

“I don’t doubt that you do... but sometimes, having an average joe like me, or at least, close to an average joe, can reveal things that a professional might miss. I can be useful. I can give you information.”

There was a few moments of silence, you bent over a control panel, hands on it, thinking.

“...If the story doesn’t get published...” You said, after a few moments. “If the story doesn’t get published, I will contact you through one of my minions. And we’ll see how it goes from there.”

“...Just remember, though. I don’t want to you to think this is a threat. I may be a supervillain in name, but not so much in nature...” You turned to him, again, bowing. “I am simply doing this for my friend. You will not see any retribution if you decide that people need to know the truth, and publish the story. Not from me, in any case. However, if you think that some secrets are worth keeping... then please. Refrain from publishing the story.”

With that, you pointed towards a door, indicating that he should leave, and he scurried away, his head abuzz and full of more questions. Questions he likely would not get the answer to if he published the story.

You sighed, lifting up your helmet and looking into it, seeing your face reflected in the visor.

“Let’s just hope that journalist doesn’t post the story. If they do... I don’t know what Fortitude would do in their despair. I might have to end up playing the hero, if that happened.”

You sighed, placing the helmet upon your head again, a small ‘hiss’ letting you know it’s sealed and secure once again.

“It’s hard work being a villain, sometimes...” You sigh, as you wander off deeper into your hideout to plan your next ‘attack’.

You (a supervillain) and a superhero actually work together to help the city. In one fight, the damage to a building forced the owner to bring it up to code. In another, your conflict “accidentally” exposed crimes that were getting swept under the rug. Someone’s pieced it all together, though.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

Request time with Wilford! After cutting the yellow wire and ending up in the party area from Motherloving, the first thing Y/N does before Wilford can talk about the reader avoiding him is hug him.

"Look, as much as I’d love to stay here Mark, I’m here to warn you not to....."

Before you could explain further, your gaze trailed down to the yellow wire on the ground in front of the campfire.

It looked like it was hooked to the metal pot, yet it appeared similar to the wires you’ve cut in the previous universe--where you had to defuse a bomb for whatever reason. The Mark there didn’t give you any help and just trusted that you knew the right wire to cut. 

Red or blue.

Obviously you didn’t, as it exploded and sent you here. Oh well, it’s not like dying has any consequences if you just ended up in a different reality anyway.

Though curiosity got the best of you as you bent down to pick up this yellow wire, holding a pair of pliers (not realizing you still had them till now). 'Maybe this is the one I was meant to cut? Wonder what would happen if I did..'

"I want off this stupid camping trip." You muttered to yourself, snipping the wire and putting it down.

At first nothing happened, though when you looked back up at the campers, their creepy smiles were gone. They just seemed confused at what you did.

But nobody was more confused than Mark himself.

“...what-?”

The campfire exploded.

'Great job, [y/n]..just start killing off every Mark in every universe who isn’t yours.’ Why not?’

Honestly you didn’t know what you hoped to achieve by doing that. You believed in the “butterfly effect”--especially with this hell of a space trip you’ve endured--but you doubted that cutting a random wire was going to lead you anywhere meaningful.

And yet..that’s exactly what your decision did.

Instead of soaring through a blue wormhole, you could see stars and pink-blue nebulae in your vision, travelling backwards instead of forwards.

Then you got dropped off in front of...sparkly curtains?

A funky disco-pop song was playing as you brushed your hand along them, realizing you were in some kind of night club.

Then you saw someone shuffling backwards into the same room as you, jamming to the song with a drink in-hand. At first you thought this was some “groovy” version of Mark with a pink afro, but the pink and yellow attire was all-too-familiar to you.

It couldn’t have been anyone else except-

“Wilford?”

“Ah!” He nearly spat out his drink as he stopped short in front of you, the music abruptly cutting out. But once he recognized you, he calmed down. “Oh, it’s you! Is it that time already?”

“I-”

“Stop stalling! You’re under arrest!”

The loud voice in the distance startled you. ‘Was that..Abe’s?’

However, Wilford ushered you further backstage, away from the conversation as he claimed they were “still figuring themselves out”...whatever that meant.

You didn’t care, though. You were stunned, beyond relieved, to see him here. After travelling through universe after universe in a fruitless attempt to find Mark, you find someone familiar.

Not Mark, but another friend.

“..and I’m glad I ran into you BECAUSE YOU’VE BEEN-!!!”

You were so overcome with emotion that you couldn’t help but hug Wilford immediately, interrupting his rant. For a moment he didn’t move at all, the drink swishing in his hand, though he sighed and hugged you back.

“If you really think I’ll accept this as an apology for avoiding me......you’re right, I forgive you.” He grumbled, patting your back in an awkward manner. “But don’t do it again!”

“Avoiding you?” You pulled away, grinning with tears in your eyes as you removed the helmet, wanting him to properly see you. “I’ve been looking for you, Will. I didn’t forget about our meeting.”

“Well it certainly took you long enough..” He pouted.

“...you told me to wait and you get upset when I do?”

Wilford was about to answer, but then a small pink wormhole entrance appeared near him, and you jumped back in fright. ‘No, no!! I can’t leave yet!!’

Why did this damn wormhole have to pop up at the worst times? It wouldn’t pull you out of a dumb camping trip but tries to separate you from an old friend..

However Wilford didn’t seem all-that concerned, sighing as if it were a mere inconvenience as he took out his butterfly knife. “No.” He poked the wormhole and you watched as it bounced around, deflating like a balloon into nothing.

You would’ve been surprised, but then again this was the Wilford Warfstache you were talking to. 

Nothing he did surprised you anymore.

“So..that interview, huh?” You cleared your throat.

“..oh right! Now that I’ve got you here, I’m gonna book that right away. I won’t take no for an answer...and I won’t take yes, either. No choices at all, really. Haven’t you had enough of those?” He rolled his eyes, putting the knife away.

Although you were 98% certain he was inebriated, you couldn’t help but feel relief, knowing he understood the burden of choices that was placed on you.

Now it was off your shoulders, at least for a moment.

“Yes, I’ve had way too many lately. Thanks for that, Will.”

“No problemo..oh could you hold this? Thank you.” He handed his glass over to you before he took out a calendar.

As you debated on whether to take a sip or not, you raised an eyebrow at the...rather questionable images on his calendar as he flipped through it. But you just averted your eyes until he finally found a date.

“October 30th, 2019.”

“...huh? But..” You blinked in confusion, looking back at him. “That’s-”

“Oh don’t give me anymore excuses now,” he huffed, taking the drink from you. “None of this “oh is that in the past? Is that in the future? Oh, I can’t wrap my head around this whole timey-wimey thing!”. You’ll figure it out, I’m sure.”

“...alright, I guess I will.”

“Wonderful! Now, you’re already running behind. So I’ll order you a ride since your previous one’s been stabbed by..an unknown assailant.” A small wormhole appeared and he grabbed an old phone out of it, dialing a number. “Probably that old man.” He grimaced. “You don’t mind pink, do you?”

“Not at all.” You shook your head, smiling softly as you saw a larger wormhole being generated. Although you hated to leave him so soon, you knew this mission was more important. “It was good seeing you again."

“Oh yes, yes. We had a lovely chat. Now go “save the universe” or whatever.....ah! Wait! Hang on.” He grabbed your arm before you could jump into the vortex, looking at you intensely. “Have you seen Damien around? I can’t help but feel like he’s been avoiding me on purpose.”

Oddly enough, he was the only one you haven’t seen yet. You did encounter Yancy and the Jims at some point, though no signs of Dark anywhere. You hoped to ask Wilford that but...apparently he was just as clueless as you.

“Sadly no, but I’ll let you know if I find him. Take care, Will.”

Wilford’s gaze softened as he smiled and let you go, watching you snap your helmet back on before willingly entering the wormhole.

Sure enough it was pink, and you heard that funky disco music once again. ‘At least I can have a little fun on this trip.’ You sighed as you came to yet another fork in the tunnel.

Welp, so much for-

“I said no more choices!!”

The left passage was suddenly blocked, leaving you perplexed as to how he could just do that because he wanted to. Not to mention he could’ve been helping you this entire time..

Regardless you headed right, seeing it as your only option. But you weren’t bothered by it.

It’s nice that someone else did the decision-making for once.

[cyberfeather]

After the horrors of Umbara, Rex needs comfort. Usually, he would go to Cody when things get too harsh even for him, but his brother is still mourning the men he lost in the battle; most of them killed by Rex and the 501st. Even if he was deceived by Krell, the captain can’t face Cody, not after what he’s done.

He considers asking Bly or Wolffe for help, but they have both been sent out on missions, so that’s out of the picture, which leaves him with only one option. So once the 501st is back on Coruscant, Rex seeks out Fox.

He can tell the commander of the Guard is surprised to see him, even from behind his helmet. The war has put a strain between the vode on the front lines and those stationed on Coruscant, after all. And as much as he regrets it, Rex didn’t have much time to visit Fox often in between missions.

“Ori’vod…” He starts, but his voice breaks before he can add anything else.

Rex hates how he sounds like a frightened shiny just straight out of Kamino, how this proves just how bad Umbara affected him. However, the moment he hears him, Fox’s behavior changes immediately. He puts down his datapad, his whole attention now centered on Rex. His batchmate leads him to his private quarters so the whole Guard won’t be listening in on them. Once there, Fox removes his helmet and asks him in the softest of tones:

“What’s wrong, vod’ika?”

And Rex starts telling him. He speaks of what he’s been forced to do by Krell and how he hates himself for it, of all the soldiers he lost, of how powerless he felt under the orders of the rogue Jedi. He starts crying and shaking, but he can allow it, since Fox is the only one here to witness it.

His ori’vod is quick to pull him into a hug. He strokes his back in reassuring motions and lets Rex cling to him. In front of his troops, the captain always has to be strong, but here, with his batchmate, Rex knows he’s allowed to break, because Fox will be here to pick up the broken pieces.

“It’s okay, Rex’ika, just let it all out. I’ve got you.” Fox whispers.

And it’s what Rex does. He doesn’t hold back his tears, doesn’t hold back anything. He confesses how he feels like he’s failed Dogma, how it hurt to have Hardcase sacrifice himself so the 501st could survive, how some part of him broke when Waxer died in his arms. Fox doesn’t say much, but he holds him tight, and it’s what the captain needs at the moment.

It’s only once Rex has calmed down and his tears have started to dry out that his ori’vod starts talking. He offers to integrate Dogma into the Guard so he won’t have to be decommissioned, and Rex can’t thank his ori’vod enough for taking that weight off his shoulders. However, he is not ready for what comes next.

His eyes grow wide in confusion when Fox starts giving him advice on how he should act if he ever gets an abusive superior again. On how to minimize losses even when being given unfair orders. On how to forge documentation to protect his troops. On how to cope when being forced to kill other vode. All the examples Fox gives him are way too precise to be only theoretical.

Rex doesn’t want to acknowledge the truth that’s slowly being laid out in front of him, but only a fool would ignore the dark circles under Fox’s eyes, the hair greying at his temples or the hollowness of his stare. He quickly puts his own problems aside, suddenly certain that his ori’vod needs more help than him.

It doesn’t take much digging to discover some of the horrible treatments the Coruscant Guards are subjected to. Even worse, Fox talks of it as if it’s nothing but ordinary. It turns Rex’s stomach. Krell was supposed to be an exception, just a lone traitor, so to discover that his Coruscant brothers are all exposed to the same kind of cruelty on a daily basis… It breaks his heart.

He’ll have to tell Cody, Bly and Wolffe. General Skywalker and General Kenobi, too. They’ll help, he’s sure of it. Despite everything that happened, Rex stays persuaded that their friendship towards him and his vode isn’t faked. The more Fox talks, the more his faith in the Republic wavers, but not the one he puts in his Jedi.

There were many men Rex couldn’t protect on Umbara, but he can still save Fox and his brothers. And he will.

[no-droids]

Out of a Trillion

gif credit: @bestintheparsec​

Part Fifteen of the Rough Day Series

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 12.6K

Warnings: uhhhh so there is a bit of SMUT in this one, not too much and I imagine if you’ve made it this far then that won’t be too big of a deal LMFAOOO uh some ANGST and my attempt at HURT/COMFORT and also violence/blood/injury description, so look out for that!

A/N: I started writing this before the season finale aired and I know we all want a bit of goodness and softness after it, but hopefully this will be okay!  I’ll start working on the next part tonight

***

Everything changes and yet somehow nothing does.  

From that point on, it���s like… like you’re both just suspended in this perpetual state of wondering, waiting for the other shoe to drop.  You know he said it’s up to you, but what the fuck?  Look whenever you want?  That’s way too much fucking pressure, he’s out of his mind.  You’re not equipped to handle that, who does he think you are?  Someone that can just… decide things?

And it’s not like you’re afraid of the commitment, or that you don’t want to look.  You do, but every single time a moment comes, it just never… feels right.  You don’t know what you’re waiting for, what feeling or meaning you’re expecting to magically present itself to you, but you can’t shake the idea that there should be more to it than just randomly deciding to open your eyes at some point, shouldn’t there?  Din said there was no ceremony, nothing fancy, and he gave you permission to look because he said he’s not allowed to ask outright, whatever that means.  It’s a standing offer because you guess he isn’t allowed to prompt it for some reason, but unfortunately, that leaves you in just about the shittiest position possible.  Now everything falls to you—initiation, execution, and consequence—and Maker knows you’ve never been that great making decisions under pressure.

But you do want to look.  Sort of.

Sort of.  Because… well, this probably won’t make that much sense, but you’re afraid.  Mostly for him.  What if he’s making a mistake?  It sounds stupid, but you’re afraid of what this means for him, the sheer perpetuity of this decision he’s now expecting you to make for the both of you.  This isn’t your creed, not yet, and you feel like there’s still so much to learn.  Not only about the Mandalorians and his culture, but about him.  To know is to love, and so you’ve taken to asking any nonsensical question you can think of whenever he’s around.  Though you weren’t expecting it at first, you’ve learned that he’ll always give you some sort of an answer.  Some of the highlights include:

“How old are you?”  (“I don’t know.  Probably mid-forties, but there’s no way to tell anymore.”)

“You don’t know your birthday?”  (No, I… think it was in the winter.”)

“What’s your last name?”  (“Djarin.”)

“Do you have any freckles?  Or moles, or birthmarks?”  (“No, none that I’ve ever noticed.”)

“Do you cut your own hair?”  (“Yes, but it’s been awhile.”)

“Do you have dimples?”  (“I don’t smile in mirrors.”)

“Are your earlobes attached or detached?”  (“What kind of question is that?”)

And so forth.

He also gives you so many fucking opportunities to look.  One right after the other.  You used to think Din was incredibly trusting with how often and voluntarily he decided to take his helmet off around you—he didn’t wait a single day once he first felt your hands on his skin to take it off in your presence.  You remember being blown away by his unexpected willingness to part with it after hearing so many tales of the Mandalorians from Kuill; stunned by the ever-present ability to just open your eyes at any moment and that’s all it would ever take.  One simple movement—life-altering, and so easy.

Now you find it nearly impossible, muscle memory just won’t allow it to happen naturally.  And yet somehow, avoiding it is like stepping around land mines.  He doesn’t trick you—he doesn’t set it up, he doesn’t surprise you or anything, but he’s… less careful.  When the kid is awake, Din acts normal—he walks around fully armored, he goes on hunts and returns a few days later with a quarry, teaches you more self-defense techniques in the cleared out hull while the kid watches and giggles at your pain from the safety of his floating crib.  But when the baby goes to sleep, he’s taken to lounging with the helmet off.  He only used to remove it to eat, sleep, or… do other things with you, but he never used to take it off just… because.  Now he does.  Now he’s less careful about darkness, less strict about how much light he allows to touch him.

Now he shares every single meal he can with you, sitting just off to the side so you’ll never see him on accident but providing the free exercise thereof should you ever decide to seek it out purposefully.  Now he interrupts you in the middle of your complaining about the bruises on your knuckles just to lift the rim of his helmet the slightest bit, lean down and give you a quick kiss, and then lower it back into position again before you can even catch a glimpse of the lips you only recognize by touch.  Now he keeps the light on when he goes to take a shower, he leaves the door cracked.

It’s starting to give you heart palpitations, you swear.  At one point, he lets you to see the entire back of his head and it nearly launches you into a fucking crisis.

It’s the middle of the night and he just got up from bed to use the restroom.  He’s quiet enough not to wake you on the way over, but then across the hull and with his back to you, Din flicks the light on in the small bathroom without closing the door.  Immediately rousing you after being so accustomed to the pitch blackness, you lift your head from the warmth of your shared pillow just enough to blearily make out the sight of him leaning a hand up against the wall and dropping his head down, and it takes you a second to realize that it’s actually him.

Soft, dark brown locks ending at his collar but somehow looking longer than you ever imagined when you’ve run your fingers through them.  Cascading in shaggy, natural curls—tall, broad shouldered and trim waisted, naked as the day he was born.  Your heart starts to squeeze in your chest and it just never stops, and for the second time in your life, you feel like he woke you up in the middle of the night just to show you one of the most beautiful things the universe ever decided to hide.  There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have ever seen a sight that would compare?  He’s just a man, you don’t think a single person would bat an eye.  But to you, he’s… his own monument.  Constructed in honor of everything dazzling that happens to lie just underneath something else.  A breathtaking view, even from this angle, that could only ever mean something to you.

Would you ever be able to know him?  No, that’s not phrased right.  What you mean is that… over the course of all your time together, you remember thinking that if he ever took his helmet off, he could walk right by you and you’d never be able to tell the difference.  He could be anybody.  There are trillions of people in this galaxy and how many of them have the same features?  Brown hair, brown eyes, sunkissed skin that only one person is allowed to kiss, not even the sun.  Would you ever be able to know him?

Staring at his back in the blissful silence of hyperspace and feeling like the Maker himself is letting you in on one of his proudest secrets, some wild thought suddenly occurs to you that… you think you would.  Somehow.

You can’t explain it and you’d never be able to prove it, but you feel like if you lined up every single person in this galaxy shoulder to shoulder, all however many trillions of them there are, then you could walk the entire length of it and somehow come to a stop right where he’s standing.  Every single time.  You feel like you could do it in the pitch black.  You could do it with your eyes closed.

And, he must just be so gorgeous.  Maybe not in a traditional sense (or maybe in one, you’d have no way of knowing), but mostly in just… the rawest sense imaginable.  Not like how symmetry and straight lines are gorgeous, but how a mountain is gorgeous.  Rocky, dangerous, steep, the product of constant conflict between two immovable sides.  He’s got scars littering his body, one of which you remember giving him yourself with a cauterizer on his lower back.  He holds himself like his shoulders could tell their own story if anyone ever asked them; built to endure, weighed down and made strong with a collection of burdens he chooses to strap to them, steel or otherwise.

You don’t want to close your eyes once Din slowly turns around to look at you, but it happens anyways and you’ve never been so disappointed in your own cowardice.

But then, in a way, it could just be your own self-preservation instincts taking over.  No matter how stunning and life changing the spectacle would be, why would anyone ever stare directly at a supernova?  For so long, you’ve told yourself that his face is something you shouldn’t ever see on principle, but in a way, you suppose it’s fair he put this decision on you because he always has, even from the very beginning.  He trusted you to keep your eyes closed for months on end and you never had a problem with it, so why is it so hard to open them now that he’s given you permission?

A couple weeks of that, and you start to worry that you’re unintentionally rejecting him.

It’s the last fucking thing you want, but how can you avoid it?  Din is… different, he notices.  He’s made a living off of finding things that inherently don’t want to be found—he knows all too well what secrecy looks and sounds like, he’s quick and observant and you don’t stand a single fucking chance against him in all the years of his practice.

But strangely, for as often as you feel like you can figure out what he’s thinking without ever seeing his face—realizing what his intentions are ahead of time and not feeling slighted when he phrases things a certain way or just chooses not to speak at all—you never truly realized how much that extended back to you.

He knows you, too.  He told you so.

For some reason, you didn’t even consider the possibility of it working just as well the other way around.  That you could choose to stay silent, and he’d know why.  You feel like the mystery of him just eclipses you in every single way that you don’t consider even yourself much of anything, much less something else to be contemplated and understood.  While you wouldn’t necessarily qualify the conflict as not being ready to commit, he seems more than willing to respect it regardless and nothing about the way he treats you or interacts with you changes.  Normally you’d say it’s like he forgot the whole thing ever happened, but it’s almost the exact opposite.  Like he was just naturally expecting it from you.

Are you truly so predictable, you wonder?  He said you’d say no.  Was he right?  You’re not saying no, you just… can’t remember the word for yes right now.  It’s right there on the tip of your tongue and the harder you work for it, the more frustrated you become with your own inability to find it.

But, instead of waiting, you think Din just decides to continue the conversation with the promise to come back to you when you finally figure it out.

Sometimes, especially when he’s gone, you find yourself thinking about what moment you’d choose, if you could.  Since you can never seem to find the right one naturally, how would it all go if you could construct everything yourself?  Where would it be?  Naboo?  No, that’s too cheesy.  One thing you and Din both have in common is your practicality, your respective propensities for wanting to tackle one thing at a time and not needing frills attached to something in order to find a deep connection to it, a personal value to it.  You weren’t even bothered when he didn’t claim you as a girlfriend to Peli, that’s how reasonable you used to be about labels.  Now you’re your own antithesis, trying to conjure meaning where there isn’t any just so you don’t feel like you’re the one who’s ripping it away.  You want this decision to feel as permanent as it is.  You want it to be a happy thing, something that happens when you’re both so in love that you can’t bear to have metal separating you any longer.

You think… you’ll just know it when the time comes.

***

“I have to leave,” comes Din’s hushed voice through the darkness, and even though it’s the first thing either of you have said in hours, it sounds frustrated.  Like it’s been bothering him for awhile and he’s just now finally telling you.  “I… fuck, I can’t stay here, I should’ve left a long time ago.”

You whine softly into the pitch black, turning your head into the pillow and curling your fingers into his hair.  “But it’s still so early…”

“It’s mid-afternoon,” he groans back, dropping his forehead down against your skin and breathing hot air along it.  “We’ve been parked here for hours, I don’t know how you can sleep so long.”

“I’m not sleeping,” you pout, before gently dragging your nails down his scalp and feeling his whole body shudder with it.  “Earlier I was.”

“Mhm,” he murmurs, leaning down to give you one last long, slow kiss.  You sigh when his tongue comes out and glides soft and hot against your lips, tightening your grip on his hair.

But soon he pulls away, lifting the covers from over his head and pushing up from between your spread legs.  “This one shouldn’t take long,” he gruffs, planting both palms next to your head and kissing you once more in the darkness, dipping his tongue into your mouth this time.  You moan softly and taste yourself on him, moving to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders, but he breaks the kiss and leans back before you can, preemptively avoiding the possibility of getting lost in it.  “I’ll be back around dawn.”

You’ve known it was coming for hours now, so you’re able to play it off way better this time around.  “Okay,” you breathe softly, dragging your palms up his bare chest as he lifts himself tall over your body.  The slight disappointment underneath is so masterfully hidden, you’re almost positive you’re going to get away with it.  “Be safe.  Please.”

But then… well.  Bounty hunter.

Din pauses for a moment like that in between your open legs, letting you slowly slide your hands down his ribs and over the lines of his stomach.  You wait for him to move, find his clothes so you can get around and make some food, wake the kid up from his nap in an hour or so.  Can’t stay in bed all day, no matter how much you wish you could.

Only, he still hasn’t moved and you start to become concerned.  “Din?”

But then he suddenly groans like he just can’t help it, grabbing both of your spread legs and easily lifting them up.  You make a sound of confusion as he maneuvers them until they’re pressed together and draped over one of his shoulders, and then his hips drop and push forward to slide himself thick and perfect into your blazing hot cunt.

Still drenched and swollen from cumming in his mouth so many times earlier, you gasp and he just groans louder, a ragged thing scraping out of his throat while you struggle through blind and unexpected euphoria to reach him.  But you can’t—Din hugs your legs tight to his chest and settles in just like this, turning his head to drag soft lips and a hot tongue over your ankle before he starts fucking you.  Right up against your g-spot, with your whole lower body in the way and preventing you from slowing him down.

You just have to clap both hands over your mouth just to keep quiet since you can’t reach him.  You feel his teeth sink into the meat of your calf, hips pistoning far beyond your reach and it feels so fucking good that you almost don’t hear his gritted words against your skin.

“I have to go,” he groans, repeating it over and over until his voice begins to pull tight and it just sounds like a plea.  “I have to go, I have to go, I h—have to… h-have to go, I have to, I have to, I have…”

*** 

When Din finally steps foot out of the ship, fumbling with his rifle and cursing quietly through the modulator, it’s the middle of the night some twelve hours later.

***

Steady…

Steady………

Fire.

—and… you blink as bark splinters.

Did you…?  You look down at the blaster in your hand and then back to the ginormous charred tree trunk for a few seconds, wondering if you’re just seeing shit.

No, it’s real.  You actually fucking did it.  You…

… hit the target.

All of a sudden, your ecstatic giggle echoes loudly throughout the foresty autumn wonderland around you, reds and oranges and yellows crunching under your feet while you start to dance.

“Hey!  See that, bug!?”  You call out, shoving the blaster into your waistband and shimmying up to your enthralled audience of one, who just so happens to be smiling as wide as you are as he’s scooped up into your arms.  “I hit the target, I hit the target,” you sing, beginning to sway the baby back and forth as he squeals, laughing while you bounce him.  “No demon powers necessary, little man!  I figured it out, I just have to use one hand instead of two.  You can retire now, you’re the right age for—”

A twig snaps in the distance somewhere to your left, and you quickly spin around while reaching for the blaster behind your back.

Except all you see is a blue Twi’lek standing out amongst all the fall foliage, his hands cuffed behind his back and stumbling a few steps at a time while a considerably taller suit of beskar shoves him forward.  You relax and immediately turn to look down at the ground, trying to bite your lip so you don’t smile too hard while they both approach.  You did it—finally, you did it, you’re on top of the fucking universe right now.

You wait for them to pass by and move up the open metal ramp to the carbonite chamber, but then Din apparently decides to pause when he’s directly behind you, yanking the quarry to a sudden halt.  

You know you should probably turn around to address them, but you can’t hide the happiness from your expression, it’s way too obvious.  Though, after a moment, you decide to shyly turn to face the two men while continuing to bounce the baby in your arms, hoping that his and your matching expressions of excitement aren’t too terribly inappropriate right now.

Din looks from you to the splintered bark on the tree, and then back to you again, before slowly tilting the helmet up in a way that feels… proud of you.

“Congratulations,” he finally says, and you can hear the genuine smile hidden in the modulated drawl.

“Thank you,” you beam up at him, feeling the blood rush to your cheeks.  “Was pretty awesome.”

“I’m sorry I missed it,” he tells you, and you don’t know why, but the tone of his voice makes you go so warm.  It’s not like he’s openly flirting with you, but coupled with your giddiness and sounding like that in front of a bounty he caught in record time, it just makes your heart fucking throb for him.

“It’s alright,” you murmur, shuffling your feet through the crunchy leaves below and trying to play it as cool as possible.  You have company.  “I’ll be able to do it again.”

“Let’s see it, then.”  He tips the helmet over at the tree, and you look between him and the unfamiliar quarry for a second, not used to Din just… ignoring their existence entirely for you.  It’s not like the Twi’lek has said anything or inserted himself into the situation at all, but still.  Din has one hand latched onto the cuffs behind his back to prevent him from booking it, but other than that, it’s like he’s pretending he’s not even there.

“Uh…”  You immediately feel yourself get nervous.  “I can… try.”

He nods one single time in silent encouragement, and you slowly turn to face the tree once more.  The kid stays cradled in your arm while you reach for the blaster in your waistband, removing it and using your longest finger to flick the safety off with a practiced fluidity.  Then, extending it out in front of you and taking advantage of your newfound strategy of only firing with one hand, you line up the sight and pull the trigger.

You wish you could say it hits.  It would be so fucking cool and impressive if you hit the target like that, wouldn’t it?  But it doesn’t hit.  It misses, like usual.  Miserably.  And then an amused snort comes from behind you.

“Right stormtrooper, you are—” you hear an unfamiliar accent begin to snark, but the rest of it turns into a garbled howl the second Din jerks his elbow back to slam it in his face.

You whip around just in time to see a cascade of blood pouring down blue lips and sharp teeth—holy fuck.  You gasp and take a step backwards with the kid, not horrified by the sudden display of violence (not after Din spent an hour teaching you how to do that, too) but not quite expecting it at that moment, either.  But then, well… that’s the second time he broke a quarry’s nose for addressing you with disrespect.  There was that other one he choked, you’re pretty sure—though you can’t remember exactly what initiated that.

Din yanks the bounty up the ramp without another word, leaving both you and the kid there to process while he shoves him through the hull and towards the carbonite chamber none too kindly.  However, by the time he seals the quarry to his fate and eventually makes his way back to you, you just… 

Fuck, you feel so stupid.

You shouldn’t even bother, what’s the point?  All that practice and nothing to show for it.  If you can’t even hit a stationary target with the pressure of others watching, what makes you think you’ll have any hope at all in a situation where you actually need to shoot?  Are they gonna stand still for you?  Are they gonna be as wide as a fucking treetrunk?  You’re horribly embarrassed, so downtrodden in the face of a cruel taunt that you don’t even want to look at Din when he steps in front of you.

“Hey, just try it again,” he says without delay, but the damage has already been done.  It’s not his fault, you’re just… not the kind of person who is meant to shoot a blaster, maybe.  

“Ah… it’s alright,” you look out and smile sadly at the line of trees surrounding you, wondering how it’s possible that you only managed to hit one of them this whole time.  You don’t see it, but Din quickly touches the tips of his fingers to the side of his helmet twice before you look back at him.  “I hit it earlier.  I did, I promise.  You can see the mark if you look.”

His glove reaches out to brush your hair back, so unbelievably gentle after using the same arm to shatter bone just a few minutes ago.  “I know you did.  It was a perfect shot, you hit dead center.  I see it.”

“I did it with one hand, that’s why I tried the thing,” you mumble stupidly, looking down at your feet.  Dumb.  Dumb.

A strand of your hair is tucked behind your ear.  “Wish I was here.”

You glance over at him, feeling your expression suddenly go soft with a wave of affection.  It stops all the harsh criticisms, halting your negativity in its tracks and replacing it with just… soft, abstract things.  Mostly just warm, nonsensical fluff, but one clear and resounding thought breaking through.  You wish he was here, too.

“Maybe I’ll get good at it eventually,” you sigh, slowly handing him the blaster with the barrel pointed down and away from both of you.  Din carefully takes it from you, tucking it away somewhere on his utility belt while you gaze out at the designated target and victorious char mark decorating it.  “Or hopefully just okay at it at some point.  I guess I just need to practice more, right?”

“That’s right,” he tells you warmly, catching your free wrist.  “Try using this one when you do.”  And then a lightweight piece of metal is gently pushed into your empty hand.

Your expression furrows while you quickly look down at it, and—

You go utterly still at the gift, not even knowing what to think.

The first thing that you notice is the craftsmanship.  Brilliant, structurally flawless, the perfect size to fit your hand.  You don’t recognize the specific kind of metal that was used—definitely not beskar—but you think it might be constructed from the same material as Din’s old armor.  Dull silver, but with reflective chrome filigree accents around the handle, trigger, and safety.  It’s uniquely constructed and unlike any weapon you’ve ever seen before—no hard lines or edges, just a soft fluidity to the design that’s so aesthetically pleasing, it doesn’t really even resemble a blaster at all.

You can feel the visor silently studying your reaction while you continue marveling, noticing something new every time you look.  The safety is towards the back of the chamber, just like he said it’d be.  The sight is electronic, and you examine the way it’s built directly into the barrel.

Are those extra magnets on the inside?  Is this able to micro-adjust the plasma release for the best shot?  Holy stars, it must have cost a fortune.

“Din, this is…” you can’t decide where you want to look—the gorgeous crafting, the custom design, or him.  Standing so close to you, not saying a word while you search for the right ones.  “It’s so beautiful, I…”

“Was made for you,” he murmurs.  “Had to be.”

You look back down at the blaster to stop your eyes from tearing up.  He didn’t have to do this.  This is so… sweet, such a lovely thing to do.  Don’t cry, don’t cry—

“What is this?” You ask breathlessly instead, rotating the gun until he can see the symbol branded on the handle.  You recognize that it’s his signet, but you never bothered to ask him what it’s called, you never saw it as your place.  It’s an animal of some sort, one with a giant spike attached to its skull, and you’re glad you’ve never come face to face with one.

“It’s a mudhorn,” he answers quietly.  “They’re… dangerous animals.  Fiercely protective, preferring solitude.  The kid saved me from one a few days after I met him.  It’s… the mark of my clan.”

How fitting, you think, and an honor.  Perfect for him, and a bone-deep reminder of your two favorite people in the galaxy on your hip wherever you go.

“Thank you,” you tell him, hoping the sincerity in your voice sounds anywhere close to how you feel.  You haven’t even had it in your hand for longer than a minute and it’s already your prized position, the most important thing you’ve ever called yours.

Din nods and takes a small step back.  “Now hit the target.”

Feeling invigorated and renewed in every single way, you keep the kid tucked firmly in one arm while raising your blaster with the other.  The safety clicks off and your back straightens, chin lifting until something about the angle feels… right.  The trigger moves easily under your fingertip, and there’s almost no kickback considering how light the weapon is.  What you’re not expecting is the pure white beam of plasma shooting out of the barrel—unlike any blaster you’ve ever seen before—but then the immediate sight of it hitting the tree dead center sends a roar of triumph through your ears.  Fuck yes.

“Look at that!”  Din calls out over the kid’s happy squeal, and there’s nothing you can do to stop your loud whoop of victory.  Even though you know it only hit with the addition of those extra magnets to correct your terrible aim, that still feels so good—you feel so fucking powerful and dangerous.  You glance over to Din with a wide smile, but then his arm extends out towards the trunk directly next to the one with charred bark.  “Hit that one.”

You automatically swing the blaster in that direction and shoot.  A few pieces of wood split on impact and send sharp bits flying as soon as the bright white beam collides with it.

“That one,” Din tells you, and then bark splinters a half second later.  “That one.”  Bark splinters.  “That one, that one, that one—” hit, hit, hit, white plasma flying through the air and bark splintering in rapid succession.

He stops and spins around, pointing to a tree at the very edge of the clearing.  “That one?”

It’s furthest away but the trunk’s diameter is enormous.  As you lift the blaster, you know you’re likely to get it easily with this sophisticated weapon, even across the considerable distance.  So instead, feeling like nothing at all can touch you right now and wanting to see how smart the aim mechanism is, you raise up a few degrees higher before pulling the trigger.  Pale plasma launches from the barrel, and then one of the tree’s most prominent branches comes creaking and crashing to the ground right where you split it.

You’re beaming by the time Din turns back to you, the most excited you’ve ever been with your own progress.  He holds there for a moment while you lower your blaster and wait for him to speak, both of you looking at each other and not moving, until suddenly you hear his voice coming back to you.

Hit the target and I’ll marry you.

One of Din’s hands slowly comes up to the edge of his helmet, but before you can even process the implication behind the gesture, you’re immediately looking down at the crunchy leaves under your feet and clearing your throat.

There’s a beat of silence where you stare down at the dead foliage and wonder why the fuck you just did that.  Right in front of him, right to his face, too startled at how quickly you were being confronted with the possibility that you responded in an equally startled way.  It was instinctual, automatic and entirely out of your control, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want to take it back.

But… you can’t take it back.  That’s the way things are, and after a few moments, you hear his boots begin to cross the distance to you.

“Come on,” Din murmurs gently through the modulator, carefully taking the blaster from your hand and clicking the safety back on again.  “We have to get going.  The fifth quarry is far.  Three day trip through hyperspace.”

He doesn’t sound upset or disappointed by your unintentional rejection, thank the Maker.  You want to explain yourself somehow, but it appears it isn’t necessary in the slightest.  His arm wraps around your lower back and he leads both you and the baby back up the open ramp of the Crest, squeezing you close enough to his side that you have to learn how to walk in a different way to stop yourself from tripping over his boots.

The helmet turns and presses to the top of your head while you focus on moving straight.  “Proud of you,” Din murmurs quietly, and your chest fills with enough air that you’d be worried about floating away if he wasn’t latched onto you so tightly.

He eventually releases you and walks over to the armory, pressing a button to unlock the doors while you hold the kid and watch him start to remove the multitude of weapons strapped to his body.

Maybe… maybe this isn’t the right time, but something brave surges up inside you.  After receiving the most precious gift imaginable from him, hitting all those targets and hearing him say that he’s proud of you, you’re buzzing with just enough energy that for better or worse, it makes you open your mouth and ask.

“Could I… come with you this time?”

Din nearly jerks upright and looks over at you immediately, but he takes a while in responding.  You hope he sees it in your eyes.  You hope he sees just how much you don’t want to be stuck here again when this is possibly the one time you’d be able to tag along.  It’s a bullshit quarry, one he could do in his sleep, and you’ve been getting increasingly restless while stuck on this ship.

When Din eventually does respond… well, judging from his shift in tone, you’re assuming he was just shocked at the question and didn’t take any of that time to actually consider his answer.

“No.”  Short.  Unfeeling, and not sorry about it in the slightest, before turning back to return the blasters you were using previously to the armory as if you said nothing at all.

Okay…  Um.  Not great, not what you wanted to hear, but maybe if you explain yourself better, he’ll listen.

“I just… I’m the only reason you have to get this quarry in the first place.”  Your voice is quiet, trying to let go of some of the concerns you’ve kept to yourself over the past two weeks.  Your fingers fiddle idly with the kid’s little woolen sack as he hangs out in your arms, wanting to plead your case but feeling slightly nervous now.  “You were out having a crazy expensive blaster made for me while I shook hands with Karga and agreed that you’d take more work for less pay.  I hate that I did that.”

“You had no choice,” Din mutters, turning around and striding past you while pressing a button on his vambrace to close the Crest’s ramp.  “My fault for being late.”  And… for as warm and comforting as his voice sounded earlier, it now just sounds… dismissive.  Aloof.  Half-listening, not really wanting to talk but forcing himself to.

“Well this time, I thought maybe… I might be able to help?  Maybe?”  Maker, you feel yourself going quieter the more he walks around the hull and ignores you.  “Karga said it was just a missing person, not even a criminal…”

“Karga says a lot of things,” he grunts with his back to you, voice completely monotone through the modulator.

Come on, speak up.  You’ve lacked a backbone for so long, you’ll never get what you want unless you say it out loud and let it be known.  You take a deep breath and straighten your shoulders, trying to put a little bit of spine into it.  “I can be useful.  I can fight now, I’ve been working on my—” 

“You think I’m telling you no because I don’t think you’re capable?”  He suddenly whips around, voice ringing sharp and challenging throughout the hull while you freeze.  You don’t move but everything about you suddenly feels like it shrinks.

“I-I didn’t—” But he cuts you off, taking a step forward.

“I know you can fight, a Mandalorian taught you how.  I know you’re useful, I know it’s just a missing person, and I know you hate it when I leave.”  He pins you with his eyes through the visor, his tone harder than you think you’ve ever heard it before.  “No.  Your job is to stay here, on this ship, with my son, where it is safe, and my job is to go get the quarry.  Quit asking.  I’m not telling you again.”

The baby makes a tiny little distressed sound in your arms and you blink a few times up at the cold metal, feeling all the good feelings from before just… drain out of you.

Okay, that’s fine.  Uh.  You… the cockpit is behind you, you’ll go up there and fly then.  No reason, just… he should get going.

“Okay, yeah,” you nod and tell the wall over his shoulder brace in immediate agreement, before abruptly spinning around and grabbing the ladder.  Din doesn’t move a single fucking muscle while you try to find your way up to the cockpit with the baby held to your chest and a dead stone sitting heavy inside of it, hoping your face doesn’t show the vulnerability you feel wanting to take over as you retreat.  Get to the cockpit first, get to the cockpit first, get to the—

“Sweet girl, I…” you barely hear murmured through the helmet from the floor, soft enough to sound slightly shocked, but you scramble into the cockpit and shut the door behind you before he can say anything else.

***

Silence didn't used to feel like this.

At first it was eerie, unnatural and stifling when you spent years in a wide open desert, wind swirling and dust pelting.  It suffocated you the first few times you jumped into hyperspace, a phenomena you read all about and considered mathematically fascinating before ever experiencing for yourself.  It was… foreign and strange, but you began to value it more and more as time passed.

Then, you started to get to know him and silence just became comforting.  Something you could bask in, knowing it was a comfort to him.  A choice he made because it just fit him best.  You felt safe in it, you felt like you didn’t have to be anything else but you.  You never had to break it just to avoid awkwardness, you became… closer to it, until you learned to fall in love with it.

But only when he was with you and it was his silence.  Not… everything else’s.  Now it’s haunting again.  Now the sheer lack of sound through hyperspace is a stranger to you, and the distortion of light surrounding the cockpit feels less about the sheer magnificence of manipulating space time and more about the fundamental disconnect it causes.  Gorgeous, but at its core, a severance.  Ripping the fabric of the universe apart, tearing a wound in it.

It’s been a few hours and nothing exceptional has happened since your conversation in the hull.  

You’ll admit that you’re a sensitive person, and because of that, you’ve always had a problem knowing if you were right or wrong when someone comes at you with a hard enough will.  You second-guess yourself, it’s one of your worst traits, and you feel like trying to squash that tendency without knowing the limit is partially to blame for why you’re holed up in this cockpit with the kid.  You’re quiet but in a different way from Din.  When he doesn’t speak, it’s because most of the time, he’s sure of himself and doesn’t need to.  When you don’t speak, it’s because most of the time, you’re insecure and don’t want to.

After being left alone with your thoughts for this long, you’re starting to realize that… he was right.  What were you thinking, wanting to tag along?  Wanting to hang out while he risks his life for this occupation, you probably sounded so fucking ignorant.  Maybe… maybe he didn’t have to say it like that, but his point is still very valid and you’re not sure if you’re really justified in hiding like this anymore.

The way he said… your job, though.  That still stings a bit.  This hasn’t felt like an actual job in a very long time.  Was that just an expression, or did he mean it literally?  You’re stuck on it, you’ve just been going over this for hours in your head, trying to figure out if you should be the one to apologize or not—or if this is just you overreacting from the start and no apologies will be necessary at all.

“Sorry you got stuck with me, kid,” you mutter sadly to the baby, watching him fiddle with his favorite metal ball in your lap.  He makes a little gurgle, purring in that weirdly adorable little way of his and it somehow feels like a reassurance directed to you that he’s just fine the way he is.

Maker, you haven’t heard anything from the hull in a fucking eternity; it’s like Din turned into a ghost, hasn’t even made a single footstep that you could hear since you last left him standing there.  You remember performing a quick flight check as soon as you got up here, lifting off as fast as you could and hoping the thrusters would rumble loud enough to cover your series of pitifully shallow sniffles at being yelled at unexpectedly by a very large and intimidating man, not really crying but not really able to breathe normal either.  The little monster was able to wiggle himself around in your lap as you were trying to punch in the correct coordinates for the fifth quarry with rapidly blinking, watery eyes, and then proceeded to give your belly the smallest hug you think you’ve ever been given and pretty much break your heart with it.

Lovely little boy, so sweet when he wants to be.  He’s sat with you this whole time, he even tried giving you his metal ball to play with but ultimately decided to keep it to himself when he realized you aren’t nearly as fascinated by it as he is.  You know it’s probably getting late for him, and you’ve been weighing the idea of handing him over to his father so he can at least get a good night’s sleep somewhere that isn’t your arms.  There’s no blankets in here, just your lap.

“I think I gotta go take you to your dad soon, tiny.  He’s probably missing you,” you tell him, trying to keep quiet enough that you won’t disturb Din in the hull.  There’s a good chance he’s already asleep.  “I think… he might still be mad at me.  Maybe you can give him the big eyes, soften him up a little?”

Right on cue, his enormous eyes start to droop closed, and you let out a tired sigh of exasperation.  That’s not gonna work, come on.  They gotta be open, booger.

You watch him slowly drift to sleep, his ears relaxing until they too start to droop, but when you try to take the ball from him and set it down on the console, his eyes immediately pop back open and the toy slips from your fingertips.  It levitates right back into his tiny hands as you watch, and then he closes his eyes once more while tightly cuddling the thing he loves most to his body.

Unbelievable.

He’s a child, and yet he’s…

“How are you so strong?”  You ask him, unable to even fathom.  “You’re the smallest, most helpless little thing I’ve ever seen and you’ve got such… strength.  You defy the universe for a piece of metal.”

He doesn’t hear you, you think he’s asleep again.  It’s just as well, you figure.  He needs to go sleep in his crib, it’s time.  You scoop him up and make sure the little ball stays tucked snugly in his arms, before finally standing up and stumbling over to the door on numb legs.

Only, when it slides open, you quickly stop short.

Because there, sitting on the floor and resting his helmet against the corner of this small little platform leading to the ladder, is the Mandalorian.

So much closer than you expected him to be.  So big, crammed into such a tiny place.  You didn’t hear his footsteps climbing the ladder, and you would’ve noticed it during the hours you’ve spent in the suffocatingly muted quiet of hyperspace.  He can be silent but not when absolutely nothing else exists and he’s got a thousand fucking pounds of steel weighing him down at any moment in time.  You took off almost immediately once you barricaded yourself inside the cockpit, so has he… did he follow you up in those last few seconds, right after you shut the door?  The ones when you were sniffling like a child and trying desperately to turn the thrusters on before you let the tears come?

His head lifts and his back straightens as you’re looking down at him with his sleeping son cradled in your arms, your eyes slightly redder than they should be.  You’re a mess and… he’s been here this whole time?

“Could you hear me in there?”  You whisper in sudden mortification, but Din just keeps gazing up at you through the impenetrable metal visor.  A complete mystery again.  Unreadable—he could be anyone.

When he doesn’t answer you, your heart twists with the possibility that he’s still upset with you, and you quickly turn to the ladder to figure out the best way to get down without jostling the baby.

“I’m sorry.”  His voice stops you dead in your tracks.  It’s so soft, nearly flipping in and out of the modulator from the lack of volume, the most cautious sounding thing you’ve ever heard coming through the filter.  “I… hurt your feelings.  I’m sorry.”

And…  Maker, if anybody else had said it.  If literally anybody else had said it, you know it would’ve sounded like the most sarcastic, dickish remark in such a delicate moment.  But, you also remember him telling you once that you were tenderhearted.  That the galaxy would never be as kind to you as you are to it.  This… comes out sounding like he’s trying to change that.

It comes out sounding like he’s trying to use his voice to hold you because he doesn’t think you want to be touched right now.  Like… like he’s doing everything he can to be as careful as possible here because you think he might be attempting to do something he’s never done before.  Apologize for saying something he didn’t mean.

“You don’t have to,” you quickly tell him.  He’s not good with words and apologies are difficult enough to phrase for normal people, you don’t want him to fret over it if that’s what this is.  “It’s okay, I know you’re not… you don’t have to.  It was stupid of me to ask.”

“It wasn’t,” he instantly counters, his voice finally seeming to find the floor when it was just hovering before.  Not loud—still gentle, still making sure the kid doesn’t wake up and you’re not frightened away, but a bit more grounded this time.  “It wasn’t… what I wanted to hear, and I didn’t take it well.  Not stupid.”

“It was stupid,” you return amicably, looking down at your feet.  “That’s not my… job, like you said.”

Din suddenly hangs his helmet down to his chest, pressing his gloves to the part that curves over his forehead and rubbing it.  “Shit.  I didn’t mean—”

“You were right,” you acknowledge, having spent the past few hours coming to the understanding that it’s the hard truth and he just phrased it poorly.  “I’m not… built for it, I’d only get in your way.  I barely just managed to shoot stationary targets with a blaster today, and that’s only with that aim corrector built into the barrel.  I’m here to be helpful, not—”

“What are you saying?”  He suddenly lifts the beskar to study you, sounding genuinely confused.  “What aim corrector?”

That… makes you pause.

“The, uh…”  Now you’re confused.  “The one that adjusts the plasma release on the gun you gave me.”

He doesn’t move an inch or say a single thing to you in response and you awkwardly shuffle your feet for a second, everything so quiet that you can hear every little snore that goes in and out of the kid’s tiny button nose.

You blink at him after way too long of that, not knowing why he still hasn’t said anything.  “There’s an electronic sight and like a bazillion extra magnets packed into the barrel, Din, what else could—”

“Sweet girl, that’s… that’s for the Philithiorium,” Din breathes out, like he’s absolutely blown away by you right now.  “That gas is less stable than normal canisters, it takes more magnets to focus the white beam without overheating the metal.”

You stare at him, not truly processing.  He’s saying that… you made all those shots today without any help at all?  By yourself?

Your eyebrows furrow and you blink a few times, but then his slow, heavy sigh echoes throughout the metal walls with disappointment… and you don’t think it’s directed towards you.

“You’re just… always so unsure of yourself.”  He sounds genuinely distraught as his helmet tips down to look at the ground.  “I made that worse today.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you quickly shake your head, your chest already beginning to loosen slightly by just being around him, hearing his voice, seeing the metal glint under the fluorescent light overhead when he’s in such a vulnerable position on the floor.  “It’s okay, let’s just… pretend neither of us said anything at all, okay?”

“Is that what you really want?”  He asks you after a moment of quiet, and for some reason, you hear something in your mind tell you that his arms look so nice right now, don’t they?  You could fit right there, perfect and safe again.

“Yeah, it’s fine,” you smile at him, feeling a bit of the ache trapped inside you continue to work itself out little by little.  You’ll be back to normal soon, it’s fine.

“No, I mean… do you really want to come with me?”  Din asks you, the words sounding cautious.  Confused, like he truly never expected the proposition from you at all.  “Or… do you just not want me to go?”

Oof, what a fucking question.

Why would he ask this?  It’s not pointed; it’s the softest, gentlest inquiry you’ve ever been posed.  Maybe in other circumstances, you’d say that him leaving doesn’t have anything to do with it, but… you’re certain that internally, it absolutely does have at least something to do with it and he was just able to know it before you did.  Which is probably why his sharp words seemed all the more cutting earlier.  It hurt because he said the truth first, verbalized a very deep insecurity you’ve been trying to hide from him and threw it right in your face when shutting you down.

Though, if it worked differently and you were the one who had to be away while he stayed here, you’d like to think you’d handle it way better than how it is now.  At least you’d have a real mission to focus on, new things to see and experiences to have.  You just feel… confined sometimes.

You take a deep breath and figure you’ll use sitting down as an excuse to think for a second.  There’s practically no room but you find it in the back of the cockpit near the doorframe anyways, doing your best to keep the kid level while you slowly lower yourself to the ground near him.  Not touching him, but close.

“I just… I lived my whole life stuck in one spot, wanting to see the galaxy,” you finally admit to him, staring at his chestplate but seeing the helmet tilt slightly in your peripheral.  “Sometimes it’s just… hard to see the galaxy and still be stuck in one spot, I guess.”

“…You want an adventure,” Din proposes quietly, and though there’s not a single hint of mockery in his voice, you suddenly feel like it’s really fucking dumb when he phrases it like that.  What are you, an eight year old?  Wanting to go on an adventure, see things you’ve never seen without any concept for real life?  Credits?  Time?  Resources?

You shrug a shoulder to make it seem like it’s no big deal.  Why is he even entertaining this right now?  “It’s stupid, I kn—”

“Like on Naboo,” he goes on, ignoring your harsh self-criticism, not allowing you the ability to even get it out once he heard the first couple words.  “Going through the forest, seeing that waterfall.  Someplace to find for yourself.  Explore.  Experience.”

You… you want it so badly that you think your eyes might tear up just hearing the words coming out of his mouth when he says them like that.  Like he… just inherently understands.  He knows.

He knows you.  He’s not good with words and yet he found the single most succinct way to put what you thought was a complex yearning without even trying.  You can’t even answer him, he hit the target dead on and you’re left with nothing to say that wouldn’t just be a miserable lie.

“Okay,” Din says after a moment, giving you a small nod.

You’re lost now.  “…Okay?”

“You’re never going on a hunt with me,” he tells you very seriously, no room for arguing.  “Ever.  And not because you can’t handle it, understand?”  He inhales, quickly adding on to his response before you’re able to analyze it the way you want to.  “But if you want an adventure, then… I can try and find a way to give you one.”

Stars.  He’s… too kind.  You somehow feel like it’s more than you deserve.  You were honestly hoping to just shadow him on a hunt, watch him work and stay well out of the way when he needs you to.  Helping if you think you’d be of any help; an extra set of eyes and hands.  You would’ve been fine even if he didn’t apologize for raising his voice at you, he doesn’t have to do this for you.

“Thank you,” you say for the third time today, feeling like each one has somehow multiplied in sincerity.

“It can’t be right now,” he quickly tells you, apologetic but earnest about it.  “I have to find the quarry, and I’m supposed to meet with Karga again in a week.”

You never did let him know about the other part of the deal you made with Karga, you admit.  Four pucks, no hassling, no hard time constraints.  That’s what you shook on, but you just never found a way to bring it up to Din.  Especially since you’ve been so preoccupied with hiding your growing disappointment from him whenever he has to go.

“If…” you pause, wondering the best way to phrase this.  Yikes, this is a toughie.  “Um.  If Karga… I don’t know, hypothetically, if Karga decided to loosen the time constraints back to the way they were before the Corellian bounty, would you… still need to meet with him again in a week?”

You don’t think he even bothers shuffling through all those words.  “Say what you mean.  Please.”

“That was part of the deal I struck with him,” you quickly explain.  “You can hunt on your own timetable again and he’ll keep giving you four pucks like before, no more or less after this one extra quarry.  It’s like a… replacement of sorts, for the one I kept you from getting the time before.  If credits aren’t an issue, you can take more than a week.  But only if you want to, you don’t have to.  It’s just there and you should know, that’s all.”

He takes his time responding, lifting his helmet just the slightest bit in… surprise?  Maybe?

“You never told me you did that,” Din finally murmurs.

“Ah.  Well.”  You look down at the sleeping kid in your arms.  “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to… keep you here.”

It genuinely is a struggle for you, and you think he’s just now realizing that.  As much as you know he gets frustrated with you for always wanting him to be here when he physically can’t be, you think it’s only now that he’s truly realizing the lengths you go to in order to stomp that part of you down whenever you feel it threatening to come up.  You allowed him to leave every single time without telling him he could stay, knowing that all that was left for you was babysitting and target practice for days on end.

“Will you come over here?”  Din finally asks, and the tone of his voice just punches you in the chest.  So soft, so distressed from having you so close yet so far from him and just… full of a quiet hope, like he’s fully expecting you to say no.

“Will we fit?”  You whisper after a moment, even quieter.

He doesn’t answer, he just reaches for you.  You do your best to scoot over to him without waking the kid, and then Din pulls you the rest of the way once he has a grip.  You go right into his arms, laying sideways across his lap and supported by his steel embrace.

Oh, it’s not comfortable but you’ve also never been more fucking comfortable.  One of his knees lifts and allows you to rest your back against it without worrying about falling over sideways and down the ladder to the hull, thank the Maker.  The beskar pauldron over his shoulder digs into your cheek, but Din immediately pushes an arm up to nudge his helmet off and make it better for both of you.  Your face automatically fits into the crook of his neck while he sets the beskar on the bend of his knee, and then he silently cradles you while you do the same to his little boy… who does the same to his favorite metal ball.

“Ni tar’tayl su,” he murmurs into your hair, the one phrase in Mando’a you do recognize, especially with how beautiful and elegant it sounds rolling off his tongue.  “Forgive me.  Ni ceta.”

You sigh your contentment and melt into him, well aware that you’d still be more comfortable in bed.  But when you’re pressed hard against his chest like this and the baby is fast asleep in your arms, you get to feel both of them breathing.  Din’s right lung is probably bigger than the kid’s whole entire body, but you like the radically different cycles they go through.  You think you count six full breaths coming from the brown sack in your palms for every one of Din’s and two of yours.  It creates the most beautiful little symphony that sometimes gets a little off track, but always finds its way back around again.

“How do you say…”  You ask, feeling his hand slowly move down the curve of your spine, mindless and hypnotic.  It catches the edge of your shirt and goes underneath, and even though it’s not his bare hand and there’s no skin to skin, it still feels so good.  Not sexual or sensual even, just… a comfort to you.  “In Mando’a, how do you say… out of a trillion?”

Din’s breaths pause for just a second, his portion of the synchronized rhythm faltering.  Soon it starts back up, and his head turns to press his lips against your hair.

“I don’t think there’s a word for it,” he admits, gently brushing a thumb across the baby’s forehead while he snoozes.  “There could be, but I don’t know it.  I’d use… out of a million million millions.  Dayn alanyc bal alanyc bal alanyci.”

Your eyes begin to drift closed, exhausted from keeping them open after shedding a few tears earlier.  Your first fight and you’re already completely in love with him again after a handful of hours of sulking and one conversation.  How is that possible?  You’re normally a very forgiving person and it wouldn’t have taken much to make you feel better, you just never expected him to… actually want it from you that badly, care enough about it to get on the floor and ask.

Din doesn’t move the entire night through.  You assumed he’d make everyone get up at some point and move to the hull, but he doesn’t.  You fall asleep against his chest, comforted by the silence once again.

***

The next morning, Din quietly climbs into the cockpit while you’re humming in the shower.  You’re too busy basking in the indoor rainfall to feel the ship pull out of hyperspace, and then jump back into it a few moments after.

***

“How long do you think you’ll be this time?”  You ask two days later, sitting on the extended flattop of Din’s old cot and swinging your legs back and forth.  The baby is currently sitting on your lap and trying to roll the metal ball down your knee so you’ll kick it in the air, you think, because he keeps dropping it at different moments and forcing you to stop moving your legs to prevent accidentally denting a wall.  Every time the ball clatters to the floor, he makes a sad sound and it immediately lifts back up into his tiny hands for another try.

Heavy boots clang against the metal floor as Din drops down from the ladder, having just landed the Crest on the surface of whatever planet you’re on.  “I’m not leaving yet.”

“Oh…”  You blink, surprised.  “Okay.”

“I wanted to do some more training with you first, if that’s okay.  You can say no if you want, but maybe not,” Din drawls, striding over to the armory and opening it.  He carefully removes your blaster from the front shelf, speaking with his back to you.  “You’re going to run.”

“Um.”  You take a moment to glance around the enclosed hull, before turning to look back at him with your eyebrows raised.  “What, like… in place?”

Din sighs and closes the armory before leaning back against the doors, rubbing the face of the helmet in exasperation.  “From me, sweet girl.”

Your legs stop swinging, and the baby grumbles and slaps three fingers against your knee.  “What?”

“We’re on Sanctuary II,” he explains, turning to grab his black bag from one of the storage shelves.  He unzips it and reaches back into one of the larger pockets on his utility belt, before grabbing a handful of credits and stuffing them inside.  “It’s a moon, the New Republic occupied it years ago and made it a safe world for refugees and orphans of the Empire.  You’ll have your blaster, some credits, a communicator, and a day head start.  You’re going to run from me.  Show me how much you’ve learned.”

Is… he for real?

Right now?  You don’t even know how to respond, you’re too surprised.  Even when Din approaches and carefully trades the kid for your blaster, setting the bag down next to you on the metal bed, you still haven’t answered him.

“If you want?”  He asks after a moment, and you quickly jerk your head into a nod and jump off the raised platform, almost knocking into him with your sudden excitement.

“Okay!  Fuck yeah,” you grin, but Din shakes his head.

“Rules,” he says seriously, and you quickly do your best to frown, trying to compose your thrilled expression to match his tone.  “One.  This is a safe world, but things can always happen.  You have a blaster now, but it’s for emergencies only.  Do not shoot me with it.  Do you understand?”  You nod, but Din reaches forward to grab your elbow.  “Out loud, please.  For me.”

“I will not shoot you with this blaster,” you vow obediently, carefully cradling the precious firearm in your hands.

“Do not shoot me,” he repeats while pointing a leather finger at you.  “Do not�� shoot at me.  Near me.  Around me.  No, just—don’t shoot.  Unless I am… very far away.  Okay?”

Well, he didn’t have to phrase it like that.  You frown, but acquiesce regardless.  “I will only resort to blastering if it’s an emergency and you are not around.”

He nods a thank you for putting it into better words.  “Second rule.  Since you don’t have a ship, I won’t either.  We’re on foot.  I don’t doubt you can hotwire a piece of junk to do what you need it to do, but I’d prefer it if you didn’t.  Good?”

Entirely accurate and entirely fair.  “Good.”

“Three,” he says.  “I’ll have the kid with me, which is both good and bad news for you.  Good news is he’ll slow me down, bad news is I can’t promise he won’t also try to intervene at some point if you’re serious about putting up a decent fight.  What I can promise is that I won’t encourage it.”

“Reassuring,” you nod.  “Also not really a rule.  Please continue.”

“Four.”  He pauses for a second.  “I think I’m wanted by the New Republic.”

You nearly jerk back.  “What?”

“I can’t confirm it and I’m not proud of it,” Din quickly tells you, probably the vaguest possible explanation he could provide.  “I’m only telling you so that you’ll know your advantage and find a way to exploit it.  I can’t be seen by any officers, or they might arrest me.”

Is he fucking serious?  “I don’t want you to be arrested, Din, I—”

“I won’t be,” he assures you.  “They owe me one, I just don’t want to cash in yet.  Trust me.”

You… do.  Insanely, and against every logical thought flittering through your head, you do.  If you were ever going to bet money that someone would be able to navigate a safe world on foot without being caught by the numerous officers scattered across the surface, then you’d put all your credits on Din Djarin.  It… also shouldn’t really surprise you at all that the people seeking his incarceration also owe him a favor, should it?  It actually sounds right on par for him.  “Okay.”

“Fifth, and this one is important, so listen up,” he continues gruffly.  “You check in with me tonight over the e-comm, alright?  I don’t care where you are or how safe this planet is, if you don’t check in, I’ll come find you before the sun rises.  Say you understand me.”

“I understand you,” you tell him, your heart beginning to pound in your chest at the reality of this actually happening.  “I’ll check in tonight.”

“And if,” he goes on, “by some miracle, you manage to make it more than a full day, you check in with me tomorrow night, too.  Say it.”

“I will check in with you every single night for the full five days it’ll take you to find me,” you assert, the adrenaline starting to make you brash and giddy.  

Din tilts his helmet at you sternly.  It is a very, very stern tilt.  “Okay.  New plan, forget everything I just said.”

Your expression furrows.  “What’s the new plan?”

“That is the new plan,” he says, dead serious.  “Us.  Not doing this.”

“Oh, come on,” you grin cheekily up at him, poking his chestplate.  “I’m just giving you some motivation to find me quicker, that’s all.”

Din stares down at you, and… yeesh.  Tough crowd.

“Tell you what,” he finally grunts, sounding incredibly unamused with your jesting.  “If you can last that long with only a day head start, I’ll let you come with me to collect the fifth quarry.  You can even cuff the bastard yourself.”

You know it’s just because he’s rightly confident in his own deadly skill, but hearing him propose the possibility still shoots a thrill down your spine.  “Oh ho, you are gonna regret saying that, shiny,” you beam up at him, starting to hop back and forth on each foot with excitement.

“But if I’m able to find you, you can’t ask me ever again,” he finishes shortly, and you immediately go still in front of him.

“What?”

“If I’m able to find you in five days, I don’t want to hear about you coming with me on a hunt and you can’t ever ask me not to go on one,” Din tells you, his voice rough and gravelly through the modulator.  Not mean or harsh, but firm.  “From now on, it’ll be off-limits.”

You… take a moment, not knowing if you should feel scolded or not.  When you don’t immediately say anything in response, he sighs and turns the helmet away from you.

“Leaving is hard enough as it is,” he mutters, looking at the ground.  “Hearing you ask… makes it impossible.”

You slowly lower your gaze to the floor as well, feeling your heart constrict tight in your chest.  There’s a real pull under his voice, telling you that information even though it sounds like he doesn’t really want to admit it out loud.  It… really is a struggle for him too, then.  You understand.

“Okay,” you nod.  There’s not a single part of you that actually thinks you’ll be able to stay hidden from him for five days while stuck on foot, so this is essentially a given.  You’re not thrilled about the idea, but you’re going to do your best to respect it nonetheless, especially if he cares enough to put off hunting and allow you this experience for yourself.  It’s a better compromise than you ever imagined, and you’ll do everything you can to hold up your side of the bargain.

Din clears his throat and straightens his spine, turning the visor until it faces you head on once more.  “Final rule.  I reserve the right to break any rule we just agreed to, or any fucking rule in this galaxy to keep you safe.  Good?”

Your cheeks flush with heat, your stomach suddenly filling with butterflies.  He doesn’t do that.  Din says what he says or he doesn’t say anything at all, there’s no… taking things back, he’s already breaking his own code.

“What happened to The Way says no take-backs?”  You ask quietly.

“This is my way,” he answers you.  Quick, not even taking a moment to think about it, before pulling out a fancy looking wristwatch thing and clipping it on you himself.  “This is your communicator.  It takes more power than the one you have now but it’ll reach a further distance.  I have one just like it, they’re locked into the same frequency and timesynced together, and the batteries need to be charged every three days.  If you make it that long, I’ll remind you.”  Din grabs the bag while you slide your arm into it, helping you hook it around your shoulder with one hand while he cradles the kid in his other.  Your heart is pounding now, pumping with adrenaline as he pulls you towards the middle of the hull and then wraps an arm around you.

“Hey,” he murmurs, pulling you tight to him and pressing the helmet to the crown of your head.  His voice is barely a whisper through the modulator.  “Gar darasuum.”  For an eternity.

You find some way to wrap your arms around him, even with your blaster in your hand and the kid hanging out in his dad’s other arm.

“Dayn alanyc, bal alanyc, bal alanyci,” you murmur dutifully against the beskar chestplate, knowing your accent is probably butchering the words but hoping they still carry the same sentiment.

And then you’re squeeeeeezed hard enough to get a little air out of you, before you’re let go and he turns around, pressing a button on his vambrace so the ramp begins to lower.

It’s bright outside but not too bright, and everything is warm and gentle and breezy, right in the middle of a lush plain.  You inhale the fresh air into your lungs, looking out across the wide open field, having no fucking clue this is where your day would be leading when you woke up this morning.  Oh Maker, it’s gorgeous here.  Not like Naboo, where every single thing is picturesque and fit for an e-card, but in a soft, understated kind of way.  The sky is a canvas of swirling pastel clouds, pale pinks and yellows and blues, and the communicator on your wrist lets you know that it’s just after noon here.

You take one single step down the ramp, before immediately stopping and turning around to bite your lip at him.

“How am I… how am I supposed to outrun you?”  You ask, already clueless.  “You’re too good, better than me at everything.”

“That’s not true,” Din reminds you sternly, grabbing your hand at your side.  “You already know who’s after you, that’s an advantage nobody else has ever had against me.  You know how I think.  I don’t know how, but sometimes it’s like you can…”  He slowly shakes his head.  “See me.  Through the metal.”

“But… but that works both ways,” you point out, breathless at hearing him say that but needing to focus right now.  “You know me, too—you’ll know exactly where I—”

He shakes his head again, but quickly this time.  “Remember what I told you a long time ago?  What your best weapon is?”

You… do not.  He told you so many things, and you’re assuming every single one of them is going to come into play during this endeavor if you want to outlast.  You’re going to have to think back and remember all of them individually, find the time to figure out your best plan of action based on the remarkably little you know about how he hunts.

“You’re smart, remember?”  Din murmurs, squeezing your fingers.  “Your mind works differently, it sees things in ways I’ll never be able to, not even with this helmet.  So…”  He shrugs a shoulder like it’s the simplest thing in the galaxy.  “Don’t try to outrun, okay?  Just try to outsmart.”

You give him a nod after a moment, still not really sure about it, before giving his hand one last squeeze in return and eventually letting go.  

Outsmart.  Outsmart him, use what you know about him to be the most elusive quarry he’s ever hunted down.

As you make your way down the ramp, you’re already thinking.  His helmet tracks footprints, that’s a thing you know.  You’ll have to find someone to trade shoes with, then—yours aren’t too beat up, maybe you can find a local who’d appreciate a better pair.  Are you going to a city?  Would there be one in walking distance?  The wilderness won’t work, you’ll be too exposed and it would make you an easy target for either him or wild animals.  The weather seems clear here though, and you don’t think you’ll need to worry about rain or snow, but if—

“Oh—but when you do see me,” Din decides to add when your feet finally touch the grass, and you pause once more to turn around and look at him.  He stays quiet for a second, studying you through the helmet for too long.  Like the anticipation is getting to him already.

You bite your lip back at him and adjust the bag on your shoulder, tummy swirling with nerves and excitement.  He tilts the visor up, gazing down at you from the hull with the kid tucked in his arms.

“Try to outrun,” he says gruffly, before turning back into the ship and letting the ramp slowly close behind him.

[from-a-reckless-writer]

iv. couch.

read on ao3

To Lena: r u busy??? U didnt answer my calls. Dinner later?

To Lena: my place.

To Lena: Or yours! Can totally go to urs. If u want.

To Lena: Lena????

To Lena: where are u??

To Lena: Answer my calls

To Lena: Pls?

Kara rounds the corner of her hallway, keys bitten, dangling from her lips, as she types with both hands. Her 67th text message of the day to an MIA Lena Luthor sent. She fails to notice the creature lurking around the front of her door; dark fur shining under the cheap LED lights of Kara’s corridor.

She’s still deeply absorbed in her phone with worry, in the middle of jamming her keys in with one hand, when something furry brushes against her legs and Kara yelps.

She pulls the knob clean out of the wood in shock, her phone dropping to the floor loudly, the cat doing a duet with her with a startled yowl of her own.

Heart hammering and adrenaline racing, Kara looks down and sees the cat for the first time.

“Oh! Oh!” she gasps, “I didn’t see you there, buddy. I’m sorry for startling you!! I didn’t mean it.”

The door knob clatters loudly to the ground as it falls out of her grasp. And Kara sheepishly feels guilty for the hole in her door. But the cat meows loudly, catching her attention, as if in response to her apology.

She crouches down low, and reaches out a hand to touch the furball. She snaps a quick pic, sends it to Lena and pockets her phone.

To Lena: KITTY!!

“Oh, oh come here,” she coos, “where’s your collar? How’d you get here huh?”

The cat reminds her of Streaky. The first stray who ever took to her kindly. Although upon closer inspection, Kara realizes this one has striking emeralds for eyes, Streaky’s eyes were a more softer blue.

The cat surprisingly seems friendly, immediately leaning into Kara’s touch. Nosing at the inside of Kara’s wrist and it’s such a familiar gesture but she can’t seem to remember why.

And...oh, a small rumbling echoes through Kara’s palm!

Oh, they’re purring!

Kara doesn’t know how long she stays there crouched low exactly, but eventually, she stands up, takes her hand away, and picks up the damaged doorknob.

“Well, time for you to go home now, buddy,” she tells them, giving their head one last pat before dusting off her hands on her jacket.

“Go on, shooo. Shoo. Go home. I’m sure your human is looking for you.”

But the cat remains unmoving. It looks like they’ve decided to sit firmly in front of Kara’s doorstep, casually licking a paw, as if waiting for Kara to open her door.

“Are you actually waiting for me to open my door?” Kara makes a mental note to thank Rao that none of her neighbors can see her trying to hold a proper conversation with a cat.

“Look, kitty,” she says firmly, “I’m not your human.”

The cat just blinks owlishly at her. Eyes too green, too intelligent and-

Kara makes up her mind.

She turns her face skywards, takes a deep breath (This will probably backfire, she already knows. But she's always had a soft spot for strays.) and then she pushes her door wide open.

The cat races inside, cutting through Kara’s legs and almost tripping her.

“Well, somebody’s excited,” Kara mutters under her breath, she watches the cat head for her living room couch; watches as they pause all of a sudden, changes course and jumps onto Kara’s coffee table instead.

Where the cat then proceeds to knock down everything in close vicinity, even the picture frame of her and Lena together.

“Hey! No! Bad kitty-”

But the cat is already hopping down from her pedestal, landing on the frame directly.

And then things get weird.

The cat proceeds to stomp all over it, meows loud, like really loud; insanely loud for a cat their size.

Her paw seems to be almost pointing? At the other person in the frame.

“I-” Kara seems taken aback by the bizarre behavior, sure she knows cats are vastly different from dogs, but this…

This is just weird.

The cat’s meowing only seems to get louder.

How you land yourselves in these situations, Kara. I really just don’t know, at this point. She can almost hear Alex say.

“What are you- Are you- are you pointing? That’s- That’s Lena, yeah. That’s my best friend.”

At that, the cat seems to vibrate. They start clawing at Kara’s pant leg, meowing and meowing and meowing—

And then it hits her.

"-but it turns out that she’s a witch. And apparently, so am I."

The green, green eyes.

A pink nose nuzzling against her wrist.

“Lena?”

******

“Oh, Rao! Lena you’re a cat! What happened?! Oh, no, baby what did you do?”

Lena-

Lena The Cat—and okay, so she’s still wrapping her head around that one—just stays silent. She’s sitting on her lap, looking regal than any cat has any right to be. A judgmental look in her eyes.

Lena’s a cat. Cat’s can’t speak. Can’t answer Kara’s questions.

“Right. Sorry. Only meow,” Kara murmurs, embarrassed. For some reason even in cat form Lena manages to be intimidating.

“Okay so, uh d-does that mean you still understand me? Two meows for yes. One meow for no.”

Kara gets two meows.

“Okay, cool, cool. Great. You can still understand me, that's good.” Kara runs a hand down her spine, “Gosh, your fur is just so soft.”

She hears Lena give a small growl, body tensing, “Right. Right. Sorry. Not the time for pets.” Kara retracts her hand away.

“Uhm, so next question then, I guess? D-did you become a cat this morning? Were you testing out your uhm...gift?”

Lena meows twice. Kara nods, clenching and unclenching her fist underneath her chin. Fingers itching to run themselves through Lena’s soft fur again. Lena seems to sense this, and nuzzles her face into Kara’s hand, bumps against her repeatedly.

“Really?” Kara double-checks, giddy. If she were human Kara bets Lena would be rolling her eyes like she always does when Kara does something particularly dorky, but she just pushes her head firmer against Kara’s hand and meows twice.

“So uhm,” she starts, cautiously, noting Lena’s increasing purr, “is there like a spellbook for this or something? Something that can help you transform back?

Lena meows yes.

“Is it in The Tower or back at your place?”

There are no responses.

“Sorry, sorry lemme rephrase, is it in The Tower?”

She gets two consecutive meows.

Okay, to The Tower it is.

******

“Are you going to tell me why you’re cradling a cat in your cape or??” Alex raises a brow at her, a hand on her hip, left foot tapping impatiently. Her sister was heading out for the day, it looks like. It was just tough luck that Supergirl landed one minute before the elevator took Alex.

Crap. Now they have to explain. They didn’t talk about this. Lena still hasn’t told her if it was okay to tell people about her gift.

“I-I rescued it,” Kara says.

Well, that isn’t so far from the truth, right? She stares at the bundle in her arms, Lena the traitor staying silent all the while—green eyes shining all innocent at Kara.

Alex’s stares intensifies.

“From a tree,” Kara flounders, and Lena The Cat has the audacity to yawn, squirm and jump away from her arms. She lands gracefully, tail swishing up in the air and heads straight for the lab.

Alex eyes the cat suspiciously before turning back to Kara. She jabs a finger to her chest. “It better not have any fleas. It better not touch my training mat.”

“She won’t.”

Alex just shakes her head, rolls her eyes, grabs her helmet and walks to the elevator.

Before she goes though, Alex says, “You know, this is gonna sound weird, but I swear I think I saw that same cat slinking out of The Tower earlier this morning.”

“Alex, she’s literally a black cat. There are hundreds of black cats in the city.”

“You're being weirdly defensive about this. Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not.”

Alex seems like she wants to say more, but the elevator dings, and she’s never been more grateful that Kelly makes Alex pick her up from work. Alex huffs out breath, before conceding and disappearing into the lift.

******

The camera flash is what gets Kara busted.

But is it really her fault if she walked in on a cute kitty, hunched over, meowing adorably, trying to flip over the pages of a thick spellbook, with her teeny-tiny bean paws?

Lena hisses at her, teeth-bared and fur puffy.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But you were just really, really, really cute okay?” She walks closer to the desk, carefully lifts a hand and scratches Lena behind the ear.

The hissing slowly devolves into purring, and Kara grins triumphantly. Lena lets herself be picked up after a few moments, Kara leafing through the pages for her.

“So, found anything yet?” She asks, cradling Lena close to her chest. A warm weight on Kara’s arms, and as much as she wants to get her real Lena back, she also isn’t too eager on giving up this version anytime soon. Then again, Kara thinks, it would be impossible for her to give up any version of Lena Luthor.

“Spell? Charm? Anything? Do you need to make a potion? Are we gonna get to make a potion? Oh, oh do you need a wand? Do you have a wa-”

Kara’s words get muffled as two black paws press against her lips. Lena’s green eyes narrowing at her. She meows at Kara. Loudly.

“Mkay, mkay. Shut up. Got it.”

Lena removes her paws, and Kara makes a gesture of zipping her lips together. This seems to appease Lena enough because the next second, a pink tongue darts out and she...licks Kara's nose.

“Did you- did you just lick me?” Kara gasps out.

Lena doesn’t even acknowledge her with a meow, just turns away and jumps out of her arms again. Before Kara can do anything about it though, her phone rings.

The screen lighting up with Andrea’s name.

“Danvers, I’ve got a story for you.”

******

“Alex, please, I’ll be quick. I promise. I’ll only be three hours at the most. Please just look after her,” she pleads, pouting and puppy eyes in full power.

It also helps that the cat burrito in her cape looks to be cooperating. Lena The Cat staring at Alex with wide round eyes.

Apparently, some governor was found dead downtown, and now Andrea wants her on the scene. She can’t just leave Lena all alone in The Tower. No matter how hard Lena’s been protesting, this is brand new territory for both of them. Nobody knows the extent of Lena’s powers.

Point is, Kara would feel a lot better if she were to leave Lena under the care of someone she trusts. Even if said someone, accuses Lena of being a stray with fleas. It's still better than leaving Lena all on her own.

“Ugh.” Alex groans and Kara knows she’s won. “If this cat causes trouble I will throw it out the window, Kara.”

“No!” Kara yells, distressed. “Don’t do that. She’ll behave. She promises.”

She puts her hand under Lena’s arms and raises her up to eye level—Simba style. “You promise to be good for Alex, don’t you?”

All she gets is a lot of squirming and screaming, there were also a lot of attempts at scratching Kara’s nose.

“See?” Kara says, chuckling nervously. “She’s telling you she’s good.”

Alex looks skeptical, her arms crossed against her chest.

Kara sets her down on the couch, and crouches down low.

She tries to pet her head, but Lena bites at her finger, she catches her teeth on the skin of her supersuit’s thumb slot. She bites deeper, her teeth accomplishing nothing but a few dents.

And oh, Rao she thinks she’s such a feral little cat but her pink adorable gummy snarl says otherwise.

“I’m sorry, I’ll be back. I promise,” she whispers, careful not to let Alex hear. “And then we’ll figure it out later, okay? The safest place for you right now is to be with Alex.”

She really doesn’t want to go, and based on Lena’s protests she doesn’t want Kara to go either. But well, Andrea had finally threatened to fire her if she disobeyed...which is...fair.

She’s aware she’s been doing a less than stellar job at being a journalist lately. Rao, what an understatement. This is basically her make it or break it.

“Look, I’ll be quick, promise. Be good to Alex,” Kara murmurs. She presses a kiss on Lena’s furry forehead. Lena finally unclenches her jaw and lets Kara go. The little whine she lets out, letting Kara know that she knows the battle’s lost.

“Both of you, be good,” Kara tells them sternly. “Alex, please don’t yeet my cat out of the window.”

Alex shrugs, staring at the cat with suspicion. “I make no promises.’

Lena is staring at Alex just as hostile. Great. They both deserve each other.

Kara sighs exasperatedly. Well, at least she tried.

******

She gets a very angry Alex Danvers on the line, right after she’s finished talking to some sources. It’s nighttime now, and when she checks her watch—yep, she’s left Lena in Alex’s care for more than six hours.

Crap.

“Hey, Al—”

“KARA IF YOU DON’T PICK UP THIS THIS THIS GODDAMNED HAIRBALL RIGHT NOW, YOU WILL NEVER SEE IT EVER AGAIN.”

There is loud meowing, and then, “What the- Get off! Get off me right no-”

The line clicks dead.

Kara Danvers quickly changes into an alley, manages to break the sound barrier.

******

It’s Kelly who opens the door.

“Hey, Kara,” she greets her. Kara is impatiently rocking on her heels, trying to peer past Kelly’s shoulders.

The place was quiet; ridiculously quiet, and Kara feels fear swoop in her belly.

“Please, tell me my cat is still alive,” Kara bursts out, Kelly just gives her a pained smile and oh, no, oh no.

She muscles her way past Kelly to a brooding Alex on the couch.

Lena is nowhere to be seen.

“Alex, Alex where’s my cat? Where is she? Where did you put her?”

Alex finally looks up at her, Kara taking notice of the red marks on her arm.

Oh no, Lena, what did you do?

“Calm down, I didn’t throw the little demon away. She’s-" Alex sing-songs before finishing, "on time-out.”

“Time-out?” Kara asks, voice shaking. Rao, does she really want to know.

Alex takes too long to answer, taking a swig of her beer first before pointing to a corner in the living room.

And there, she spots it.

It, being a small pile of laundry on the floor, next to an upside down hamper. A big white hamper housing one Lena Luthor. There's a crude cardboard sign stuck on it; "Kitty Jail". Alex has also stacked a few encyclopedia on top of it, no doubt an attempt to keep Lena from escaping.

“Oh! Oh, Lena!”

Kara superspeeds her way and scoops Lena up, the cat meowing immediately and curling into Kara’s chest.

“You named the cat after Lena?!”

Crap.

Kara turns around slowly, “Uhm yeah?”

Alex just shakes her head. “Unbelievable.”

“Her eyes reminded me of Lena, okay?!” Kara yells defensively, pressing tiny kisses onto Lena’s fur.

“I’m sorry that Alex has been such a meanie to you," she coos, "I know you didn’t deserve it, baby."

Alex seems to perk up at that, because she raises up from the couch. “That,” Alex jabs a finger in their direction, Kara cradles Lena protectively, “That baby ruined my couch and she so totally deserves all the mean! All the mean in the world, Kara!”

Lena hisses in her arms.

“No, no. That’s not true. Lena is baby and she’s perfect and you’re just a meanie.”

“She ruined my upholstery! She left hair all over the place and that’s not even to mention the scratching!”

“Because you were mean to her!”

Alex scoffs, eyes bulging wide in disbelief.

“Get out,” Alex says, her brows pinching comically, “Get out of my apartment before that little devil causes more damage.”

“Gladly,” Kara says, and Lena meows her assent. They make their way past Alex, Kara unaware that Lena has stuck out her little tongue at Alex over her shoulder.

“And she’s not a little devil!” Kara calls out.

Alex slams the door in her face.

******

That evening, Kara pores over a thick spellbook, eyes swimming with Latin symbols with a purring machine on her lap.

By midnight, Kara has managed to pass out on her couch, a black cat curled on her chest.

The spellbook lay open on her coffee table, forgotten.

******

The first sight that greets Kara when she wakes up are green eyes.

Green human eyes.

And then it hits her.

“Lena!”

The spell had blessedly wore off by morning, and Kara’s never been more glad to see the sunlight lighting up Lena’s face.

For a moment, Kara’s assaulted with the mental image of laying in a pool of sunlight with a black cat stretching leisurely next to her.

“Good morning,” Lena purrs, and oh Rao, that sound is much, much better than her meowing.

“You’re back!” Kara gasps in awe.

“I’m back,” she whispers, she’s still draped fully over Kara on the couch. A blanket covering them both.

“Rao, I missed you.” A palm comes up to cup her cheeks, Lena automatically nuzzling into the inside of her wrist.

“Mm, I missed me, too,” Lena tells her, face breaking into a small smile. Kara traces her fingers up and down Lena’s spine. Oh, how she’s missed touching Lena’s skin.

Wait-

Skin.

Is she-

“Lena,” Kara begins, swallowing. Her nerves not going unnoticed.

Lena raises a brow at her. “Kara?”

“Are you- uhm- ah. Are you naked right now?”

Lena’s eyes light up like a cat’s and Kara knows she’s in trouble.

“Mm. It seems that I am,” Lena says, and all Kara can do is gulp.

“What are you gonna do about it?”

special shoutout to @mike-wachowski, @sexybread-png and @thebreakfastgod for their cat expertise without whom this silly little fic would not be written.

[the-marshals-wife]

Hello, Hiya, and Good Evening! I saw that you are open for taking requests and I was wondering if you'd be willing to write a Bad Batch Imagine with Hunter X FemReader Fluff? I absolutely adore him and would love to see your take on him. I don't have anything specific cause I know that you'll come up something perfect! Thank you!

Watch Your Step (Hunter x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: Ask and you shall receive! This one is inspired in part by some fan art I’ve seen in the community that I 100% endorse as canon. You’ll see what I mean. ;)

Description: Hunter x Fem!Reader, fluff with a little ✨spice✨ | Warnings: a little sensuality, shirtless Hunter you're welcome, Star Wars swear words| Setting: pre-TCW Season 7 | Word count: 1,992 | Gif credit: user kamino-coruscant

You had a long list of planets you wanted to visit before you died. Takodana was in the top ten. But why oh why did you have to visit in the middle of the hottest summer they’d had there in over a century?

That’s what you wondered for the thousandth time as you paced back and forth along the perimeter of the squad’s temporary camp.

“If you keep trudging like that, you’ll make a ditch,” Echo called out, watching from a nearby log.

“And then I’ll lay down in it and drown in my sweat,” you exhale, wiping your brow in vain.

“That is unlikely,” Tech interjected, not bothering to look up from his data pad, “It would take a considerable amount of time to collect enough perspiration to drown in. You would die from heat stroke and dehydration much quicker.”

You slow your stride, pausing to exchange exhausted looks with Echo.

“Thank you for clearing that up, Tech,” Echo sighed.

“You are welcome.”

You shake your head, too drained to argue further with the articulate clone.

Wrecker, who up until this point had been an unmoving mass on the ground, lifted his head with a groan, “When is the Sarge going to come back? How long does it take to look for water? I’m melting here!”

“Quit complaining, Wrecker,” Crosshair murmured.

He leaned back against a tree in the shade, eyes shut, seemingly unbothered by the heat. You were surprised the toothpick between his lips hadn’t caught flame yet.

“Although it is biologically impossible for one to melt in this temperature, I’m afraid I have to agree with Wrecker,” Tech spoke up, removing his goggles to wipe away the fog from the humidity. “The fresh water source I detected on my scan of the area is only half a klick from here. It is unusual that he hasn’t returned by now.”

“Try to reach him on the comm,” Echo replied.

“I’m afraid we cannot, at the moment. There is interference from a nearby outpost. Presently I am trying to override it, but I need time.”

Echo stood up from his wooden seat, “Should we go look for him? Maybe something happened.”

“I’ll go,” you declare before anyone else could volunteer, “I’ll find him.”

“Are you sure? You won’t be able to make contact if get into trouble.”

“I’ll be fine,” you smirk, patting the DL-21 pistol on your hip, “Besides, maybe if I walk fast enough I’ll feel a breeze.”

Echo nodded and sunk back down onto the log, casting aside his empty canteen with a grunt.

You hear Wrecker begin to grouse again as you start off into the sweltering forest. The way forward to the supposedly nearby lake was relatively clear, only the occasional tree root cropping up to interrupt the natural path of dirt and grass winding through the timber. It only takes a few minutes for you to realize your hopes to create a breeze were complete folly. Now that you were moving faster and further, your armor felt like an oven welded onto your body. Even with your helmet off, you were starting to wonder if that heat stroke Tech warned about wasn’t so far off.

“How can a planet with just one sun be this hot?” you huff, almost losing your already shaky balance as your foot catches on a rock.

The lush greenery overhead provided some shade from the relentless heatwave, but the stifling humidity nullified whatever mercy the limbs above could offer.

“Kriffing heat, kriffing sun,” you muttered, frustratingly wiping at your eyes as they stung with sweat.

Your flaring temper was about to compete with the solar flares when the smell of water reached your burning nose. Bird song started to grow louder, further confirming you were close to sweet relief.

You stumble through a bush, the sky opening up as you approached the clearing.

“Hunter better be alive...I’m not dragging his body...back...”

Your thoughts evaporated quicker than the moisture from your face. Your gaze jumps to the armor lying on the sand, to the bodysuit cast onto the boulder, then to Hunter kneeling down at the water’s edge, clad only in slim, black shorts.

“This is a mirage. I am definitely hallucinating,” you reason, but you can’t look away.

He stands up, fastening the red bandana around his head as he wades into the water up to his knees

“Nope, that’s him.”

Your jaw goes slack as you realize the tattoo on his face is only part of a full-bodied skeleton etched into his entire left side. Your eyes follow the smooth, ebony outlines of bones from his shoulder, across his back, all the way down the back of his leg.

“Stop staring! What’s wrong with you?” you think, but you’re frozen in place. You watch as he splashes water on his face and rubs the back of his neck. His thick, black hair was drenched, dripping water down his gleaming skin.

“Dank farrik,” you utter breathless.

“Are you gonna keep standing there or are you gonna come out?” Hunter called aloud.

If you had any spit left, you would have choked on it.

“Oh no.”

His heightened senses.

“Sergeant!” you blurt out, your cheeks flushing with more than sunburn.

You fumble forward, almost dropping your helmet.

“Y/N,” he greets, amusement in his voice.

“How uh...how long-”

“Long enough to know it was you. A droid would have shot me by now,” he answered before you could finish.

He sensed you. Of course he did. How could you have forgotten? How could you have remembered...

“Besides, I can always tell when it’s you,” he added.

He finally turns to face you. The waterdrops glisten on his chest. The tattoo trails down from his neck from the front too. Your throat tightens.

You quickly avert your eyes. “I was-, the squad was concerned. When you didn’t make contact.”

“Yeah, didn’t figure out my comm wasn’t working until after I got out here,” he explained, laughing a bit, “The canteens are over there. I filled them up in the stream a little ways to the east. It led me out to the lake. Thought I’d, you know, cool off while I was down here.”

“I see that,” you say, trying to maintain eye contact.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to worry you,” he studied your face, which you pretended not to notice.

“No, I’m fine. Glad you’re alright,” you say, feeling your cheeks get even hotter.

“You sure? Looks like you need to cool down yourself,” he suggests, stepping closer to the bank. “The water is nice and cold.”

He was just torturing you now.

“I’m fine, I don’t wanna take all this off just to put it back on,” you insist, lying through your teeth.

“Ah don’t worry, I can help you with that,” he says, smiling a bit.

You blink. Was, was he flirting with you?

“Tech was right, I’m having a heat stroke.”

He must have noticed the change in your expression because realization flashed in his eyes the next moment.

“Oh I didn’t mean...uh that came out wrong. I just meant, uh...I-” his stammering gave way to nervous laughter.

“Oh that’s okay. Um, we should probably be heading back to the camp anyway. Wrecker was about to melt, as he put it,” you laugh, trying to fix your eyes ahead.

“Ah, right. Of course. Better get that water to him, then,” he nodded, running his hand through his hair. “Would you...nevermind.”

“What is it?” you respond.

“Would you mind handing me my suit? I don’t wanna get sand in it.” he asked, sounding more timid than you’d ever heard him.

“Oh. Yes, of course,” you say, walking over to the boulder where he left his gear. “Not a problem.”

You retrieve the suit, the warmth from the dark fabric soaking through your gloves. You inch closer to the shoreline, moving carefully on the damp terrain.

 "Watch your step. The sand is deeper than it looks,” he cautioned, reaching your direction, ”wouldn't want you to fall."

The words were barely out of his mouth as your boot slid in the slick silt. You try to regain your balance, but it was too late. Gravity has its way as you collide into Hunter, both of you going tumbling into the shallow water. The splash rains down on you as you come to a stop, and when you open your eyes, you’re lying directly on top of Hunter.

“I am so, so sorry, Sergeant,” you gasp, mortified, but you’re interrupted by his laughter.

“At least my suit will be cool now,” he chuckles, wiping away the water from his eyes.

You try to clamor off of him, but you can’t get a grip between your heavy armor and the unsteady sediment. As your balance wavers again, you almost knock your head into his.

“Kriff!” you exclaim, “I’m so sorry!”

He laughing even more now, shaking underneath you. “Here, lemme help.”

Even with your full weight on him, he manages to sit upright, steadying you with his hands on your waist. Your heart skips as you realize your hands are on his chest.

“I...am...” you pant, eyes locking with his. Before you can continue, Hunter reaches for your face, brushing a strand of your dripping hair away from your eyes. His knuckles softly graze your cheek, and your breath hitches. You find yourself leaning forward, glancing between his lips and his soft grey eyes.

“Sergeant? Hunter, do you read me?” Tech’s voice rings out from the comm on the shore.

You jump from the sound, both of you looking toward the sand where the device blinked.

“I...better get that,” Hunter exhales, disappointment in his tone.

“Yes. Definitely,” you say, slowly getting to your feet, holding onto Hunter’s hand until he’s upright alongside you.

“Sorry about your suit,” you say sheepishly. You pick it up out of the water and ring it out the best you can before handing it to him.

“Sorry about yours,” he countered, gesturing to your soaked armor as he trekked up the bank.

You already felt the water seeping beneath the plates into places it shouldn’t, but that was the last thing on your mind.

“That’s alright. You were right. The water was cool,” you say, following behind.

“Hunter, do you copy?” Tech radioed again, sounding a little more concerned than usual.

Hunter retrieved the comm, heaving a sigh. “Yeah Tech, I copy.”

“Good. Is Y/N with you? She went searching for you when you didn’t return.”

Hunter looked over at you as you leaned over to shake out your hair.

“Yeah, she’s with me.”

You catch a glimpse of his smirk before he turns away.

“We’re on our way back. Tell Wrecker to hold on a little longer. We got the canteens refilled,” Hunter reported.

“Copy that. You may want to hurry. I am not sure how much longer Crosshair can restrain himself from putting Wrecker out of his misery. Nor I, for that matter.”

“Will do. Over and out.”

You went over and collected the canteens while Hunter donned his armor, all the while your thoughts raced as the moment from the water relayed in your mind.

Hunter cleared his throat, walking up behind you, helmet under his arm. “Ready to head out?”

You spin on your heel, three canteens strapped to your belt and one in your hand. “Yes, sir.”

“Good,” he nods, grabbing the other two and securing them.

“Hunter?” you ask, hesitating to even voice the question in your mind.

“Yeah?”

“What did you mean, when you said you can always tell when it’s me?”

“Oh, well. I just...can. Certain people give off a feeling. It’s not everyone. But some do. It’s hard to describe,” he explained.

“And my feeling?”

He gazes into your eyes and smiles. “Bright as the sun.”

He puts on his helmet and takes point, striding back into the woods. You slip yours on as well, concealing your grin all the way back to camp.

[littlepadika]

🎀 pink (Din)

🧼 laundry detergent (fake dating)

🍄cottage core (innocent kink)

with some fluff and smut included maybe?? 🥺👉👈💘

Hi @ppslutt I don't think we've interacted so hello! Thank you for this request! Omg i am both soft and amused by this idea. Hope you like this... Din is such a cheeky bb but at the same time a feral fucking machine hehe

500 follower celebration (closed now)

Warnings: Asshole ex boyfriend, protective mando, innocent reader, unprotected piv smut, fingering, 18+

source: @reilink

"Can I sit here?"

Din startled. He had been glaring holes into the metal table at the cantina for so long he almost forgot there were other people around. He was in between bounties. Waiting for Karga to come up with something worth his time.

He nodded at the seat across from him which you fell into. He would usually say no, preferring to be left alone, but you were hardly a threat. Young and apparently unarmed. You looked stressed. Eyes darting all over the room. Were you in trouble?

"Thank you." You tapped your fingertips on the table. "My ex is here and I don't want him to see me alone."

"Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"No." You stare down at your lap. "I just don't want to talk to him."

That made sense, but Din couldn't understand why you were talking to him specifically. Most people feared Mandalorians. He expected you to want to hire him or ask him to kill your ex. You glanced over your shoulder. Din followed your gaze, identifying the man in question, an arrogant looking human with his arm around a girl with her back to you both.

"I'll leave you alone in a minute." You turned your attention back to him. "What's your name, sir?"

"Mando." He grunted. You replied with your name. Din's ears perked up when he heard it. The sound of it echoing in his mind. He had never heard such a name before. "Have you ever seen a Mandalorian before?" Din couldn't help but ask.

"Is that what you are?" You felt embarrassed at his amused tone. "Am I supposed to bow or something?"

Din chuckled, which came out as a crackle through the voice coder. "No. But people tend to stay away from me because- because we're killers."

"Oh." You swallowed a gasp. It never occurred to you to be afraid. "I didn't know. I've never been off world."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" You snapped your head up to see your ex standing over you, an angry look on his face. "I thought you didn't like going out."

"I-I can go where I please!" You jut your chin out.

"Fucking bitch. You're just spying on me, aren't you?" Your ex spat. Din clenched his fist, not liking the way this bastard was speaking to you. He could easily break this man's arm and hardly break a sweat.

"I'm not!" You cried shrilly. "I didn't know you'd even be here."

"What are you doing with him?" Your ex turned to Mando with a sneer. "Tryin to make me jealous?"

"Obviously it worked." You glared. "Now go away."

"No hang on- you're gonna come with me and we're gonna talk."

"I think it's time for you to go." Din rested his hand on his holster, his voice impossibly low. You shivered in your seat.

"Whatever." The man gave up, backing up a little. "Good luck with this one, Mando. She's a prude."

You looked down in shame feeling angry tears sting your eyes. It was hard to believe you once loved this asshole. Din felt his temper flare in his chest. Your ex finally left, looking over his shoulder a few times to watch you and Din.

"I'm sorry." You wrapped your arms around yourself. "I'll leave you alone now."

"I don't mind." Din said, surprising himself. He hated seeing you so upset. He thought about going up to that bastard and putting a hole in his chest, but that wouldn't make you feel better. "Can I get you something?"

"I don't know." You looked up at the bar trying to read the menu overhead.

"What kind of fake boyfriend would I be?" Din joked, hoping to see you smile. It worked. You let out a small giggle into your hand that made Din's heart constrict strangely. He ordered you a Tatooine Sunset.

"You don't want one?"

"No. Thank you." Din hesitated before adding "I don't remove my helmet."

"Ever?" Your eyes widened.

"Not in front of people."

"Oh." You took a small sip. "It's really yummy. Thank you."

Din noticed the prick from earlier still watching you both. "Come over here, ad'ika." He tapped the seat next to him.

"Why?" You asked, looking up from your cup.

"Because that nurf herder is watching us."

"Oh." You frowned, moving to sit next to Mando.

"Lean into me."

"Like this?" You asked again, tilting your head onto his cold beskar paldron.

"Yes. Good." Din nodded, enjoying the look of anger that passed over that bastard's face. "Sit closer."

"I-I am." You blushed, moving until your legs were pressed against him. He wasn't super comfortable with all the metal.

"On my lap, ad'ika." Din patted his thigh. He was being bold but something about your instant trust in him made him want to hold you closer. Feel your soft body on his. You go bright red as you stand and then perch on his knee. His gloved hand covered your lower back.

"Look at him." Din instructed, smirking behind his helmet.

"Oh he's so mad." You giggled. "This is fun, mando."

"It is, ad'ika." Din couldn't' help but agree.

"Wh-what does adeeka mean?" Your tongue got caught on the syllables.

"It means 'little one'."

"I'm-i'm not a child." You frowned, ducking your head. A weak objection as you were sitting in his lap right now.

"It's not just for children." Din placed another arm around your legs, pulling them more securely onto his lap. He regretted that he was in full armor because he could not feel you but that was also probably a good thing or else he'd be hard. You smelled divine.

"Mando he's still staring." You whispered against his cowl which was surprisingly soft.

"Shall we make him even more uncomfortable?"

"Mhm." You nodded, kissing Mando on his cool beskar helmet, where his cheek would be. "How's that?"

"You can do better than that." Din encouraged, enjoying the little game.

"Oh yeah!" You grinned, feeling your competitive spirit rising. "How about this?" You lowered your head, leaning against his neck, kissing him through the cowl. You could feel his warm neck and strong pulse against your lilps. He swallowed hard, his hand tightening over your thigh.

"We should walk out now. Really make him jealous." Din suggested, mostly to stop you from giving him a full on erection.

"Oh yeah." You hopped off his lap, taking his large leather clad hand in yours. "Come on."

Once outside in the warm sun you laughed at your antics. You had never had so much fun. You used to fear your ex. He was mean and cruel. You felt safe now that you had Mando. You tried not to worry what would happen when Mando was gone. Din watched you hungrily, beaming up at him, your face lit up in the daylight. He subtly turned off his tracking view in his visor so he could just see you without any distractions on his screen.

"Thank you Mando."

"You're welcome." He let go of your hand making your face fall. "What's wrong?"

"I want to keep playing."

"What do you propose?" Din felt his cock twitch behind his flight suit.

"I think he would be really jealous if I had marks on my neck." You suggested boldly. Din shook his head in disbelief.

"You are not a prude, you know that? I'm sorry he said that to you."

"I was only a prude with him. He was ugly." You grimaced but recovered. "You're beautiful, Mando, and I want- I want you. Not just to make him jealous but I want you."

"Oh Ad'ika..." Din chuckled. "We can do both."

This led to Din taking you in the alleyway behind the cantina. First he knelt down between your legs and fingered you until you were dripping into his hand. He wanted to watch your little cunt squeeze and flutter. Your little mewls grew louder and louder until you came with a cry. Din loved how innocent you were. You didn't even know how to be quiet. You didn't hide your pleasure. He hoped your shitty ex was listening. Hearing your sounds that he never got to draw from you.

Next he stood lifting you up with ease onto his hips. You were already delirious from your first orgasm you shot up to the stars when he entered you. You tightened your legs around his waist, holding onto his broad shoulders. All thoughts of being seen or herd left your mind. You were overwhelmed, Mando pushing into every corner of your senses along with your pussy.

"Fuck..." Din grunted, feeling your hot walls suck him to the hilt. It had been so long he realized how sensitive he was. And you were so tight. He held your ass up, pulling it to grind into him with every stroke.

"Oh Mando!" Your head fell back against the wall. "This-it's so good."

"Mmm you feel amazing, ad'ika. So fucking perfect." Din watched your face slacken with the pleasure he was giving you, your plush lips teasing him. He wanted to feel them. He wanted to put his lips over every inch of you. Your eyes were drooping, staring right into his visor.

"Stay with me, little one. Look- look at us." He fucked harder, leaning back slightly despite the ache in his lower back, watching the point where your flesh met. Your little swollen clit was sitting right on top of his dick, smashing against his pelvis with every stroke.

"Oh-Maker-I'm gonna cum again." You cried, scrabbling against his shoulders for better leverage. You wanted to fuck him back. Din readjusted his grip allowing one hand to be free to circle your clit.

"Who's making you cum?"

"You! You, Mando!" You cried feeling your stomach go incredibly tight then spasming with your orgasm.

"You think anyone else could make you feel this?" Din sped up also nearing his own climax. His voice was rough and torn up, cracking and stressing the voicecoder.

"No-no one else!" You answered eagerly, wanting to please him. "I don't want anyone else."

"Good girl. Fuck- you want to be mine?" He felt his cock twitching. He was seconds away from cumming inside of you. This was the last chance to pull out.

"I want to-be yours- please." You nodded vigorously, looking up at him so he could see you meant it. You dug your heels into his lower back. His grunts became short and quick with each thrust then he came abruptly, crashing his forehead against yours. You gasped feeling the spot where you were joined grow incredibly wet.

"Stars..." Din hissed feeling his pleasure prickle down his spine into his cock. "You mean it, ad'ika?"

"Yes. Show me the stars, Mando."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My masterlist

500 Follower Celebration Masterlist

Permanent Taglist: @ajeff855 @what-iwish-you-knew @kirsteng42 @fan-of-encouragement @sleep-tight1 @pascalisfairyy @ceniington, @prettypedros 🧁, @pascal-rascal424 @axshadows @prideandpascal @frenchyjuju @pedrosmustache @blackmarketmummy @Idreamofboobear @pretty-brown-eyess @persephones-garden @javierpinme @mylittlesenaar @bellaorisa @elinedjarin @beskarboobs @beskar-candy @dindjarinneedsahug @anaaaispunk @headinthestarz

Din Taglist: @a-skov @pasckles

[struggling-author]

it’s not what I wanted but now I‘m starting to picture season 4, Bo calls Din back to Mandalore for a mission of some sort, and he comes of course all happy with his new life and excited to see her again, but when he meets Bo she seems cold? kinda distant? she doesn’t call him Din but uses more formal titles, just kinda assigns him the mission like he is any other mandalorian, maybe with some passive remark like „do this, then you can get back to your life on nevarro“. And all in a scene mirroring this season when he first approaches her and she sits alone in this huge castle. she wouldn’t be alone this time but all her guards etc. would stand far from her throne at a distance, the visual would be the same as before.

And Din brushes it off, like oh she’s just being the leader, that’s how she has to act. But it continues on the mission, and even when they find themselves alone, there’s just this distance between them all the time and even now that they’re together again it just seems to be growing.

And then eventually Din does really notice and start to worry, and at some point he actually says something and Bo probably brushes it off at first, but then it spills out, like at the end of the episode or an episode after. And essentially it goes that Din thought their mission was done, all‘s well that ends well, they got mandalalore back, she got the throne, the mandalorians have their home again, it’s everything she wanted, it’s everything he wanted, so what’s the issue? and yes he vowed to serve her, but he’s no politician, he‘d be no use to her on mandalore (he thinks) and he’s been doing what he does best to protect them from imperial remnants, and he came when he was called. But Bo doesn’t see it that way.

„It’s been two years Din, two years since I last saw you. For two years you just up and vanished into the galaxy. What did you think would happen? Mandalore hasn’t been all easy, there’s still conflict, there’s still struggle, and I’ve been down here holding it together while you’re out there playing bounty hunter. We were supposed to rebuild it together, we were stronger together but you… left me and I was all alone, again. You said you would serve me until my song was written so why did you leave when I needed you most? Was… was it a lie?“

and maybe Din aks like „why didn’t you stop me? if you‘d told me to stay I would have“ „Had you said the word, I would have left the Jedi Order.“ okay that doesn’t really work here, but I wanted to add it somewhere, with a little work this can feel like Obitine if they had actually spoken their feelings before it was too late

but anyway Din realizes that it was never really his skills she needed, neither as a warrior fighting for them in the outer rim, nor as a political advisor of some sort, she just needed him, just Din Djarin, and then he basically renews his vow, during a keldabe kiss actually, and promises that they would go back together, and bonus points if (as he sees that she’s still kinda scared and hesitant to trust him again) at the end he actually removes his helmet and says the last part looking into her eyes, and then they can follow up with an actual kiss too and steamy makeout session

but yeah that’s my idea, essentially Din left because he wasn’t needed and Bo didn’t stop him because she felt like it wasn’t her place. and I actually see why they didn’t keep Din on Mandalore this season because they’re very adamant about keeping the status quo with weekly bounty hunting adventures of the father and son duo, which I think is boring but apparently some people actually do want that and they also actively said that that’s why they refused to give the season 2 finale any emotional weight or real impact on the story and basically retconned it on a different show. I‘m not salty at all what do you mean? but anyway I think I heard somewhere that season 4 may be the last so I think it could work this time.

also yes you absolutely can read this as autistic Din, in fact I encourage it.

oh and then at the end they have a shot of Din and Bo and Grogu walking into the throne room together, just to resolve that whole visual plotline lol

Can I just say how freaking mad I am that Din skipped the ceremony in the forge? WHY??? What was the reason? He had to do what exactly that was so time sensitive that he could not stay? Literally the whole season was about rebuilding all together and then he skipped at the first forced/given opportunity?

Also Bo looked so sad at the end without her boys 😥

I was mad about that too! I don't understand why the writers didn't decide to include Din standing there, supporting his gf, and taking an important step into making good on his promise to rebuild mandalore with her!! (Praying that this gets resolved in s4)

Bo did look really sad. She needs the Djarin clan there!

[supernaturalgirl20]

From Love & Happiness/Fluff: “I wanted to say “I love you” for the first time without stuttering, but that failed.” Maybe with Din :)

An ask from @dindjarinneedsahug.

I Love you!

Pairings: Din Djarin x reader

Warnings: nothing really just fluff, maybe some cursing.

Traveling with Din was…..an adventure to say the least. You were with him before he picked Grogu up as a bounty, and over the two years you’ve went from reluctant partners to, well your not really sure actually. All you know is that you work together, have adopted a little green child and fuck almost every other day. You love Din, of course you do. He’s kind, loyal, an amazing father and handsome. Not that you’ve actually seen his face, but you can tell from those late nights in the dark, when you trace the outline of his face after he’s fucked you into his cot.

You’ve told him you love him, you didn’t mean too, it just sort of came out while you cried out in ecstasy. That one moment of release that quieted all your doubts and insecurities. Din pulled out of you that night, got dressed and went to the cock pit. He hasn’t spoke to you since and that was two days ago. He’s currently out hunting a bounty, you were told to remain behind and watch Grogu. You tired everything to tire him out and nothing has worked. For someone so small, he has bundles of energy. You went to the local market and bought some proper food, hoping that you could finally get Din to open up over a nice home cooked meal. Grogu was helping, and by helping you meant eating anything he could his hands on.

“Ok buddy that’s enough, you’ll ruin your appetite.”

“Pa du.”

“Yes yes, I know I’m being mean, but you’ll thank me later.”

***

This is how Din found you when he arrived back at the crest. It was such a domestic sight, you cooking and Grogu helping. He got that flutter in his heart again. He’s been actively avoiding you since your said those three words. Not because he doesn’t feel the same, but he’s never loved anyone in his life, not romantically anyway. He knows he should talk to you but he’s not good with feelings. He’s suddenly struck with and idea and thankfully you haven’t heard him so he can sneak off and clean first.

Stepping out of the refresher, hair damp and towel wrapped around his waist, he grabs his razor. He need to look his best. He’s nervous, he’s a grown ass man and he’s petrified. He dresses and makes his way back to where you are. Your dishing up when he comes back.

***

Your dishing up dinner when you hear movement, looking towards the ladder, you spot a brown mop of hair. Shit it’s Din. You quickly close your eyes shut tight.

“Din, what are doing? Where’s your helmet?”

He walks towards you and grabs your wrists gently.

“It’s ok Mesh’la. I want you to see me.”

“No! I won’t be the reason you break your creed.”

“I’m not breaking anything, please look.”

“I said no! Din you told me only family can see your face, as in your children and your wife. I’m neither.”

He clears his throat awkwardly, before he continues.

“I…..I’m…..Y/N, I lo…. Ugh!”

“Din is everything ok? Is this about the other night, I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable, but I do love y…” he puts a finger to your lips, a request to be quiet. He lets out a long sigh.

“I wanted to say “I love you” for the first time without stuttering, but that failed.” 

“What?!” Your voice has become high pitched. Did he just say what I think he said?

“I love you Y/N. I’m also sorry for the way I’ve behaved the last two days, I was just nervous I guess.”

“You…you love me?”

He lets out a small chuckle, “yes I do.” Grogu has been watching the whole interaction, munching on a piece of meat. Din starts to gently pull your hands from your eyes. You keep them shut.

“Y/N, I want you to see my face, please! I think it’s only fair you see the face of your husband, don’t you?”

“Husband?! Your not my…”

You feel Din pull away slightly before he turns back and grabs your left hand.

“Will you marry me?”

Your in shock. You slowly open your eyes and your net with the deepest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. You take a moment to look over his face, taking in his brown mop of curls, his slight beard and the curve of his nose. You meet his eyes again and you can see the red tint to his cheeks.

“I hope I’m ok?”

“Ok?! Din your gorgeous, your so handsome.”

He pulls you into him and gently places his lips on yours. You begin to kiss him back when he suddenly pulls away.

“You never answered my question? Will you marry me Y/N?”

“Yes Din, yes!”

He places the ring on your finger and kisses you again.

“Ok the ceremony is simple, you just need to repeat after me.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde”

You repeat him word for word. “What does it mean?”

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors.”

“So that’s it? We’re married now.”

“Yes.”

“That was easy.”

“And now I don’t have to kill you for seeing my face.”

You look at him worried. “What?”

He has a serious look on his face before he bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help myself.”

You slap him on the chest before picking Grogu up.

“You hear that little buddy were an official family now. I’m your mama and he’s your papa.”

You swear he understood what has happened as he sequels and starts jumping in your arms.

“Ok! Who’s hungry?!”

Tagging:

@lunaserenade @anaaaispunk @librariantothejedi @day-off-inkyoto @asta-lily @maievdenoir @elinedjarin @dindjarinneedsahug @pascal-rascal424 @pintsizemama @seasonschange-butpeopledont @janelongxox @stevie75 @thorins-queen-of-erebor @dihra-vesa @loserrlauraa @kirsteng42 @ikinmahlen @almaeunice @jediknight122 @colorlesswhispersunknown @rosie-posie08 @alberta-sunrise @javierpinme @pascalisthepunkest

(If you want to be added or removed let me know or fill out my taglist form 😊)

[redorich]

A favorite trope of mine has always been- getting to see another person’s past. Is it some kind of judgment thing by a higher power? Something like Freeze Day from SCTFOE? Person trapped in a nightmare and their nightmare is being projected? Who knows. All that’s important is after months of healing, some of the Hermits get to see exactly what Tommy went through. It shows short clips of him before being happy, the rise and fall of Manburg, Wilbur going insane, the festival, the withers, all of it. Just short clips of these things though. The last clip of the SMP is just Dream’s mask outlined by his green hood saying, “you’ll stay here alone with just me until you learn to be quite and respectful and not fight those who are in power over you. Even if you have to stay out here *forever*.”

This turned into a whole drabble smh xD

((btw @give-grian-rights helped me so thank you))

-------

The remaining hermits aren’t sure what happened. They have no way of knowing. There was a witch involved, Cub thinks, but what their fallen friends must have done to piss her off to the point of getting cursed is beyond their ken. Among those laid out are Cleo, Grian, Xisuma, Zedaph, and Tommy.

Scar and Cub work their Vex magic together to figure out that their friends are trapped in their worst memories. (Etho calls it a Demonic Hell Viewing Illusion, and False smacks him upside the head for the Naruto reference.) Holding hands with a victim pulls you in, but that’s what they’re counting on. Joe’s already wading through Cleo’s nightmare before anyone gets the chance to ask, and Impulse and Tango aren’t far behind doing the same for Zedaph. However, it doesn’t work for Grian, Xisuma, and Tommy; they were found already holding hands. They must have figured something out about the curse before they succumbed to it. All the hermits can do for them, for the time being, is hope.

Tommy, Grian, and Xisuma wake to the smell of sulphur and smoke. The ground is orange and littered with bullets. Grian grabs Tommy’s hand, and Xisuma grabs a discarded rifle. Tommy points his finger up at the top of a mound of scrap metal and dead bodies. There’s a nether portal, except the obsidian is whiter than quartz. That's where they have to go to get out of here.

All around them, demons lurch and shriek and hiss and all sorts of unholy behavior, bodily flinging themselves at the trio as though they know none of them can take the men on their own, and that just by dogpiling them all one of them will get lucky. Xisuma instantly snaps into a professional mode, the way he sometimes does when he's killing zombies but they keep social spawning. He takes up the lead with machine gun fire and grenades, carving a path through the crowd. Grian takes up the rear with a handgun. Neither Xisuma nor Tommy ask why Grian is so comfortable with a gun. They've got more pressing issues.

An imp gets lucky. It's just enough to crack the visor of Xisuma's helmet, and the imp instantly gets mowed down.

"I can't see," Xisuma rasps through gritted teeth.

"Then take the helmet off," Tommy says, cleaving through an enemy with a sharp piece of scrap metal. Grian breathes in sharply. As far as Grian's aware, Xisuma always wears his helmet.

Xisuma goes quiet for a second. "I suppose you've got a point."

The helmet gets dropped to the ground and demon limbs shuffle it away. They don't have time to look at Xisuma's wild brown hair, his purple eyes, the burn scars on his jaw.

They make it to the portal all in one piece. Xisuma takes one last wistful look at the Martian hellscape, then takes his friends' hands. They step through the portal together.

----

They step out of the portal into the foyer of a high school. Grian's eyes shutter.

"We'll be headed toward the roof, I believe," he says, staring dully through the spectre of a broken, bloody man holding a rope.

Tommy latches onto Grian's clammy hand to ground him as the three ascend stairs and traverse the dark, winding hallways. The ghost follows them. It isn't like Ghostbur-- it's, well, not vengeful, but it's not kind. The man named Gareth keens about Grian's sins, about a boy named Taurtis who Gareth hates, about mafia and yakuza, about his poor wife Jane.

On the last set of stairs, Gareth makes a wailing remark that causes Grian to bodily flinch. Tommy doesn't even know what the ghost said (he wasn't listening).

"Fuck off," Tommy says, "you're the shittest ghost I've ever met. Even my brother could..."

He trails off. This is not the way to fix things for Grian. On a hunch, he reaches into his pocket. Of course the object he's looking for is in there; it's his brother's coat.

He holds the object out to the ghost. "Have some blue."

Gareth warily takes it, dropping his rope. It floods periwinkle, then cyan, then dark royal blue. A weight seems lifted from the ghost's shoulders as he clutches the blue, mutters something about Jane, and leaves.

Tommy takes Grian's hand, then Xisuma's, and they go through the door to the school's rooftop together. They halt as one. The portal is there. Standing between them is a boy maybe Tommy's age, with a corpse at his feet.

"Sam," Grian whispers. "Taurtis."

The standing boy smiles, eyes obscured by a purple mask with a rectangular symbol on it, and flexes bloody wings. The corpse on the ground has blood all over its back, where wings once were, and broken headphones around his neck.

"Man, Grian, you really held out on me," Sam says. "This Watcher power really is something else--"

Sam topples over backward. His body hits the ground in front of the portal. Xisuma lowers his gun.

"He looked like bad news," Xisuma says.

Grian grimaces. "He was. Come on, let's go."

They once again step into the portal.

----

“Do you want to be a hero, Tommy?” Technoblade roars, “Then die like one!”

Their paltry little group of three gets no chance to take in their surroundings, to see what’s going on and where they need to go. All they can process is the legendary PvP champion, acolyte of the Blood God, Technoblade, unleashing Withers upon what once might have been a town.

Tommy yanks them into cover. “I don’t know where the portal is,” he hisses.

Grian squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll find it.”

Explosions rain hellfire down upon them from all angles-- not just the Withers, but TNT buried in the ground. They’re so close, they can see the man who set it off. And he must have, because he’s yelling about it, yelling about his L’Manberg and his unfinished symphony and begging his father to kill him. He’s wearing Tommy’s coat--

Bile rises in the back of Grian’s throat. Tommy wears his brother’s coat.

Tommy’s eyes are glued to the gleaming diamond sword that Wilbur gives to his father. He watches his brother die all over again, and he knows where he must go. He turns his back on his broken family and breathes.

“We need to go to the Nether,” he says. They nod.

The black portal is across the battlefield. They come across corpses more than once on their way, but ignore them. They can’t afford not to.

In the Nether, there is a rickety, dangerous pathway with no rails, made of cobblestone and obsidian and oak logs. Manic-depressive ravings on signs proclaim the path as the road to Logstedshire. Piglins try to knock them off to no avail, and ghasts blow up the bridge behind them as they run. On the other side of the Logstedshire portal is... actually not a hellscape, as Grian and Xisuma have come to expect, but a little village encampment. Nothing is blown up, nothing is amiss, except Tommy himself. And, of course, the figure they spot after they catch Tommy staring at it.

It’s Dream. The up-and-coming famous speedrunner who Grian faintly recalls killing once in MCC, which was apparently a big deal. The man approaches, and Grian realizes where he recognizes the mask from. It’s the same one that Tommy wears.

“Tommy,” Dream says conversationally, “items in the pit.”

Tommy’s hand wavers, reaches up to unclasp his chestplate, but Xisuma’s hand on his shoulder stops him.

“No,” Tommy says.

“No?” Dream parrots incredulously. “You know the rules. It’s for your own good. Armor in the pit. Tools in the pit. Friends in the pit.”

They all gasp, though for different reasons. Tommy’s eyes narrow. “Friends in the pit? You’ve never said that one before.”

Dream’s head twitches. “Friends in the pit. Friends. In the pit.”

The man’s voice is deeper than Tommy remembers. Something seems to resolve within Dream’s behavior, yet he keeps twitching. “You’re in exile, Tommy, you don’t need. Friends. I’m all you need. You were doing so good. I thought you learned to behave. I’m all you need. You don’t need friends.”

What happened to the eloquent poison that used to drip from Dream’s tongue like honey? He sounds like a broken record. All at once, Tommy staggers under the weight of the realization that this isn’t Dream. Somewhere underneath that horrible man that abused him is the real Dream, trapped in his own body and watching the dreamon that possessed him hurt his friends.

Xisuma’s gun makes an appearance again, but Tommy holds up a hand in a silent request for the admin to hold his fire. Tommy grabs Dream by the shoulders, removes Dream’s mask and then his own so that he can look the man in the eyes. “I know you’re in there, Dream. When I get out of this nightmare, I’ll save you. I swear it on my discs.”

Dream’s face twitches erratically. The movement spreads to his whole head, neck jerking. He raises straight up into the air, higher and higher, then explodes into a shower of items and no body. A white portal shimmers into existence.

“What the hell was that?!” Grian demands.

Tommy grins, taking the man’s hand and leading him to the portal. “I’ve got a friend to save.”

Grian snarls. “Tommy, he abused you. He’s not your friend.”

“That wasn’t Dream. It was a--”

“Dreamon,” Xisuma breathes.

Tommy nods. They walk through the portal together, and when they wake, holding each other close, they know they’ve got a mission. They can do it.

[the-scandalorian]

Tempered Glass: Chapter 7

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader Rating: M (will become explicit) Word Count: 5.5k Warnings: slow burn, canon-typical violence, cursing, pining, Din in suspenders, fluff Summary: Din takes a job with his old crew, and you and the kid wait for him on Arvala-7. Notes: Sorry this took me forever!

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Image from The Art of Star Wars: The Mandalorian

After you left the atmosphere of Tatooine and jumped into hyperspace, Din swiveled his chair around to face you in the copilot’s seat.

“I should take a job. Everything we made went to Peli, and I don’t like being low on credits. There’s a crew I used to run with...I can reach out to them...” he hesitated then added, “but you and the kid can’t come with me.”

“What do you mean I can’t come with you?”

He sighed, shoulders dropping. “I mean, I don’t trust them enough for you and the kid to come.”

“If you don’t trust them, wouldn’t it be better to have backup?”

“I just—,” he looked away, “I don’t want them to know either of you exist.”

“If you don’t trust them, should you be taking a job with them?”

“We don’t have a lot of options.”

“I could get work somewhere. We could go somewhere safe enough for a few weeks. There are some places where I have contacts, and non-bounty hunting work is usually less conspicuous.”

“I don’t think we should stay anywhere that long right now.”

“But—”

“I’ll feel better if you and the kid are safe together.”

“I—”

When he bowed his head in a silent appeal, your determination crumbled.

“Ugh, fine.”

He sighed in relief, reaching out to rest his hand on your knee briefly. His touch was reassuring.

“But, just so you know, this is only going to work once, so don’t think that my staying back with the kid is going to be a regular thing.”

He removed his hand and turned back around to face the viewport.

“I am taking your silence as tacit agreement,” you said to the back of his helmet.

He chose to ignore that, fiddling with the controls instead.

***

Now that you’d both admitted you wanted to stay together, abandoning the pretense of strategy and convenience all together, things were a little off between you and Din. Neither of you were used to being vulnerable, so conversations were slightly stunted again. You found yourself being overly polite, and Din was doing the same.

That first night back on the Crest, he offered you his bunk.

“I’m not taking your bed. You need it to take off your helmet.”

Besides the unshakable lingering chill of the hull, sleeping there wasn’t that bad. You usually slept with every sweater you owned on and that kept you warm enough.

“Use it when I’m not. You shouldn't have to sleep on the floor.”

“Sure, thanks,” you agreed, knowing you’d never take him up on that. You didn’t want to be on a different sleep schedule than he and the kid.

You did try to nap with the kid in Din’s bunk the next day because there wasn’t all that much to do in hyperspace. As soon as you lay down, though, you knew it was a mistake. First of all, it was crazy uncomfortable (somehow not better than the literal floor and the close walls made it slightly claustrophobic), and second—and far more importantly—it smelled overwhelmingly like Din. It smelled like his pine-y soap and beskar and blaster residue and leather and whatever else made up his infuriatingly good scent. It conjured images of crackling fires and golden skin and warm embraces and taut muscles.

Shit.

There was no chance you were going to be able to fall sleep when all you could think about was him.

The kid, on the other hand, was snoozing contentedly beside you. When you’d fully given up on napping, you edged your way out the bunk carefully, doing your best not to wake him.

Din was sitting in the hull on a long crate against the wall, cleaning his blaster, the pieces spread out next to him. Usually, when you were in the hull at the same time, you’d find a place across from him. Instead, you purposefully sat next to him, drawing your knees up to your chest and leaning against the wall.

You decided you were going to push through this awkward phase and make things not weird right there, right then. And you were going to do that the best way you knew how.

He tilted his helmet toward you momentarily then refocused on the blaster in his hand.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” he said, running a rag along the barrel.

“How does one develop a catchphrase? Does it happen organically or is there an iterative brainstorming process?”

Din paused, sighing dramatically, set his blaster and the rag down next to him, and pushed himself back until he was also leaning against the metal wall. His helmet clunked slightly as he relaxed it back. “This is the way is not a catchphrase. It’s a tenet of the Creed.”

“And ‘I can bring you in warm or I can bring you in cold’ is also a tenet of the Creed?”

He lolled his helmet to the side, looking down at you. “Okay, fine, that one isn’t,” he conceded.

“So you admit it—you have at least one catchphrase that you regularly use on bounties.” You smirked up at him.

Without missing a beat, Din fixed you with that unreadable visor and quipped: “I’ve been told I have a sexy voice. I’m just giving the people what they want.”

Your jaw dropped, a shocked laugh echoing through the hull. You had planned on teasing him and had not expected him to turn it around on you so smoothly.

“Uh... I was sort of hoping we’d stick to our unspoken agreement to not bring up the stupid things I said when I was drunk.” You looked down at your hands, suddenly unable to meet his gaze.

“Oh, definitely not.”

You looked back up. “Alright, well then in the name of fairness, we’re going to have to get you really drunk the next time the opportunity presents itself, so we can see what embarrassing things you say.”

He paused for a moment, considering, then said, “Does that mean you’ll carry me home?”

You cracked a smile, nodding vigorously. “Of course. That would only be fair.”

A warm laugh rasped through the modulator. You crossed your ankles in front of you, letting your knee rest against the cold beskar on this thigh.

“I feel skeptical of that promise.” He dropped a gloved hand to your knee.

“Okay, okay I can’t promise to carry you home, but I can promise to tie your shoe if needed.”

“My boots don’t have laces.” He lifted a foot off the ground to show you.

You shrugged playfully: “Well, that’s not my fault.”

“This doesn’t sound like a very good deal for me. I tied your shoe and carried you home.”

���To be fair, both were against my will.”

“But necessary.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Okay, okay, I can’t carry you, and I can’t tie your shoe... so I’ll...,” you bit your lip as you fished around for something else to offer, “...hold your hand? And not let anyone tickle you.”

He huffed and rubbed his thumb over your knee: “I’m not ticklish.”

You pursed your lips. “Right, sure, of course not. My mistake.”

He harrumphed. “Can I ask you something now?”

“I’ll allow it,” you intoned seriously.

“Where are you actually from?”

“Naboo. Most of my back story was true—I just left out the one major detail.”

“Your favorite color?” he deadpanned.

You laughed. “Yes, exactly. What about you? Where are you from?”

“Aq Vetina.”

You waited, hoping he’d elaborate.

“When my parents died there, I was rescued by the Mandalorians and raised in the Fighting Corps.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, placing your hand over his and squeezing gently. “That sounds like a tough life for a child.”

“It was all I knew,” he explained, shifting slightly.

“Still, that can’t have been easy. It makes sense that you couldn’t leave the kid.”

“Yeah,” he said quietly, solemnly. There was a tension in his shoulders that hadn’t been there moments ago.

“Less serious question,” you replied, changing the subject to something lighter.

“Okay.” He relaxed a little.

“Why don’t you ever use a straw to drink with your helmet on?”

“These are the things you think about?” he laughed. His laugh was usually a quiet, muffled sound through the modulator, but it was getting easier to pick up on it. “There’s a seal on the helmet, otherwise the filters wouldn’t work,” he tapped the release on the side of his head. “So a straw isn’t a possibility, unfortunately.”

“Mmm,” you responded, “that is disappointing.”

He gripped your thigh lightly, turning toward you. “I, uh, heard back about the job... while you were asleep. It’s a go.”

“Ah... great. I was kind of hoping you wouldn’t hear back.”

“I know. It will be fine.”

“Okay... So, any ideas for where the kid and I should stay?”

To your surprise, Din explained that he had a trusted friend on Arvala-7. When you agreed to the plan, he disappeared to the cockpit to set the nav—a two-day trip.

***

That same evening, you discovered a new favorite activity on the Crest. Before bed, the kid was being particularly fussy, so you pulled out your data pad and downloaded the first children’s book you could find. It worked liked a charm.

From then on, it became a daily routine: you’d read to him until his eyelids drooped before his nap and before bedtime. Regardless of his mood, listening to you read seemed to soothe him. You’d pull him into your lap and settle onto your stack of blankets against the wall. He’d watch your face, enraptured, as you relayed story after story to him. His favorite—the story that elicited the most chirps and grabby motions and ear wiggles—centered on a family of frogs. You revisited that one at least once a day, sometimes more if he was grouchy.

You weren’t sure how to feel about his hyperfixation on that particular story given his appetite for frogs.

At this rate, your digital library was going to be largely children’s books. You didn’t mind.

You noticed that Din would find something to do in the hull while you read. The first couple times, he sat and cleaned one of his many weapons or sewed a hole in his flight suit. Very quickly, he stopped bothering with an ostensible task and would just sit and listen.

When you were still 15 hours out from Arvala-7, Din was seated on his usual crate in the hull, the one next to the weapons cabinet, as you finished the final page of a particularly thrilling story about a snail. The kid was snoring softly in your arms, so you clicked off your datapad, and got up to settle him in his hammock for his mid-day nap.

“You’re good with him.” Din was leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees.

“I guess,” you shrugged, snapping the door to Din’s bunk shut and turning back to him. “I just think about what I liked as a kid. I loved when my parents would read to me.”

He nodded, helmet trained on the floor between his boots.

“I’m sorry—” you started, realizing how that must have sounded to Din.

He looked up and cut you off. “Don’t be. It’s nice for him to have some normal kid experiences.”

“You know what he’d really love?”

“What?”

“If you read to him.”

He dipped his helmet slightly in acknowledgement, rolling his shoulders back at the same time like he was uncomfortable agreeing with that.

Several hours later, you pulled Din down next to you in your normal pre-bedtime story time spot. He had the kid in his arms. You switched on your datapad and toggled through the catalog of books you’d downloaded, all of which had colorful covers and silly, whimsical titles, until you found the frog book.

“Here,” you offered, passing it over to him.

You leaned your head back against the wall and closed your eyes, listening to Din’s serious, even voice narrate the heartwarming hijinks of a family of frogs. The kid cooed and babbled along.

To your (and the kid’s) utter delight, Din’s rendition slowly evolved into a full-on dramatic reading, complete with sound effects and slightly different voices for each character, as he leaned into whatever prompted the most enthusiastic responses from the kid. You kept your eyes closed and said nothing, worried that if you drew attention to this new development, he’d get self-conscious and stop. You couldn’t help from smiling a little though.

When the story came to its conclusion, you opened your eyes. Din was scrolling through the library of options, browsing for the next book. “What do you think? Which one next?” You looked at him, but he wasn’t asking you. The kid let out a string of gibberish, pointing with a teeny finger. Din read out the titles of several options, selecting the one that triggered the most animated trill.

As Din began the story, he shifted until his body was flush with yours. The places where his beskar made contact with you were cold, even through the fabric of your clothes, but you didn’t mind.

By the time Din finished the second book, the kid was displaying the telltale signs—drooping ears and unfocused eyes—that bedtime had arrived.

Din handed you the datapad and stood to tuck the kid into bed.

As he shut the door to his bunk, you said, “I think you just put me out of a job.”

He scoffed, but you could tell he was pleased.

***

As you got more comfortable around each other, Din took to walking around without his armor—beside his helmet—on. Most of the time, he’d even leave his gloves off. He wore either a flight suit that zipped up the middle or a black shirt and pants...with suspenders. The first few times, it was jarring to see him like that, without his armor. He looked wrong. It was like seeing a turtle without its shell... but if turtles were sexy.

The first time he emerged from his bunk with the suspenders hanging loosely by his sides, you stopped dead, mouth hanging open. He tilted his helmet sharply at you: “What?”

“You sometimes wear suspenders under your armor?”

“...Yes?”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped you and the goofy grin that spread across your face.

“What?” he prompted again, shoulders pulling up toward his neck.

“I just really wasn’t expecting that,” you laughed.

“What were you expecting?” The playful note in his voice left you flustered. He took a step closer, much more relaxed now that he was the one doing the teasing. He was getting too good at flipping things on you.

Instead of answering—because you were not about to address the fact that you had absolutely thought about what he wore under his armor—you strode up to him and pulled the suspenders over his shoulders. He stood uncomfortably still, arms hanging awkwardly by his sides.

“What are you doing?” He looked down at his shirt then back up at you.

“I just want to get the full picture.” You looked him up and down.

“Thought about this a lot, have you?” He quirked his helmet down at you suggestively. It was only the second time you’d gotten that particular flavor of head tilt, and you...didn’t hate it. It made your neck feel hot. You disregarded the intense desire to grab him by the suspenders and jerk him toward you.

Instead, you narrowed your eyes at him, enjoying this new bold flirtation. Without looking away from his visor, you hooked a finger through one of the suspenders and pulled it out a couple inches, letting it snap back against him.

“Ow.” He stated it so matter-of-factly that it obviously hadn’t hurt, but for dramatic effect, he rubbed the spot on his chest where it hit him.

“You’ll survive,” you assured him, patting his shoulder and brushing past him to climb the ladder to the cockpit. When you sat down in the pilot’s seat and kicked your feet up to rest on the console, you still had a smile on your face.

***

A few hours later, you were seated in the copilot seat with the child held tightly in your lap as the Razor Crest descended through the atmosphere of Arvala-7. On the way, Din shared how he’d met this friend—he had helped Din when he was originally tracking down the child months ago.

However, when you asked what his friend’s name was, Din said he didn’t know. Honestly, you weren’t even that surprised. Just exasperated.

Din told you the details of when he tracked down the child, including the assassin droid he'd crossed paths with. He explained how he’d teamed up with IG-11, but in the end, he had to destroy the droid to protect the kid. The anger in his voice was raw when he described watching IG-11 point his blaster at the child.

As the dusty, cracked surface of the planet came into view, you asked, “Is that what caused your thing with droids?”

“What thing?”

“Din.”

He was silent for a long moment.

“Droids destroyed my home planet, killed my parents. They’re the reason I was a foundling as a child.”

His words washed over you, and your heart dropped. You leaned forward in your seat to put a hand on his shoulder. He stayed perfectly still, helmet trained on the controls in front of him.

“I’m sorry.”

He nodded stiffly and reached up to squeeze your hand briefly.

“We’re about to land.”

You took that as a cue to drop the subject for now.

***

You and Din, the kid in his arms, approached a small collection of low structures. You swept your eyes across the uniform landscape—all was dry and sienna and flat. The Ugnaught’s homestead was the only sign of habitation in sight. The buildings were brown and domed, and windmills creaked slowly in the warm breeze. Three blurrgs in a large corral watched you balefully.

“Mandalorian!” the Ugnaught greeted, emerging from the door of his low home.

“Ugnaught,” Din replied with a nod.

“I did not think I would see you here again. What business brings you back to Arvala-7?”

“I was hoping that my friends could stay with you for a couple nights—I’ll pay you for the lodging.”

Of course he'd refer to me and a literal infant as his "friends."

You introduced yourself, offering your hand.

The Ugnaught bowed his head slightly as he clasped your hand: “It is nice to make your acquaintance. I am Kuill.”

At least Din knows his name now.

Kuill turned back to Din. “The child remains in your care,” he observed.

“Yes,” said Din, offering no explanation. He set the child down on the ground, and he toddled his way slowly over to Kuill.

Kuill scooped up the baby, and he chirruped happily, reaching toward his whiskery mustache.

“It hasn’t grown much.”

“I think it might be a Strand-Cast.”

You shot Din a skeptical look. He’d never shared this particular theory of his with you.

“I don’t think it was engineered. I’ve worked in the gene farms. This one looks evolved. Too ugly,” mused Kuill.

You raised your eyebrows at the frankness of his statement. He is not ugly.

“Your friends are welcome to stay with me. No payment will be necessary. I have spoken.” Kuill turned and headed back inside without so much as a backward glance.

“I insist,” Din said to his back.

Kuill disappeared into his home.

Din turned to you: “He does that. Just ends a conversation like that.”

“I understand why the two of you get along so well. Men of few words.” You raised an eyebrow at him.

Din nodded, reinforcing your point inadvertently.

You and Din stepped closer to each other at the same time. For the first time, you let the concern you were feeling color your features.

“I’ll be back in three days, if not sooner.”

He was padding his timeline in response to the worry that was etched across your face. You knew Din could defend himself—that wasn’t your fear. It was that, whether he liked to admit it or not, he occasionally let trust blind him. The irony of that wasn’t lost on you, considering how long it had taken for him to trust you. This was the trademark paradox of Din. He was loath to fully let people in, but he had a tendency to take people at face value and assume they would keep their word—because he always kept his word. He had a surprisingly generous worldview for someone with such a violent profession and brutal past.

Din reached down to grab something small that was tucked in his belt—the metal ball from one of the controls in the cockpit that the kid loved to play with. He occasionally pretended to be irritated whenever he wanted to play with it, but you knew he found it endearing.

He handed it to you. “He’ll want that.”

You smiled and nodded, looking at the sphere in your palm. Din raised a hand to your chin and tilted your face back up to his.

Do we... hug? He doesn’t seem like a hugger.

So instead, you offered, “Be careful, okay?”

“I will,” he promised. He stayed there for a moment longer, looking at you and rubbing his thumb along your cheek. Before you could decide if you should also try to hug him, he turned abruptly to walk back to the Crest.

You stayed and watched him as he walked the distance back to the ship and disappeared up the ramp. You stayed and watched as the Razor Crest rumbled to life and took off. You stayed and watched as it ascended through the atmosphere and vanished from view.

***

It was a relief to be off the ship for a few days—even if Arvala-7 wasn’t exactly your ideal planet. It would be a treat to eat real food, instead of shelf-stable ration packs, and to have more than the limited space of the ship to move around in... not to mention an actual bed.

Kuill was a kind and welcoming host. He offered you his spare room, where you placed your things, and you sat down for tea together in his small kitchen.

“How did you come to be in the company of the Mandalorian and the child?”

“I guess he has a soft spot for people who are wanted by the Empire?” you chuckled, and Kuill nodded somberly. “Now, we’re just helping each other out.” You weren’t really sure how else to explain it.

Kuill didn’t press you anymore than that, nodding sagely. Instead, while you sipped your tea with the kid on your lap, he told you about his background—decades of indentured servitude to the Empire before he worked off his debt and bought his freedom—in the solemn, frugal way that was clearly characteristic of the Ugnaught. You understood why Din trusted him: he was forthright, calm, wise.

“What can I help you with while I’m here?” you asked, already anxious to find something to occupy your time.

“You are my guest. You do not need to do any work.”

“I would be happy to,” you insisted. “I would rather be busy. I can help with cleaning or repairs—whatever you need. My formal training was in programming, but I’ve picked up general skills along the way.”

Kuill nodded and said, “Come.”

He turned and walked out of his house. You set down your tea on the table and followed him, the child tucked in the crook of your elbow, happily clutching the silver ball. Kuill stopped in front of the workstation that was a short distance from his doorway. Tools and wiring and various speeder parts were arranged on and around a long workbench and a collection of smaller tables and shelves. The circular backdrop of the workbench was the repurposed window of a TIE fighter.

An assassin droid was laid across the tabletop.

“Is this the droid that Mando shot?”

“I believe so, yes. It was left behind, in the Mandalorian’s wake of destruction. I found it lying where it fell—devoid of all life. I recovered the flotsam and staked it as my own in accordance with the Charter of the New Republic. Little remains of its neural harness. Reconstruction will be quite difficult.”

“What are your plans for it?”

“To convert it from an assassin droid to something more useful: a protocol and nurse droid.”

You nodded. “Handy.”

“I will have to reconstruct the neural harness, and then it will have to relearn every function from scratch. It will be a blank slate on which to program something nurturing instead of destructive. You may help me restore him if you would like.”

“Of course.”

The two of you got to work.

***

That night, when you lay down to sleep, you tossed and turned. The child was snuggled in a makeshift crib next to your bed. You found yourself sitting up periodically to check on him. Every time you checked on him, he was sleeping soundly.

Eventually, you slipped out of your bed, tiptoed quietly through the house, and walked out into the cold, clear night. You walked aimlessly for a while, circling the corral of blurrgs. They were asleep, eyes shut tight, standing in a close clump. Then you turned to head out across the open plain and watch the stars through the thin veil of clouds that dusted the sky.

You were starting to regret that you hadn’t pushed harder to go with Din. He was with a whole team of people who sounded untrustworthy at best, malicious at worst. You couldn’t help but think of all the things you should have said to him before he left. You hadn’t even hugged him.

It was freaking you out a little just how attached you were to a man who you’d known for a couple months.

You walked until the chill of the night air became too much, then turned back.

In the morning, you sat at Kuill’s kitchen table again, feeding the child. Kuill moved around the small food prep area, pulling together breakfast and making tea.

You followed Kuill as he went about his daily jobs, caring for the blurrgs, doing routine maintenance, and continuing the work on IG-11.

You were sweating in the sun, hands covered in grease, concentrating on refitting a damaged arm joint when Kuill’s calm voice brought you out of your train of thought.

“It is curious that the Mandalorian elected to keep the child.”

You looked up at him. “He secretly has a soft heart,” you said, smiling to yourself.

“Yes, that much is clear, but he is also set in his beliefs, and this choice went against the Guild Code. What is curious is that such a small being could inspire a change of heart in such a rigid person.”

You considered his words.

“I... think he was just waiting to find a greater purpose than hunting, to find someone to love, you know? It comes naturally to him, but I don’t think he’d ever had the chance.”

Kuill hummed thoughtfully. “Is that not what we are all doing—looking for a greater purpose?”

“I guess?” You shrugged.

“And have you?”

“Have I what?” you asked, wiping a bead of sweat off your forehead.

“Have you found the greater purpose you were looking for?”

You considered for a moment then said, “Well... I found a purpose a long time ago, when I joined the Alliance, and since then, I’ve been too busy trying to escape the wrath of the Empire to really think about what’s next in the larger sense... Staying alive has been the main priority.”

Kuill hummed again, glancing over at the kid. “You weren’t looking for something greater, but it appears to have found you.”

“I...,” you started. You watched the child, who was siting on the hard ground admiring the silver ball clutched in his hand. “I’m not sure.”

“I have spoken,” said Kuill, bowing his head, and he lapsed back into silence.

You watched the kid as he dropped the ball and staggered to his feet, squealing excitedly as he chased a lizard that darted past him. You wondered where Din was at this exact moment, and your heart squeezed in a familiar way.

***

The second night was much like the first. You walked outside for some time, thinking of all the awful things that could be happening to Din.

What if they turn on him?

What if another hunter finds him?

What if he doesn’t come back?

It wasn't a crazy thought. You were used to people not coming back.

Until that moment, you hadn't considered that you'd be the sole guardian of the kid if Din didn't return. For a split second, you felt the crushing weight of responsibility for the life and safety and happiness of the tiny green child that Din must feel at all times.

Eventually you fell into a fitful sleep, waking early, and the day dawned bright and cold. As the sun climbed, the chill rapidly dissipated, making way for a dry heat that seemed to be the only weather condition on Arvala-7.

You spent the morning helping Kuill continue the repairs on IG-11. You did your best to not count the hours that slipped by. He’d said it could take three days, so there was no reason to be concerned yet.

But... did he mean he would return ON the third day? Or the fourth day?

And for that matter... did the day he left count as day one? Or was yesterday day one?

Did he mean seventy-two hours from the time he left? Or that he’d be back at the start of the third day?

How did I not clarify this before he left??

That evening, you were in deep in discussion about artificial intelligence when Kuill said, “I believe your Mandalorian has returned to you.” He pointed behind you, and you whipped around to see the Crest touching down in a cloud of dust in the distance.

“Will you—?” you asked, turning back to Kuill.

“I will watch the child.” He seemed vaguely amused by your enthusiasm.

You sprang to your feet and walked as fast as you could toward the Crest. You briefly considered running, but that felt dramatic. He’d only been gone a couple days.

Why did he land so fucking far away?

You’d made it about half the distance when the ramp of the Crest finally began to lower with a hiss. Your resolve snapped, and you started to jog. Din descended the ramp, and you were so relieved to see him that you weren’t even embarrassed anymore that you were literally running to him.

Din cocked his head—a curious head tilt—when he saw you sprinting at him across the dusty ground. He paused at the bottom of the ramp.

“Are you—?” he started to say as you crashed into his chest and wrapped your arms around him. He barely budged upon impact.

His shoulders relaxed immediately, and he pulled you tight against him.

Well, if he wasn’t a hugger before, he is now.

“I’m okay,” he reassured you.

“Good,” you said into the fabric bunched around his neck.

After a moment, you released him and stepped back, the steadying weight of his hands remaining on your arms. He looked like he was in one piece, but the slight heaviness in his shoulders told you that the job had taken a toll on him.

“I, uh, missed you too,” he said, a little awkwardly.

You smiled at him and took his gloved hand in yours to walk back towards Kuill’s home. You felt slightly giddy that you were casually holding the Mandalorian’s hand. He seemed taken by it too, his helmet tilted down to where your fingers were intertwined.

“The kid?” he asked, looking up to your face.

“He’s good. Misses you, I think. Ate several frogs. And one lizard. The usual. He is disgusting,” you laughed.

Din made a sound that you would almost swear was a snort. “Yeah, he is,” he agreed fondly.

Kuill was waiting outside his home, the child in his arms. When you and Din were close, Kuill set him down, and the baby tottered over to wrap his tiny arms around Din’s calf.

You watched as Din bent stiffly, slowly to pick up the kid.

“You’re hurt,” you realized.

“I'm fine,” he said.

You felt sure that wasn’t true, but you let it be for the moment.

“Thank you,” Din addressed Kuill. He reached into the pouch of his belt for credits.

“I will not accept payment,” Kuill insisted, shaking his head. “In fact, your friend here helped me make great progress on my current project.” Kuill raised his eyebrows at you.

“Very well,” Din acquiesced.

You gathered your things and said your thank yous and goodbyes, returning to the Crest, which—with a jolt—you realized was already starting to feel like home.

***

Chapter 8

***

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[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Do you remember the TFA matrix Au where the matrix makes you a true prime and Megatron wanted it and how sentinel was offered but rejected? I would like a scenario where Optimus is inadvertently chosen by the Matrix. With Optimus asking "are you sure I am worthy?" With the matrix kinda saying "you have no idea"

When Optimus opens his optics he’s floating in an infinite darkness. There’s nothing except for him. He... doesn’t quite remember what happened for him to find himself here. There’s this itch in the back of his processor, something that he’s forgotten, but he don’t know what.

“Optimus Prime.”

Optimus whips around, the sudden voice calling out startling him. But there’s nothing. Only darkness. Strange. He blinks slowly, his processor slowly working itself up. “Hello?” he calls back into the empty void. His voice echos. “Is somebody there?”

At first, nothing happens. It feels like the darkness is holding its breath, waiting for something so happen. And then, there’s a light. It starts out small and flickering, like a distant star, but slowly it grows in strength and size. Soon it’s enormous, the size of a burning sun. And Optimus feels so small in comparison. Then the voice echoes out again.

“You have been chosen to take up the mantle of Prime. From now on to the end of time, you will be known as one of the bearers of the Matrix, the direct link between the Allspark and the people of Cybertron.”

Suddenly it all came back to Optimus. He had touched the Matrix and then- and then- “Oh Primus. This is real isn’t it? I’m becoming a Prime? I mean, I was already a Prime but not a true Prime, only in title, but this is all so sudden. I am not prepared! I never even considered the fact that the Matrix could choose me!” He buries his face in his hands. “I don’t know if I can do it. I-I am just the leader of a repair crew!”

The light flared. “You have been chosen by the Matrix. You have been deemed worthy.”

“Yeah, I know I’ve been chosen but what if it’s not the right choice? What if the Matrix is mistaken somehow?” Optimus removes his hands from his face and gazes up at the light. There’s desperation and fear in his optics. “I am not a hero. I am a nobody! Just a bot that got lucky a few times and managed to not totally screw things up! Why would the Matrix choose me?” He looks down at his hands and clenches them into tight fists. His body is trembling. “What is it that makes me worthy?”

For a few seconds there’s no response and Optimus fears that the light is gonna tell him what he already knows; that it’s made a mistake and that he’s not a chosen one. But then what feels like a hand grasps his shoulder. He looks up and sees that the massive light is gone. Instead there’s a version of himself, made out of light, right on front of him. His copy smiles at him and places its other hand on one of his fists.

“You are brave” it says as it eases the fist into an open palm. “You are kind.” It interlaces its fingers with his. “You strong.” The copy does the same thing with his other hand. “And you are my Prime.” There’s a beat of silence as Optimus and his copy stare each other in the optics. Then its smile grows and it leans its helmet against his. “You are more than worthy, Optimus.”

The light that makes up its body brightens until it's the only things Optimus can see. Soon the darkness vanishes and the last thing he hears before the light overwhelms him is that voice again.

“Awaken, Optimus Prime.”

[feltpool]

Resonant Acts

I went into TCW S7, Ep 2 to grab a couple of screenshots, but I soon realised that the Batch’s orders never involved rescuing Echo, and what tipped me off was the phone call to Hunter from Omega.

You never noticed that, huh?

Well, until last Saturday neither had I. Although, I’ve probably only ever watched S7 twice before, and it’s a background detail that we’re not supposed to notice, much less to focus on at that point.

But don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.

I’m going to deal with this in the order that I spotted this all in, and not in the linear order of the episode, because that makes more sense to my brain, so this is going to jump about quite a bit.

I’ll try to make sure it all makes clear sense though.

Bear in mind that most of this is based on logic and extrapolation from the few facts we have, so it’s all open to debate, and subject to change.

.

So, it’s the phone call that got my attention in the first place.

But Hunter doesn’t take a phone call, we’d have noticed that!

No. We don’t see him take a phone call, almost all of this happens offscreen, but you can see the shape of it and work out that it happened.

Around the 17.30 minute mark (times likely differ between watching on D+ or torrent so I’m not going to be too specific about them) Tech says he’s lost Echo’s signal and they split into two groups. Anakin and Crosshair go one way, and everyone else goes the other.

Anakin goes into a dark room filled with boxes and a droid drops down from above him and says ‘drop your weapon’

But just before it drops down, the droid says one word. Or rather, it’s synthesized voicebox picks up one word from an unsecured communication and it’s uttered out loud.

And that word is “Huntah?”

Listen to it, listen to the tone and cadence of that one small word.

It’s unmistakably Omega speaking.

So why was Hunter receiving a call from a child he didn’t even meet until TBB ep 1?

Well, let’s look at that.

Before they split up we see them all standing together and Hunter has his helmet on.

When Tech announces that he’s picked up Echo’s signal again Hunter walks up the hallway from behind him, but now he has his helmet under his arm.

They’re mid mission, so why in all hell would he have taken his helmet off?

Because he was being facetimed, and by someone who would expect him to show proper respect and remove his helmet for the call.

How can I possibly claim that?

Because Omega is, by her own admission, ‘official Kaminoan medical personnel’ and Nala Se refers to her as her ‘medical assistant’

And who is currently in the med bay on Kamino who might want to speak to Hunter about the mission he’s on? Someone who has seniority over Hunter? Someone who very likely is in no fit condition to get up and make their own call for themselves?

Marshall Commander Cody

Who says something to Hunter which does not impress him in the slightest judging from the bulldog licking piss off a nettle highly disgruntled look we can see on his face before he puts his helmet back on.

So what happened? Did Cody chew him out over something? Did he tell him to get his act together? Or just make damn sure that not only had he better make sure that Rex returned from this mission, but that if Rex came back with so much as a single scratch on his armour that he would personally make it his life’s mission to make him suffer for it?

But why would Cody do that? Rex is a capable soldier. Doesn’t Cody trust him?

Yes. But he doesn’t trust the others.

.

The Batch’s high death toll is subtly implied a few times.

In the previous episode with Wrecker’s ‘we always get shot down when we work with ‘regs’ combined with his complete and utter lack of knowledge about how to deal with a man with internal injuries. No matter how dense they imply him to be, there’s no way he should ever think it’d be acceptable to just pick Cody up like a sack of potatoes and sling him over his shoulder after a crash like that. Not if he’d ever been expected to care about whether a ‘reg’ survived the experience anyway.

Also in the way Rex has never heard of the squad before. Which given his length of time in service as well as being such a well known face (so to speak) as well as General Skywalker’s right hand man, seems pretty damn surprising.

Unless no one ever comes back to tell the tale of ‘the time we worked with Clone Force 99’

The exception there seems to be Commander Cody. Whose loss would be difficult to explain if he suddenly disappeared, not least to General Kenobi, but he isn’t confirmed as ever having been on a mission with them himself before. Only that he’s met Hunter previously and knows a little about their unit.

Which he rapidly sidesteps having to explain even though Rex directly asks him about them.

Cut to this episode with Hunter’s ‘What kind of ‘suicide mission’ do you have for us this time?’, because why would he be expecting a suicide mission if the men they started out with usually came back?

And it makes me wonder about not only how many ‘regs’ have died on their missions, but Nala Se’s comment to Tarkin in TBB ep 1 about how ‘five are all that remain’ when he asks how many enhanced clones they have.

Just how many did they start out with?

.

Anyway,

Isn’t it a little too convenient that Tech lost Echo’s signal at just the right time for Hunter to take his phone call in private?

Did Hunter know he’d be getting that call, or was Tech tipped off by someone at the other end shortly before the call came through? Because we don’t see it to know if it was a scheduled call or a total surprise. Either way, he ‘miraculously’ manages to pick the signal up again once Hunter’s call has finished and the device he has in his hand shows him that.

(If you watch the group of them checking the doorways Rex runs to a door, Wrecker runs to a door, But Tech? Tech walks. Tech only gets as far as putting his hand on the door before looking at his device and announcing that the signal is back. Convenient, eh?)

But that’s the second time Tech ‘happens’ to lose the signal. It happens once on the approach to Wat Tambor’s city and again shortly before Hunter’s call comes in.

The first time doesn’t immediately stand out as him calling a pause in the proceedings, but then neither does the second time – until you have a wider context to consider it in.  

But, in a scene about 13 minutes in, the Poletec scouts have led the team towards the city to show them where they need to go. They’re standing on a high, jutting piece of rock with the tall, slender towers of the city visible in the distance.

We’re distracted by Wrecker’s fear of heights being turned into a comedy moment due to his choice of phrasing before Tech gives us a technobabble reason for losing Echo’s signal, essentially blaming it on the weather, before turning and walking away from the group while tapping away at his arm device while no one is paying him any attention, or looking over his shoulder at what he might actually be doing.

Next up is Hunter, who uses his turn at dissuasion to warn that it might be a trap and Echo may well be dead, which Rex firmly refuses to accept.

Then it’s Crosshair’s turn. He chooses to point at Rex allowing his personal feelings and guilt about Echo’s loss to interfere with his reasoning, before finishing with the comment about him being ‘just another ‘reg’’ (this is the last time we ever hear him use that term)

After the brief fight Anakin tells the Batch to sod off so he can talk to Rex alone.

Watch Hunter as they walk away, note the nod he gives Crosshair as he approaches him. Well done lad, good try, you did your best.

Now, skip forward to the next scene, at about 15.30 minutes. Not only has Tech miraculously managed to regain the signal in the middle of a dust storm even though he couldn’t find it in the far clearer conditions on that rock, but when we rejoin the group they’ve had a little time on their own. A little time to discuss their orders about the next stage of this operation, maybe?

.

For the moment we’ll cut back to the moment mentioned at the start, about 17.30, when Tech once more claims to have lost Echo’s signal.

They’ve only just got to the top of the tower and taken out a few guards when it vanishes, Tech lies again and reels off a plausible sounding excuse while mostly looking at the floor. Anakin suggests they split up, but no orders are given for who follows who.

So no reason is given onscreen for why Crosshair follows Anakin when everyone else goes off in the other direction. Or for why Hunter watches him go, and only stops watching him once everyone else has started running.

So let’s look at that.

Because as well as that one brief fragment of unguarded transmission picked up before the droids get blown away this scene also has the moment when Crosshair has Anakin dead in his sights. But chooses not to pull the trigger.

Even though he was supposed to.

I realise that that’s a big claim, but bear with me.

At the start of this episode is the facetime session between Anakin and Padme, all very cute and with comedy thrown in on top.  But during that call Padme says, regarding Rex, ‘Trust his instincts, like you trust yours’

Watch Anakin closely here. With his Grrr face on he deflects the shot from one droid right back at it and destroying its weapon, turns and cuts down the one which had been behind him, and then, rather than turning back to cut the other droid down, instead just has time to see Crosshair in the doorway, and ducks slightly and faces away from the sparks that fly from the shot that Crosshair puts in its back.

Only once the sparks stop falling from the droid does he stand, turn, and raise his lightsabre again, because he may trust his instincts but he isn’t a total idiot, and he’s still all alone with a man he barely knows who is armed with a high velocity rifle which is pointed right at him.

A man who definitely had enough time to put a follow up shot in his back if he’d wanted to.

Especially since the Firepuncher has a rapid fire mode.

But Anakin doesn’t react.

And we know how fast Anakin’s reactions are, it’s what made him such a fantastic pod racer in the first place, he could have deflected a shot from Crosshair even at that distance, especially since he’s already in a good stance for it.

Instead he gives Crosshair another chance to make a move if he’s going to. But he doesn’t. He lowers his rifle, Anakin’s eyebrow expression clears, and he turns off his lightsabre before casually leaving the room.

.

I realise that none of that directly implies that Crosshair was supposed to shoot him. I’m getting to that part.

Following a brief interlude where the gang find the Echo Chamber (yes, that is how I refer to the room where he was kept), skype with Wat Tambor, and have a bunch of droids sicced on them, Anakin reappears by force blasting a bunch of droids out of his way before getting in there with his lightsabre and the fight really takes off.

No one seems surprised by him being there.

Everyone has a moment to show they’re getting in on the action before Crosshair blows the head off the droid Hunter is holding before powersliding across the room towards Rex and Anakin’s position, ending up in a position where he has his back to Tech and Hunter.

When Crosshair shoots the droid, Hunter pauses. Only briefly, but he does.

The camera cuts to Tech and Hunter standing together. Tech looks at Hunter and shakes his head, Hunter responds with an acknowledging nod.

And the only thing which occurred in the time that they weren’t present is that Crosshair failed to take a shot at Anakin.

Which also means that Anakin didn’t deflect the shot back at him, or simply cut him down.

And either way Crosshair can’t win.

If he’d fired he’d be dead, but by not doing so he becomes a pariah and gets all the blame for the failure of their mission heaped upon him. Not to mention any reprimand the team received post mission.

So which one was the outcome Hunter was hoping for?  Getting rid of the Jedi, or getting rid of his team mate?

.

Okay, but when did this supposed ‘kill the Jedi’ order come in? And from whom?

The exact who of ‘who directly issued the order to them’ is uncertain, but it probably came from Kamino.

(I know who I’d put my money on for it, but let’s not get distracted by that right now.)

I’d say the starting orders Hunter passes to the others are for them to discover Echo’s location and then attempt to persuade Anakin and Rex to call off their retrieval mission. Only when that tactic fails does he update the team with the ‘take out any witnesses’ part.  But the call Hunter receives in Purkoll tells him he’d better not do that, which is why he looks so pissed off afterwards and doesn’t carry out any further action after Cross disobeys his orders.

Why do I think this? Let’s go through it from the top

The Batch plus Rex and Anakin set out on their mission. Upon reaching Skako Minor they’re set upon by the locals and Anakin is snatched by a keeradak. Crosshair shoots it with a grapple line.

If Crosshair had shot him then it could easily have been blamed on the creature moving about too much. Or on his rifle rest (Tech) having shifted. A bad thing, terrible accident, but explainable. When they track Anakin to the Poletec’s village he shoots the Keeradak holding him to the ground in the leg with an electro dart. Again, a perfect opportunity to take him out at a distance when there’s little he could do about it and call it an accident.

But it doesn’t happen.

Because he hasn’t had any such order at that point.

No, only once the locals show them the place where Echo is located and Tech sends that info back to base, or notes it down for later, or receives an update when no one is paying him any attention, does anyone start to interfere with Rex’s mission.

Tech ‘happens’ to lose the signal immediately after the city is pointed out to them, but no amount of persuasion is going to put Rex off.

So when they’re alone in the time where Anakin is talking to Rex, Hunter makes it clear that the pair of them have to go. But carefully.

And by the time Hunter gets that phone call he already thinks that Cross is taking care of Anakin, so it’s no wonder he looks disgruntled. Because that’s going to be a hard one to explain if they have to send witnesses home afterwards.

.

So, was this ever intended to be a rescue? Or was it supposed to be a heist?

Locate the unique and very valuable piece of technology, get rid of all witnesses, and take it home. Gift boxed.

Because Echo is a very valuable piece of technology, and someone who is seen as being property, and he ‘belongs’ to the Kaminoans, and I can’t see any reason why they wouldn’t want him back. He’s recorded as dead, so he’s off the GAR’s books.  Remove anyone who can vouch for his continued existence and no one will ever know you have him. Then you’re free to use him however you see fit. But once he’s returned home by Rex and Anakin he’s on record as still being alive. He’s accountable for. And it’s a lot harder to use and abuse him once that’s the case.

But it’s also why Sergeant ‘so two-faced that it’s literally a part of his basic character design’ Hunter offers him a place on their team. To keep him close. To keep an eye on him. To wait for everyone else to either forget he ever existed or to die in battle, and then Echo’s owner will be free to do whatever they want with him anyway.

Simple!

.

And I never did get those screenshots