#even if it was only taking your helmet off around your clan or house instead of the rest of the covert

[bleakbluejay]

i think the only way i can agree, in any way beyond cute/pretty fan art, with the "they should be able to take their helmets off" thing is that i think there should be a caveat where they should be allowed to take their helmets off around their own without breaching the Creed

like they should be able to sit together by the fire where it's warm and eat together and sing merry songs and joke and tell stories about their adventures

and i think they should be able to smile at their children and kiss their lovers and make funny faces at their siblings

one's clan/community is as vital a part of the Creed as one's armor is, and while they seem to be fine in-universe making do without these elements of family, it does seem very lonely to think about

maintaining that being without one's helmet outside of the covert is forbidden is great -- their helmets keep them anonymous and keep them protected. but i can't come up for a single reason why they shouldn't have the choice of being without them in their own home

i still do very much like the way they've adapted, culturally, to living with their helmets on around others. the adapted body language and language and tone. the customs. and i think there's great potential for fan fiction regarding that tension/desire/lack of touch/expressing their love without showing their faces. but i'd be ok if they count only take their helmets off around each other.

[mellowswriting]

Sweet but Fierce S/O

**some of these are more blurbs than headcanons... what can I say, it got away from me

Mando: 

The duality is something Mando sees often with you, and he can’t deny that he loves it. You aren’t just sweet and soft with him, an experienced bounty hunter who by definition was the opposite of soft, but you were so good with the Child. You could get him to sleep like you had cast a spell over him, fed and played and talked with him as if you could actually understand his babbling. Soft and sweet wasn’t something Mando saw often in his life and now he can’t get enough of it.

But Mando is familiar with fierce, and seeing the way you protect the Child and his beskar-clad father? It honestly turns him on beyond comprehension. How can the same hands that provide comfort and care so readily also viciously break the bones in the wrist of someone unfortunate enough to have made a grab for the Child? How can the same hands that make warm, delicious food for your little clan (a habit you picked up after balking at Mando’s tendency to survive solely on ration bars) also steadily hold a blaster to the temple of an idiot who tried to remove Mando’s helmet?

As a Mandalorian, he is so used to the world being black and white, either or. Every bit of you is refreshing to him - the considerate gestures, the soothing touches, the biting need to protect those you love. It’s a precious quality. 

It’s also incredibly attractive. Mandalorian culture is based in caring for and protecting children, so seeing you so fiercely loving?? Basically it makes him want to rail you into oblivion, but that’s neither here nor there. 

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales:

Frankie could use a little sweetness in his life. It’s been a tough time, coming back from all that shit that went down in South America. He was closer than ever with the boys of course, but something was missing. He needed something more. So when Pope introduced you to him at his barbeque, Frankie was beyond interested.

It was a whirlwind, falling in love with you. You changed his life in the best ways; taught him which yoga poses would help with his achy back, filled his house with soft blankets and delicious coffees, listened to him ramble on as he drove. And the way you talked about your work, your career? It’s enamoring. 

Your work is how he gets to see that fierce side. The two of you were out to lunch when your phone rang - it was one of your clients, apparently dealing with some sort of crisis. Frankie couldn’t deny you when you asked him to drive you to her home, especially since he had driven you to the small restaurant. Frankie leans against his car door as you go up to her house. 

Apparently her landlord was illegally trying to evict her. You have no issue getting in his face and telling him with a terrifying kind of calm that you have no issue calling the police and your company’s lawyers. You’ll have him buried in litigation and fines for the next decade if he doesn’t stop being a greedy piece of shit and go about his day elsewhere. If that wasn’t enough to have Frankie wide eyed (and drooling just a bit tbh), you seem to fall right back into your sweet self as you calm your client and reassure her that all will be fine. 

Hell, maybe Frankie could use a little spitfire in his life, too.

Javier Peña:

How? Just. How?

Javier doesn't understand how you've managed to be so sweet when surrounded by the shit you both worked with everyday. Your eyes are so bright and soft, your smiles easy and pure, every gesture full of unwavering kindness. Working in admin meant you saw all of the reports, all of the gruesome pictures of the aftermath of Escobar’s men. So again: how?

Christ, you always offer to get coffees for him and Murphy on those endlessly long days where every lead seems to fizzle out and he wants nothing more than to put his hand through a wall. Your presence is a bright spot in the office, even when the rain clouds hang heavy around his head. 

Javier seeks you out on those bad days. It isn’t intentional - usually, at least. He’ll tell Murphy he needs to go for a walk before he starts throwing things and will find himself at your desk with you looking up at him with those big, soft eyes and asking if you can help at all. If only he had the words to tell you that your presence was helpful in and of itself. 

Eventually Murphy gets onto him about it, tells him to just ask you out already because he’s tired of the longing. So Javi bucks up and makes his way to your desk with a surprising amount of nerves in his stomach. Fuck, how long had it been since he asked someone on an actual date and not just out to drinks as a prelude to fucking?

The sight of Agent Buchanan perched slightly on the edge of your desk gives him pause. The man is obviously laying on the charm and Javi is about to turn on his heel when he notices how uncomfortable you look. Javi’s eyes narrow because seriously? This dude is gonna fuck with the one literal ray of sunshine in the office? Buchanan leans forward and places his hand on your thigh and that’s when Javier is marching forward to break his spine in fucking half…

Before he can even get to you, you slip your fingers under his and give him that soft, sweet smile… and Buchanan’s middle finger is shoved back at a vicious angle. Over his pained sounds, Javier can hear the anger in your voice. “I said no thank you, asshole.”

Holy fuck. If Javier was interested before, he’s downright obsessed now. 

And as always, the honorable mention of Javier’s innocence kink. 

Ezra: 

At first Ezra thinks it's some sort of bluff, the charming and easygoing nature you portrayed. When you came across him in the Green wounded and in dire need of a new filter and probably a meal or two, you just… helped him. His very own partner left him for dead, and here you were, offering him a lifeline without expecting anything in return.

Yeah, no. That’s not something that happens, especially not in the Green.

He isn’t afraid to call you on it, either. This man is straight and to the point in every aspect of his life, might as well do the same in his death instead of getting jerked around. But you just… grinned, all conspiratorial, and whispered, “I’m actually just using you for good karma. This is a selfish act, don’t worry.” 

Huh.

It takes Ezra a moment to be assured that you aren’t playing some kind of long con as you nurse him back to health. You still clean his wounds and force him to take medication to help his lungs recover from the toxic air with confidence and ease despite his untrusting looks. Once he gets over his fears, there’s no getting rid of him. Ezra likes you. He likes the sweetness, the gentle touches. That’s why he offers you his partnership and beams when you accept.

Besides simply liking you, your kindness is a rarity that sparks a deep need in Ezra to keep you safe, protected. The idea of you harvesting on your own with no one to watch your back makes him feel sick to his stomach.

It’s the third day he’s out harvesting with you that he realizes you absolutely do not need his protection. You hear the duo approaching before Ezra does and immediately shove him into the raised, gnarled roots behind a tree - and the shot that would’ve caught him in the chest flies harmlessly past. Before Ezra can tell you to stay put and let him handle it, you’re scrambling out from behind the tree and he can hear the sound of your thrower discharging and a body crumpling to the ground. 

Ezra shoots out to help but you’re trying to wrestle the other man to the ground and Kevva damnit, he can’t get a clear shot with all that writhing about. Just as he goes to jump into the mix, whatever hold you have on the man straightens his arm out behind his back in a harsh, unforgiving line. The man’s thrower slips from his incapacitated hand and the sight of you snatching up midair and firing it right through his helmet has to be the most erotic thing Ezra has ever seen.

You can expect this man to wax poetic about the twofold of your personality for hours. Goes on and on about how he loves seeing the different ways you light up: in passion, in pleasure, in anger. It’s downright titillating. 

Marcus Pike:

Working with you gives leaves Marcus in the perfect position to see both sides. You’re so compassionate with the victims as you guide them through the legal processes but you also look ridiculously hot with a gun in your hand. Or while you pull on your bulletproof vest. Or when you’re strapping a holster to your thigh.

What can he say, Marcus can’t get enough of you either way. 

He loves when you give him that grateful smile when he brings you a coffee. The shoulder rubs you give him when he’s been sitting at his desk for too long leave him hazy with a mix of love and pleasure. The way you open your arms up for him to crawl into bed, still half asleep but still wanting him against you… it was pure heaven. 

Marcus also loves the hard edge in your voice when you’re interrogating a suspect. He loves the fire in your eyes when he wraps a hand around your throat and growls out exactly what he’s going to do to you, that bratty energy radiating off you and filling him with the need to break you down until he gets to see the pretty, begging glimmer of his sweet little thing again. 

Max Phillips:

Max is the kind of man who loves having a pretty, wide eyed thing beneath him, watching their face morph into that surprised pleasure. That’s exactly what he’s gonna get from you, too. He just knows it.

You’re the kind of person everyone loves working with, always offering a smile and kind words throughout the day. You work so hard and so diligently, that work ethic is something that leaves you offering your assistance when you’ve finished up before closing time. Max thrives on those moments where you peek into his office and ask if there’s anything he needs - maybe a coffee or some help with some paperwork. 

One day he decides, fuck it. Throws caution to the wind because hey, this is Max fucking Phillips we’re talking about here. So he waves you in when you pop by, lets you sit in one of the chairs on the other side of his desk, and whispers “You can help by bending that pretty little ass over my desk.”, his hands braced on either armrest. 

The last thing Max expects is a harsh smack across his face. He stumbles back, eyes wide as you stand and glare at him. “Go fuck yourself, Phillips.” 

Okay, yeah. He deserved that. The great thing about him, though? Max also loves the chase. And what could be better than slowly but surely convincing you that the best thing for you is letting him rail you into oblivion? 

Pero Tovar:

Before he sees that fierce side of you, Pero keeps his distance. He’s a sellsword for god’s sake, he feels he has no business around such softness. He’ll hurt you, he’s sure of it. But that doesn’t stop him from looking. Pero often sees you in the market and every time, you take his breath away. You could usually be found aiding an elder in gathering their shopping into their carts or kneeling down to speak with the local children running amok.

As a man who spent his life surrounded by battle and hardship, it was a nice change.

It wasn’t long until he caught your eye, and Pero floundered. He didn’t know what to do with that first small gesture - he just stared at you when you offered him a small bundle of cheeses and meat to aid him on his two month long journey he was about to set off on. Of course he later cursed himself for the stunned silence he offered in response to your well wishes and the small wave you gave before you left him standing like a fool next to his horse. 

Pero would thank you properly when he returned, that was the resolve he came to while away. You deserved to hear the words at the very least. He takes a moment to clean up before he sets out to find you, not wanting you to see him covered in grime, and as always, he spots you within moments of entering the village. Except something is… off. Your face through the shop window lacks it’s usual brightness, your eyebrows pinched together, something akin to fear replacing the brightness your eyes usually held. That’s when Pero realizes there’s a man holding a dagger to the shopkeeper and demanding the man's coin. 

By the time Pero has his own dagger in hand and shoves through the door, the man is already crumpling to the ground from the harsh kick you landed at the back of his knee. Pero watches in  awe as you take advantage of his confusion to snatch the blade from his hand and point it at him with your foot pressed firm to his back. 

Despite just how amazing you look like that, Pero takes over quickly, wanting you out of harm’s way immediately. The assailant is taken care of after a small struggle and when you rush towards him to make sure he isn’t hurt, a fire lights in his belly. As you fret over him, your soft hands searching for any harm to his scarred, calloused skin, Pero knows. He’s found his person, he can feel it in his gut, deep in his bones. 

[inkformyblood]

stay interested (in what comes back)

Day 01 Clan of Three for @dincobbweek Summary: Cobb never expected to hear from the Mandalorian after he leaves, but then the first letter arrives... The first letter arrives a few days after Mando and the kid leaves, and it sits unopened on Cobb’s shelf for several days before he can bring himself to open it. 

The courier — a young woman named Tai with a constellation of freckles across her cheeks and forehead and close-cropped black hair — presses it into his hands with a knowing grin. Her clothes are worn from the speeder ride around Tatooine, sand clinging to them so that she appears to be part of the desert made flesh. 

“If you want to send anything back,” she says, pausing in her swaying walk back to her bike, turning to look over her shoulder towards him. “Just leave it in the usual box. I’ll be back round in two weeks.” 

She grins and Cobb catches sight of a new banner tied around her waist: a striped cloth in browns and golds and undeniably Tusken, but it tears the breath from his lungs before he can respond. She hops back onto her bike and is gone.

Everywhere he turns, he is reminded of Mando and the kid, and just when he had pushed the other man from his mind with practised unnerving ease, the letter arrived.

The material is well-made, smooth to the touch except for the small crumpled swell in the centre, and the seal is neat but plain. Cobb brushes his fingers over the markings — a smaller line that flares out into a small peak with a notched end next to a hooked line — and places the letter down, willing his thoughts to turn away from it.

But it remains like a stone digging into the soft skin in the arch of his foot or a shard caught in his teeth.

So Cobb opens it, after one trip too many past it, his gaze locking onto it and the burning curiosity courses through him again.

A crumpled picture on pale brown paper spills out, the edges ragged and torn, and Cobb recognises it as the unmarked side of a help wanted notice. They are common enough in Tatooine that Cobb flips it to the other side to inspect the details before allowing himself to take in the hand-drawn picture.

It was one of theirs, he realises, smoothing out the creases that distort Mos Pelgo’s desperate plea for help. Why had he chosen this? Cobb was well versed in backhanded insults and thinly veiled threats. He had learned to be. The scars that span his back and thighs still ache with the memory of the burning whip and each one is a testament to what he survived.

Mando didn’t strike him as that sort of man. Cobb had seen the way he had curved towards the kid, always half stretched out to brush fingertips across his skull as if he was caught in orbit. Cobb liked to think he was a good judge of character and even when Mando had bared his metaphorical teeth at him, Cobb knew he was a good man.

So, he reasons that the paper was likely convenient rather than a reminder of a debt owed, and flips it back over. A huge white shape dominates the right-hand side of the page broken up by the jagged edges of what Cobb realises are teeth. Next to it are two crudely drawn stick figures, one broader and grey but clearly wearing a helmet with a T shaped visor and the other taller and shakily drawn, featureless except for a red triangle at its throat. Next to the two is a smaller circle in green with two triangles for ears inside a floating grey circle.

It’s the three of them, and a Kraft dragon.

Cobb smooths it out as best he can, his heart twisting and constricting in his chest, threatening to choke him. The other item in the letter is smaller. It rolls when Cobb fumbles while drawing it from the envelope, slipping through his fingers and clattering onto the floor. He drops to his knees, cursing his own uncooperative hands and the protest of his knees, the sharp flare of pain dulling to an ache that would haunt him for a few days.

The ring is cool to the touch and is perfectly sized for his thumb. Cobb doesn’t let his thoughts linger on that, focusing on the careful engraving of segmented bone upon bone instead of the remembered press of Mando’s hand in his, surprisingly warm given the chill of the night air, the slight hesitancy as if expecting Cobb to pull away from him.

He slips it onto his thumb, tacks the picture up on the main wall in his section of the house, and returns to work. A letter detailing their efforts and professing his thanks, along with all the unmarked scrap paper he can find and pencils scavenged from the passing traders that the school doesn't need anymore finds its way into the courier dropbox and is away before Cobb can talk himself out of it.

He just hopes he has made the right choice. 

The arrival of a second picture — the same lopsided circle-shaped child drawn in greens and browns and two stick figures, one grey and one brown with red at its throat beneath a sky that burst with all the colours of a fistfight — confirms he was right. The note that comes with it is brief but Cobb traces his fingers over the hesitant letters. Thank you. 

⁂

The shadow at the end of Cobb’s hallway shifts as he steps closer, his blaster held ready by his side. “Wasn’t sure you’d be coming here, Mando. Glad to see I was wrong.”

Mando’s laugh sounds wrong, too sharp at the edges and echoing slightly. Cobb takes another step closer, his gaze dropping to search the lighter shadows by the other man’s feet, looking for the huddle of fabric and large eyes of the kid. 

“He had to go back to his people.” Mando sounds broken, his voice flat, and Cobb knows that feeling only too well. It draws you down, down into its depths, until you can’t remember what it felt like to believe in something or to care about another person. He steps closer despite himself, one hand stretching out to try and offer what comfort he could when he stops. 

Dark curls, close cropped and unevenly cut, greet Cobb’s gaze, brushing against the edge of Mando’s beskar, his helmet held loosely in one hand. His heart lodges in his throat, remembering the way Mando had recoiled when Cobb had taken off the helmet of the borrowed armour, his hope dying in an instant. 

“I’m guessing a lot has happened since your last letter.” Cobb doesn’t look at Mando further, navigating with the edges of his vision, sliding his feet across the floor as he hooks his arm around Mando’s waist. The man freezes before curling into him with a wounded noise ripping from his throat. “Come on and sleep. We can talk in the morning.”

“Didn’t know where else to go.” Mando sighs, his feet leaden, but he goes where Cobb leads. His skin was as cold as his beskar, gritty with sand that rasped against Cobb’s palm. “Knew it would be safe here.”

“Ain’t that a good endorsement,” Cobb murmurs, trying to ignore the swell of emotion the words created in his chest. The gap in letters had troubled him more than he wanted to admit and Tai had taken to stopping by his house first on her rounds so he wouldn’t waste more time waiting for her, only to be disappointed once again.

“It’s true.” Mando turns to watch him, and Cobb keeps his gaze fixed forward. The other man is shorter than him, folding into the curve of his chest as if he had been made to fit there, and he catches a glimpse of dark eyes before they move into his bedroom and Mando’s gaze snaps to the wall. “Oh.”

He sways, no longer leaning on Cobb for support, but clinging to him like a lifeline, and Cobb chances smoothing a hand along the curve of his hip, leaning down to blindly knock his temple to the other man’s. “You will see your kid again, Mando. He loves you.”

“He talked about you too.” Mando’s words rumble through him, his voice cracking and breaking. “Always drawing you. We were going to come back before— before—”

“He’s a sweet kid. Takes after his daddy, I reckon.”

Mando laughs at that, a helpless exhalation, and Cobb chuckles along with him. 

“Now, go to sleep. I’ll be here in the morning,” Cobb continues, nudging Mando towards the bed. It is unmade, the blankets twisted too high, exposing the pale sheet beneath, but he doesn’t have time to reconsider it as Mando falls onto it as if his strings were cut. 

“Skywalker took my child,” Mando mutters into the sheets and Cobb freezes, old familiarity washing over him, his thoughts turning towards an old datapad stored in a small chest in the corner and the contact details hidden within. 

“Sleep, Mando. It’ll do you some good.” Cobb waits until the man’s breath levels out, falling into the deep easy rhythm of sleep before turning to inspect the wall. The most recent picture from the child catches his eye — the figure of Cobb and Mando on either side of the kid, their hands overlapping, beneath Tatooine's twin suns — and his hands curl into fitsts. He knows what he has to do. 

The datapad hums as it turns on, the screen cracked and blurred, but Cobb navigates through it easily, old memories coming back to him. 

‘Skywalker? Been a while, but did you just pick up a Mandalorian’s kid and not leave any contact details?’

The reply is quick, and Cobb squints at the screen, his mouth moving soundlessly as he reads through the misspellings and laughs to himself when he finishes. Three days travel away, and Mando would see his son again. Three days of Cobb living with the man he was hopelessly in love with as he helped him restore the balance to his family. This was going to be difficult, but, hopefully, easier than killing the dragon. 

[miceenscene]

Star-Crossed

din djarin/female oc | soulmate AU | pre-canon wc: 2.6k summary: The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one. People, house, clan. And when all else failed, your Match. “Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense. But what's a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin? warnings: canon-typical violence an: first go at mandalorian fanfic. we'll see how this goes :D Masterpost | ao3

Chapter One: The Urge

Din Djarin has been alone for a very long time.

Din Djarin has been alone for a very long time.

And somewhere along in being alone, he decided he liked it. He preferred it.

People were pushy. Demanding. Rude.

They took one look at his armor and assumed the man underneath.

At least that’s what he decided was the reason he preferred solitude.

There was an unacknowledged truth, however, that perhaps choosing to prefer loneliness dulled its edge ever so slightly. Just enough to be ignorable most nights.

But some nights, deep in the slip of hyperspace, when it was just him in his tiny bunk on The Razor Crest, it wasn’t ignorable. It sat high in his chest, occupying the space between his lungs, filling it with an emptiness so big it threatened to squeeze the breath out to make room.

On nights like that, the helmet usually went back on.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one.

People, house, clan.

And when all else failed, your Match.

“Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense.

So many lamentable things were lost in the Great Purge.

The beskar, their homeworld…

Lose enough people, break enough pairs, does it even matter if the Matches still exist?

Or don’t, as the case might be.

So much of what the Mandalorians once had is lost. What’s one more thing?

What’s a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin?

He knew his stars. The constellation that outlined the path of his life.

Every Mandalorian had one.

The elders had been very keen to identify his when he first was found. They did eventually.

Tal’onidir. Blood struggle.

Or ‘blood, sweat, and tears’ as the Alderaanians would have said.

Though in the time before the Purge, both halves of a Match’s stars would have been consulted for a clearer picture.

But all he had was his half. All most everyone had was their half.

Very few of the old myths still applied in a galaxy barely free of an Imperial yoke. But even Din had to admit that his stars felt more right than he wanted them to be.

Life was a constant struggle.

Struggle to survive, struggle to continue, struggle to carve out some semblance of contentment with his lot.

He felt he was doing as well as any could.

And then, out of the clear night sky, everything changed.

He was in his ship when he first noticed something off.

Four fresh pucks from Karga, plotting the most fuel-efficient map between his quarries and Nevarro. When he found himself putting in coordinates for Tatooine.

None of the quarries were on Tatooine this time. He stopped, shook his head, and punched in for Jakku.

Desert planets were bound to blur together.

He brushed it off, deciding to get as much sleep as he could in hyperspace.

It was a helmet-on kind of sleep, though.

It came up again as he was leaving Corellia.

He’d actually locked in the coordinates that time and was halfway through atmo before he noticed.

And then it was when he set foot back on Nevarro, four carbonite platters ready for delivery later, that he felt it again.

He didn’t want to be here.

But it was in the middle of Karga offering up new pucks when Din really damned himself.

“Do you have any on Tatooine?” slipped out before he could stop it.

Karga did. Just the one, and a risky venture at that. A Captain in one of the Hutts palaces.

Din took it. He wasn’t even sure why he took it, but it was too late. He was half-way to the ship when he realized he hadn’t taken any other bounties.

Still some part of him unclenched as he finally made the jump to hyperspace.

He’d thought that this odd urge would evaporate as he landed.

It didn’t.

That way it said, gesturing metaphorically for the Dune Sea.

Even if his quarry was technically that direction, this whole journey seemed foolish. And he might have given up if not for that old saying his Armorer was so fond of,

‘Instincts can be misled, but they never lie.’

Peli was her usual self--some combination of persnickety and jovial that landed right in charming. But she did lend a speeder bike.

Finally Din was off, racing through the searing sands.

It was less than a day’s journey, however, when he felt the urge again.

Stop.

He did, scoping all around him, trying to figure out how this gulley between dunes was different from all the others.

Pulling out his pocket scope, gave him a clue. The Hutt palace warbled in the far distance. Now just to figure out how to get inside, kill and/or remove one of the better trained guards without alerting the whole palace.

He watched the palace for the rest of the evening, noting guard rotations, possible alternate entrances.

After the suns set, things began to get a little tense

Dark was the obvious option for trying a covert entrance to the compound. But the urge was rather adamant.

Wait.

“Wait for what?” he asked an empty desert before immediately feeling foolish

His answer came a few hours before sunrise.

A small barge left the palace, floating just a hundred yards north of him. There weren’t many people on board. A few guards, perhaps a slave--

And his quarry.

Well. Rarely did events turn out so damn convenient.

Follow.

Even better.

Back on the speeder bike, he kept pace with the barge, keeping a few dunes between them. Trying to log as much information as he could before striking.

Four guards. One slave. One quarry. No one appeared to be below deck. This wouldn’t be too difficult.

Then the slave kicked one of the guards off the barge.

Another immediately fired a shot at the slave, only to be gruffly stopped by the quarry with the flat of an axe blade.

Din watched on thermal as the quarry pulled something out of his jacket, and then the slave dropped.

An armor piercing scream echoed through the desert, settling high in his chest and constricting.

Now.

Speeder bike surged forward, and one shot with his grappling cable, he managed to land feet first on the side of the barge.

It dipped under his added weight. One guard leaning over to inspect and getting a blaster shot between the eyes for his trouble.

Two more leaned over, but Din ran along the side to get momentum and swing himself up on deck.

The quarry bum-rushed him, axe out. Beskar took most of the brunt, and Din knocked him back, nearly off the side but he gripped the railing, sending a small device skittering to the deck floor.

The slave stopped screaming and that tightness in his chest immediately relaxed, though it didn't evaporate.

Danger.

Yes, obviously.

Din shot one guard as the slave, a human woman in some sort of flowy very impractical clothing, got to her feet and knocked another one off into the sand.

“Duck,” he yelled to her, before shooting the last guard behind her, as she dropped to the deck.

The quarry got back on deck and instead of going after Din, or the woman, he ran for the device near the front of the ship.

“NOOO–” the woman yelled as Din ran after the quarry. But the quarry arrived first, smashing the butt of his axe into the device and destroying it.

Her cry cut off abruptly, but Din focused on getting a single shot to the back of the quarry’s head first. He succeeded.

The post-battle quiet rushed in, cut only by the sound of the barge motor still going and his own breathing.

Save.

He turned back to examine The Woman, who was prone on the deck, not moving. The tightness returned.

Civilian casualties were… an unfortunate reality. He did his very best to avoid them whenever possible. But there had been instances before.

Though those times didn’t make his hands shake as he turned on thermal again.

The shake ebbed as he confirmed she was still alive. Just unconscious. A breath cut out of him.

Save, the urge repeated.

Well, he couldn’t fly a stolen Hutt barge as the way back to Mos Eisley. Hopefully the speeder bike was where he left it.

It was. Though it wasn’t meant to hold three people. The quarry was strapped to the back like so much cargo, and since The Woman didn’t seem to be waking anytime soon, he had no choice but to hold her.

It was more awkward than anything else, her head flopped on his pauldron and her perfume filling his nose

He didn’t know the scent, but it was rich and sweet, and lingered in the back of his throat

They arrived at Mos Eisley as the suns broke free of the horizon.

Peli gave him a strange look when he asked for bolt cutters, but even if the woman was unconscious, Din wasn’t going to leave that collar on her.

Though now came the most important question: what was he going to do with her?

She seemed stable, no wounds that he’d noticed at all. Though she still hadn’t regained consciousness.

It was probably a fairly safe bet that an escaped slave wouldn’t want to stay planetside.

And if she did, he’d bring her right back after getting paid.

He tucked her into the only bed on The Razor Crest –though bed was a generous definition– and found every blanket to drape on top of her. Space was cold and the fabric of her dress was nearly translucent.

Save.

“I’m trying,” he muttered, heading to the cockpit for take off.

The Woman didn’t wake up before Nevarro.

Two and a half full days unconscious was not a good sign. Even for someone like him.

Thermal said she wasn’t running a temperature. At the end of the second day, he gave her a bacta shot for good measure.

Nothing changed.

Fix.

For all the time he spent on Nevarro, Din realized very quickly that he actually knew precious little outside of the covert. Which left him with Karga as his only source of guidance.

“Is there a hospital here? Or a doctor?” he asked, as soon as money had changed hands.

“Are you hurt, Mando?” Karga gave him a once over, as if checking for missing limbs.

“Not for me.”

“Well, we do have a clinic. But it’s run by a healing droid.”

“No droids,” Din responded with a fervency usually reserved for his ship.

Karga held up his hands in surrender. “Then I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

Fix.

Resisting the urge to sigh, Din asked, “Where’s the clinic?”

A Mandalorian carrying a blanketed bundle the size of a grown woman though the marketplace was bound to get a few strange looks.

Luckily, there wasn’t a line at the clinic.

Unluckily, the droid was still there.

The Woman looked concerningly pale on the table as the droid ran scan after scan. Her hair, dark and curly, didn’t shine like it had under the Tatooine double sun rise. It was limp and lifeless.

Like her.

Fix!

“How many more scans are you going to run??” Din snapped.

The droid was unfazed, finished its test before turning to face him.

“I have found the problem.” A projection appeared of The Woman’s head in profile. A small white square at the base of her skull. “She appears to have a chip implanted between her third and fourth cervical vertebrae.”

“Removing that will fix her?”

“All signs point to this being the root of the problem.”

“Can you remove it here?”

“Yes, but you cannot be present for the procedure.”

Though the idea of trusting her care into the hands of a droid made his palms itch, Din nodded.

He was allowed a moment to say good-bye, which felt both strange as he didn’t even know her name and yet not long enough all at the same time.

He touched a gloved hand to her shoulder, promising that this would fix it.

Though he wasn’t sure who he was promising that too.

A full hour crawled by as Din waited in the dingy clinic waiting room. The urge very insistent

Fix. Return. Fix. Return.

He was about ready to go ask what was taking so long again when the droid returned.

“The procedure was a success. She may be confused for a few days. But her mind will heal with time. Your wife is sleeping now, but can leave by the end of the day. ”

Side-stepping the presumption, he asked, “Do you have the chip?”

“Yes. Would you like to keep it?”

“Yes.” Mainly to find out where it came from in the first place. Implanted chips were rare and few, if any, were legal. Especially not ones capable of this sort of… control.

Given that The Woman was still sleeping, Din decided to take the chip to get some answers.

The urge was not happy.

Return. Return. Return.

But really, when she woke, the droid's face would be more expressive than his own.

From this side of the city, he took the southern entrance to the covert.

There was a tension shift as soon as he stepped down into the subterranean tunnels. The oddity of a Mandalorian was stripped away, thankfully.

At the heart of the covert was the armory and more importantly the Armorer. He sat before her forge and waited to be addressed.

“I see no defects in your armor,” she said, not stopping her smelting.

“I seek answers, not repairs.”

“Answers to what?”

He placed the chip down. She picked it up to examine it silently before setting it back down and returning to her work.

“Where did you find this?”

“Tatooine. Inside a slave from a Hutt palace.”

“Is the slave alive?”

“Yes.”

“They may provide more answers than I can.”

“She’s not conscious,” he explained, taking the chip back. “And–”

The Armorer waited for him to continue.

“I was… led to her.”

“How?”

He paused for a long moment, trying to find a way to explain. “Instinct.”

Danger, the urge suddenly said.

A slight commotion out in the hall behind him interrupted their conversation. Raised voices echoed down stone walls.

The Armorer’s comm link came to life. “Outsider at the southern entrance.”

Danger! Go.

Din was up on his feet before he made the choice to do so. And he was halfway down the hall by the time he’d realized he’d left.

A few other Mandalorians were also moving to the southern entrance, back up if there was an invading force.

Danger! Danger!

The urge pulled him into a sprint for the last corner.

Coming around it, something high in his chest resounded in fear.

The Woman was standing at the end of the hall, dressed in his dark shirt he’d pulled over her dress before taking her to the clinic, with at least six Mandalorian blasters pointed at her.

Save!

“STOP. WAIT.” Din ran down towards the stand off. “DON’T SHOOT.”

A few blasters turned his direction before their owners saw who he was. He could hear quite a few more Mandalorians also approaching from behind.

The Woman, however, did not seem bothered by the guns or the platoon of armored warriors surrounding her. She calmly walked forward, gaze focused somewhere ahead of her.

On him.

Return.

Her eyes were a soft grey, yet distant. Foggy.

Din drifted towards her. The urge now palpable under his skin.

Return.

However, it was only when she reached out and took one gloved hand in hers that it finally relaxed, disappeared.

“Outsiders are not permitted inside the covert,” one of the guards snapped.

“She’s not an outsider,” the Armorer replied.

Her voice seemed very far away to Din who felt it was more important to study this woman’s face than listen.

“She’s a Match.”

That cut through the gentle reverie of grey eyes.

A what?

Chapter Two: The Question

taglist: @kelenloth ; @keeper0fthestars ; @loversandantiheroes

[autisticdindjarin]

Seeking Sanctuary

Chapter Three: Talk

(AO3)

Summary:  19 years after Chapter 16, Din and Grogu find themselves on the run again. They stop at a familiar sanctuary.   Rating: T Pairing: Din Djarin x Omera Warnings: Hand holding Notes:   Hi all, hope you like this long awaited update!

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The next day moved in quietly, and the mood within the village went along with it as the rain continued to fall. Vinita left for her usual work at the schoolhouse, taking Lori with her, and Winta rushed out to help with the krill ponds. Grogu slept in later than usual, and Din couldn’t blame him; He knew the toll trauma could take, and Grogu had seen too much of it.

Instead, he set about helping out around the house. He eyed the leaking roof, underneath which a bucket had been placed. With the rain still persistent, there was nothing to be done about it right now, but Omera said tomorrow she’d probably try to patch it up.

The steady drip still made Din grit his teeth, and while he did his best to ignore it, it kept up like a continual tap on the shoulder.

So he stayed out of the living room for the most part, and made himself comfortable in the kitchen, where he helped Omera with canning krill, and later she guided him through the process the villagers used to make the blue dye they used on their clothing and sheets.

Omera kept up quiet small talk while they worked, which Din fell into so easily that it surprised him. He was … at ease with her, he supposed. 

Soon enough, Grogu woke from his early morning nap and joined them just in time for Omera to serve the lunch Din had helped prepare.

Grogu spoke less than usual, Din noticed, but he ate happily enough. His son took two servings while Din was satisfied with one, though eating his helmet tilted back made it awkward. When they finished, Grogu squinted his eyes and looked over at Din.

“Hurt, you do,” Grogu said. Din sighed, leaning back in his chair. It was just an ache, really, but one look at Omera’s face told him he’d soon be subjected to more medical care.

“It’s fine,” Din mumbled in vain nonetheless.

“I’d like to look at it anyway,” Omera nudged him with her elbow. She put down her fork on her empty plate and wiped her hands. “You’ve been putting the kolto gel on it every night?”

Din exchanged a look with Grogu, who had a smug sort of smile on his face.

“ … Was I supposed to?”

Omera gave him a flat look and then sighed. “Well, Mando, you’re certainly making me shine up on my rusting medical knowledge.”

“Din.”

“What?” she gave him a quizzical look.

“My name is Din. You … Well, you should probably know. Din Djarin,” he managed to choke out.

“Of Clan Mudhorn!” Grogu added with the most enthusiasm Din had seen from him that morning.

Something in Omera’s face relaxed, and she smiled at Din. He straightened his posture where he sat. He wasn’t worthy of such an expression.

“Thank you for sharing that with me.”

“Y-you’re welcome,” he choked out, his face feeling warm under the helmet. Grogu looked between the two of them with his ears raised, and Din steadily ignored him.

“Now, go sit on the couch and let me have a look at that leg.”

Which was exactly where he found himself ten minutes later, pants leg hiked up to his knee, Grogu gone to help Winta outside, and Omera in front of him with a frown on her face as she rubbed in kolto gel. Din held back a wince when she put pressure on a particularly sore area along the wound. She seemed to notice his discomfort and finished up. The smile she gave him while wiping her hands on a spare rag made him relax back into the well used couch.

“Where did you learn? I mean, where were you trained?” Din asked. He felt horribly out of place and exposed like this; His wounds bare to her, the proximity between them narrow. Omera looked up at him. A paused silence hit him before she answered.

“Naboo. It was only … part … of my training.”

Din wanted to ask more. To ask if that had been her homeworld. And even with the helmet on, Omera seemed to recognize his curiosity.

“Just give me a minute to clean this up,” she said. She tugged his pants leg back down and gathered her supplies up into their assigned basket. Din shifted in his seat while Omera wiped her hands on the rag again- this time more thoroughly- and then she made her way over and slumped down on the seat next to Din.

“I was young, around eight, when my training began on Naboo. It was a great honor to be chosen to someday be a Royal Handmaiden,” Omera said quietly. Din frowned at that.

“Handmaiden?” he asked. That didn’t sound like something that usually required battlefield medic training. Omera chuckled.

“Yes. It was a little different role on Naboo. Handmaidens served the queen - sometimes the Princess of Theed and our senators as well - but they were primarily a secret force of bodyguards.”

Din nodded at this as pieces of Omera began fitting together. Her aim with a blaster, her ability to think clearly during the raider attack, the way she had treated his injury ….

She watched him now, almost like she wanted an answer from him. He gulped.

“Oh,” Din managed to breathe out.

Omera looked to the side with a light smile. 

“Unfortunately, I never got to finish my training. The Clone Wars ended and when the Empire took over, my parents took me and fled Naboo. The death of our senator had shaken them, and while I certainly fought them on it, I wasn’t able to change their minds. It wasn’t until later that I realized they probably saved my life; I was eleven when we landed and settled down here, on Sorgan,” she said softly. 

She looked back to him and her eyes searched for something; Din didn’t know what, but his heart twisted and he reached a hand - ungloved today - to hers, resting his palm there.

“I’m surprised you were able to keep up with your … skills here,” Din said while pulling his line of sight away from her - it was too much right now. Instead he focused on the dripping roof that had been irritating him all morning. It made itself a saving grace now.

“Ah. Well. My father hunted for the village, and I would often go along with him. But, I left Sorgan during my early twenties, off to seek adventure,” she shook her head. “As if I hadn’t had enough of that already. But I guess there was something in me that was restless in the quiet after everything I’d seen in my childhood.” She paused and looked at him again.

“I’m talking about myself too much,” she chuckled. While she had spoken, her hand had turned and squeezed his, and Din couldn’t help but focus in on how their fingers fit, laced together.

“No, it’s …. I like hearing you talk,” Din answered and fidgeted where he sat. Blast, he hoped that his palm wouldn’t get too gross and sweaty against hers.

“Well I like hearing you talk too,” she rubbed the pad of her thumb over the back of his hand. A quick jolt went up Din’s spine.

So he started talking.

They were well into the afternoon when they were done, and Omera listened to every word, giving comments and comforting thoughts along the way as he spoke of his childhood rescue by the Mandalorians, finding Grogu, a rundown of what had happened ever since leaving Sorgan that first time …. She just listened, and somehow, well, it helped. Din didn’t talk this stuff out with people, he wasn’t one to share - secrecy was part of his survival, it always had been.

But stars, he trusted her, and talking like this, it was pressure being released from inside his beskar that had been weighing him down for decades, and he could feel himself relaxing into it. Her hand remained enclosed in his own, small squeezes given now and then, the warmth between them comforting.

Din didn’t know if he had ever spoken this much, and by the time Winta came in from the krill ponds, he found exhaustion falling over him, his words low, voice on the edge of hoarse. Omera released his hand and gripped his shoulder in a squeeze before standing, and Din quickly faded to the now nearly relaxing sound of the water dripping from the roof.

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[omgreally]

The Apprentice Read on AO3 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader Rating: E for Explicit, Soon Wordcount: 9k+ Summary: Peli Motto took you off the streets of Tatooine to become one of the best apprentices she’s ever had - but honestly, the DUM droids are setting the bar pretty low. Still, you work out well for the first few months until an armored Mandalorian stranger lands with a busted-up ship and a strange magic baby and, well, you’re intrigued. Even though you know you shouldn’t be. Peli’s always teling you to keep away from anything hot but sometimes, to fix something, you have to stick your hand straight into the fire.

Chapter Three - Second Thoughts

You sit on the ground across from the blazing fire as the Treadwell droids fries the gorgs on the flame generated by the old podracing engine. The suns have long since slipped below the horizon, and the night sky is filled with stars like a dark blanket poked with holes and thrown over a lamp. 

“You ever been offworld, Peli?” You wonder as you gaze upwards. You don’t think about it much, what’s up there - you’ve only ever been concerned with what’s down here and the more immediate need for survival. But the more time you spend on ships that soar back and forth between the stars, the more you wonder what it’s like.

“Space travel?” Peli snorts, ripping off a hunk of jerky for herself and handing a smaller piece to Grogu in her lap. “It’s a waste of time, kiddo. Keeps me in business, though, so I don’t complain. But the hotshots out there, zoomin’ around between planets, never feelin’ the dirt beneath their feet - they complain plenty. Makes me wonder why they do it.”

“What about him?” You nod towards the dark, silent Razor Crest. Mando hasn’t joined you yet. You’re beginning to doubt that he will.

“Who knows? Only thing he seems to care about is this little guy.” She jiggles Grogu on her knee.

“It’s...his child?” you ask slowly, almost afraid of the answer.

“Nah. Don’t think so, anyway. But he’s a part of his clan, so he’ll protect him, see? That’s how Mandalorians are.” She cocks her head. “I think. All I know is I’ve seen him kill without hesitation to protect this little one, and he’ll do anythin’ for him. Anythin’.” Peli emphasizes this with a pointed forefinger, one that Grogu grabs and starts to chew on. “Ow! Hungry little womprat, aren’tcha? Here, have some more o’ this.”

“That almost sounds...noble,” you muse aloud. Peli, only half-listening, chuckles.

“You try tellin’ him that. Hey, where are you goin’?”

“I told him I’d bring him some dinner,” you say as you get to your feet and fill a plate with meat, fruit and jerky.

“You like him, don’t you?”

You stop, half-turning to her in the flickering firelight. You expect to see a smirk, or a grimace, but Peli’s expression is just...curious. Grogu is looking at you too, and you wonder how much the little creature understands.

“He’s...interesting,” you say. “And attractive.” Why lie? Peli’s always been able to see straight through you.

The woman sighs, leaning back. “Just...be careful, Girl, won’t you? Believe it or not, I’ve gotten used to havin’ you around. And you’re a damn sight more useful than the droids.”

You shift from foot to foot. “What are you trying to say, ma’am?”

“I’m just sayin’...It’s like he’s got his own gravitational pull. Try not to fall into his orbit.” She strokes the ears of the child in her lap and presses her lips together into an expression of resignation when she meets your eyes. 

She already knows. And she can see it in you.

Her smile is wry, and a little sad when she adds, "You’ll end up burnin’ up.”

You’re not sure what to say to that, so you say nothing. You walk away, deep in thought, your steps taking you slowly, inexorably towards the ship. Maybe there’s something to what Peli’s saying. It’s like you just can’t help yourself.

It’s like you don’t even want to.

The side ramp is still down, and you wonder briefly if the actuator has broken again - you’ll have to check tomorrow. The sound of your boots on the gangway seem unnaturally loud, but you knock on the frame of the hatch anyway to announce your presence, peering into the dim interior.

“Mando?”

No answer. You make your way further into the hold, but catch no sight of him. “Mando?” you call again. 

This was a stupid idea, you decide. You’ll just leave the plate somewhere and go. You're in the middle of looking for an appropriate flat surface where he’ll find it when his voice drifts down from the cockpit - “Up here.”

There’s still time to just leave the food and go, you think. But of course, you don’t. You move further into the belly of the beast. Balancing the plate in one hand, you haul yourself up the ladder with the other. Somehow, you manage to get up to the cockpit without flinging food everywhere.

The bridge of the ship is even darker than before, the standby lights filling the space with an eerie, blinking glow. It makes the Mandalorian blend into the durasteel background, so that when he gets up from the pilot’s seat, you jump, nearly tripping backwards - but he’s on his feet and has caught the plate in one hand and your elbow in the other before you even register the movement.

“Sorry,” you mutter, staring into the visor. “I didn’t see you.”

“It’s okay,” he says, letting you go - you feel the absence of his touch more keenly than you might have if you'd gotten more time in the sanisteam earlier. You watch him as he perches on the edge of a control panel to examine the contents of his plate, gloved fingers picking through the jerky and crisped pieces of meat.

“It’s not much, but we were a little strapped for credits when I went to the market this morning,” you explain. “I’ll go out and get more tomorrow-”

“It’s fine. Thank you.” Still, he sets the plate aside, and you frown. If it’s fine, why isn’t he eating- Oh.

You turn, your face burning. “Sorry, I forgot. I’ll leave you to eat.” You step towards the hatch, and the ladder that leads to safety.

“Wait.”

The single word stops you in your tracks, and you stand there, frozen. You can’t hear him move, but you know that he’s behind you - you can feel the heat from his body and the coolness of the Beskar both warring for space at your back. You don’t turn around.

“Are you afraid of me?”

That’s definitely not what you expected him to ask. If you expected anything. You do turn now, slowly, coming face-to-face with his breastplate mere inches from your nose, and you have to tilt your chin up to look up at his visor. At the edge of the helmet, you can see the fabric of his cowl disappearing upward, and you wonder what color his hair is under there - if he has hair. It’s so hard to think of him as human, looking at the silver outer shell, and that more than anything else is terrifying. And exciting.

“Yes,” you say, your voice little more than a whisper. 

He reaches out and touches a tendril of your hair, still damp from the sanisteam. He brushes it gently, ever-so-gently, over your cheek and tucks it back behind your ear. His knuckles linger by your temple. You’ve long since stopped breathing.

“Good,” he says then. “Fear keeps you smart. Keeps you from doing something stupid.”

It’s like he knows exactly what you’ve been thinking, every moment you’ve been alone together. You swallow heavily around the sudden lump in your throat, resisting the urge to grab onto something - maybe him - to keep yourself upright, centered. 

“Like what?”  you rasp instead, trying to moisten your lips with the tip of your tongue, but your mouth is too dry for that. The helmet tracks the movement.

“I don’t want to give you any ideas.”

“I already have a few,” you say, breathing in a chuckle. You feel detached, as if this conversation isn’t really happening. Not in your reality.

“How old are you?”

That question stops you for a moment, and you have to think. “Oh...Galactic calendar? Twenty, at least...twenty-something, maybe. I lost track for a few years.”

“Twenty.” You hear him breathe in through the modulator, and he reaches out, a gloved finger tracking the visible indent of your collarbone from the open V of your coveralls. “You’re smart, for someone so young.”

You’re pretty sure wanting to fuck a Mandalorian isn’t that smart, but you don’t voice that thought. Not yet, anyway. 

“I’ve had to be,” you tell him, voice low, like you’re confessing a secret. “Out here, you don’t survive if you’re not smart.”

Mando nods slowly, seeming almost - understanding? Sympathetic? Maybe you’re imagining it. It’s too easy to ascribe emotions to the blankness of the Beskar. He could be making faces at you from behind that mask for all you know. He could just be toying with you to pass the time.

But something tells you that he’s not. And that scares you the most of all.

“I should go,” you say softly, and there’s a small moment of hesitation - just a second or two, but enough that you notice it - before he nods again.

You step back from him, towards the hatch, your eyes on the visor until the very last moment you turn around to swing yourself onto the ladder. You’re halfway down before his voice drifts to you.

“Goodnight, Girl.”

“Night, Mando,” you murmur, smiling to yourself as you climb down the rest of the way. 

There’s a spring in your step as you leave the Razor Crest behind, one that Peli doesn’t miss as you pass her on the way to your room.

“Remember what I told you, Girl!” she calls after you. You wave a dismissive, slightly rude offworlder gesture in her direction, but not too obviously.

“Goodnight, Peli!”

“See you’re up with the suns tomorrow! We got a lot of work to do!” she yells, but you’re already gone, shutting the door behind you as you head inside.

You debate going for another shower, but Peli will tell you off for using all the water, so you go to bed instead. You say ‘bed’ - really it’s just a cot shoved into a corner in one of the storage rooms, housed between crates of spare parts. You don’t mind it. The smell of metal and lubricant has long since ceased being an unpleasant one, and it’s of particular comfort tonight

You try to sleep imagining it’s Beskar surrounding you, smooth and cool beneath your fingers. You picture a pair of gloved hands on your shoulders, your arms, your belly, and your skin warms to your own touch. Your hands aren’t as wide, your fingers not as long, but in the absence of any others, they do the job.

You come gasping into the gloom, picturing the inscrutable darkness of a T-shaped visor boring into you.  And then you sleep, only half-sated, somehow more restless than ever.

You get the feeling things are only going to get worse before they get better.

Taglist: @annon123456789987654321, @babe-im-bi, @casssiopeia, @herefortheart, @shannaniganss, @sofithewitch​

Let me know if you’d like to be added/removed from the taglist! 

[catsnkooks]

Safe, Secure, and Warm

summary: you were told vicious bounty hunters lived in the desert beyond your city, but you would quickly find out not all stories are true

pairing: clan leader!Paz Vizla x reader

warnings: mentions of space slavery, pregnancy, just fluff really

word count: 2.5k

a/n: hello again!! me and @lesqui​ have constant yearning hours for @magichandthing​‘s clan leader!mandos concept so have a clan leader!Paz Vizla fic. i’m also trying to drown the hurt of the clone wars season finale in fluff but that just means i’m free to write angst now :’)

here it is on ao3!!

---

You awoke to a heavy pressure draped across your waist and soft breaths ticking your ear. You blinked your eyes, stifling a yawn, ad scooted closer to the warmth of the chest against your back. Your small hand wrapped around the fingers of the much larger one that rested against your stomach. You smiled into your pillow.

You felt safe, secure, and warm, exactly the opposite of the way you felt when Paz Vizla and his clan first found you.

A year ago now, you ran away from home, or, really, the place you’d lived and called “home” your entire life. Born in slavery to a household that served the Hutts, you hadn’t known much else than the dusty walls of your masters’ house. As you grew older and the harsh environment wore down on you, you plotted your escape. Your masters hosted a party for other powerful families allied with the Hutts, and it was a perfect night for an escape, after everyone went to bed, drunk off the alcohol you served them while they talked about you and the other slaves. Your heart beat angrily in your chest as you listened to what they wanted to do to you and you listened to the clinking of credits being exchanged, your whole life boiled down to a few meager credits.

You slipped out in the dead of the night, with only your one set of clothes and a small bag with your meager possessions. Warnings from everyone rang in your ears about the wilderness beyond the house, about the dangerous hunters that supposedly lived out there. But at this point, you didn’t care. They couldn’t be worse than what awaited you back in your masters’ hands.

You walked until your feet felt numb and collapsed behind a small rocky outcrop, shivering as icy cold winds swept across the desert. You clutched your pack to your chest. Your eyelids drooped closed as the cold settled into your bones. You had hoped you could have a life outside of slavery, outside of everything you knew, but if you were to die out here in the cold desert, then so be it. At least you were free.

Just as you were about to fall asleep, you heard something out in the desert. You heard the sound of rockets roaring then ceasing, hasty footsteps approaching you, then a shout in a language you couldn’t understand. You blinked your eyes open slowly, focusing on a large man that was now crouching in front of you. The moonlight barely shined off his dull blue armor, but it glinted off the shiny black T of his visor and the two white horns attached to his helmet. You whimpered and tried to turn away from his gloved hand as he reached out to you.

“Shh, mesh’la,” he whispered, his voice distorted from behind his helmet. He turned and accepted a cloak from someone behind him, turning back to drape it around your shivering frame. “Everything will be over soon.”

He picked you up, tucking the cloak further around you, and his jetpack roared to life. You felt dwarfed in his embrace as he effortlessly carried you in the air over miles of desert. You rested your weary head against his shoulder and fell asleep.

The next thing you knew, you woke up on a small cot, a mountain of blankets smothering you. You kicked them off of your sweating body and leaned up so you were sitting on the cot.

“How do you feel, mesh’la?” asked a voice beside you, startling you.

You turned to find the man that rescued you sitting beside you. Although he had taken his chest plate and shirt off, you could tell it was him from the dull blue helmet that rested on his knee. Looking at him more closely, everything about him made you flush with something you couldn’t describe. Your eyes first went to the mess of dark curly hair framing his face, then traced down his strong jawline to the beads that rested along his collarbones. You had never really had the chance to inspect a shirtless man before, and your eyes quickly glanced over the toned, and rather large, muscles of his chest and stomach. You felt your face flush with heat and you looked up to stare at his face. If he noticed your flushed face, he didn’t mention it, opting to give you a concerned look.

“I feel—I feel fine,” you stuttered out, looking down to smooth out your worn dress. You looked back up and examined your surroundings beyond the man sitting in front of you. “Where…where am I?”

You quickly learned the man’s name was Paz Vizla and he was the leader of the clan whose medical building you were currently sitting in. They called themselves Mandalorians. He had already guessed you were from the city and guessing from the slight sneer that curled his lips up ever so slightly, you guessed he had met your masters at some point. It would probably take you a week to recover from your escape, but you were safe here and could stay as long as you liked.

Your stay turned from a week to a month, and then one month turned into two, and then those months quickly turned into a year. After your week of recovery, you moved in with a woman Mandalorian named Rale Jarrde and her young son, Sesro. You had come to appreciate, and even love, the people who took you in, these Mandalorians, and you quickly realized the stories you were told as a girl by your masters were not true. Sure, they did the odd bounty-hunting job, but they would do anything for people in need, like you.

Paz had also taken a liking to you. He visited you every day while you were in the medical building, but less when you moved out, despite how ecstatic Sesro was whenever he visited. He, along with Rale, began teaching you about his clan, and you were an eager student. You learned why he dressed the way he did, some of their customs, and slowly learned their language, Mando’a. It was only when he’d used that unfamiliar word—mesh’la—with you again that you started to question your relationship with him.

He had come back from meeting with other clan alore and you had stopped to wave at him as you were taking a basket of woolen clothes you had fixed for the armorer of the clan. He waved back, removing his helmet so you could see the wide smile that broke across his face.

“I missed you, mesh’la,” Paz had said.

You smiled at his words, but tilted your head in curiosity. “Mesh’la,” you tested against your learning tongue. “What does that mean?”

Paz chuckled and lifted a gloved hand to your chin, lifting it so you looked him in his eyes. His thumb grazed your bottom lip slightly. You felt your face flush red again like that first time you saw him in that med bay many months ago.

“It means beautiful,” he had said. He chucked you under the chin once more then turned around to leave for his dwelling, leaving you flustered and wondering in the middle of the compound.

After that, you had no trouble defining the relationship, especially since Paz seemed very eager to deepen it. When he wasn’t away or busy with alor business, he was with you, watching you sew clothes, helping you cook, and playing with Sesro and the other two foundlings the clan had taken in since you had arrived. His second-in-commands knew you by name and began to tell you where he was whenever you came looking for him. Rale would give you amused looks if you returned late from his dwelling, but instead of being embarrassed, you would laugh breathlessly and tell her the newest developments of your relationship.

One evening after dinner, you and Paz sneaked out of the compound to his favorite spot in the little oasis of the desert where the clan lived. It was a hidden spring, and you sat down on one of the smooth rocks that lined the pool the spring fed into, lifting the hem of your dress so you didn’t get it wet. You took off your shoes and dipped you toes in the cool water, leaning back and smiling at Paz, who had sat down beside you, tugging off his boots and setting them beside his helmet in the wet sand beside him. He set his feet in the water and positioned his arm behind you.

You sighed and leaned against his arm, settling your head into the crook of his shoulder. The warmth from the naked skin of his arms and chest contrasted with the cool water of the spring. “It’s very nice here.” It was quiet, but you could still hear the faint buzz of conversation and laughter from the compound.

Paz hummed. His arm that you were resting on wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer so your thighs touched his and so his hand could draw lazy patterns on your thigh. You felt your face flush, this time not with embarrassment, but with the sweet warmth that burst in your chest every time you were with Paz.

“Why did you bring me here?” you asked, breaking the comfortable silence between the both of you.

Paz clasped your hand in his larger one, his thumb pressing gently into your palm. “I wanted to ask you something.”

You looked up at him, full of curiosity. “What is it?”

Paz avoided your gaze, instead watching his thumb caress your palm. He let out a breathy chuckle. “You know, I’ve faced almost a thousand warriors in battle, but I feel most nervous when I'm with you.” He finally looked you in your eyes and gave you a wry smile. “I'm not the best at this.”

You smiled back at him. “I don’t mind,” you said, reaching your free hand up to touch his cheek. “Ask away, I don’t bite.”

“Do you know what a riduurok is?” he asked.

You nodded slightly, tilting your head. You remember Rale mentioning something about it, hers with her husband a long time ago. Your felt your face flush at the implication. “Why?”

“I want to do that with you,” he said. Your mouth fell open but he continued on before you could say anything. “I—I can't stop thinking about you. I feel like I think about you all the time. I can't help thinking about how when you smile I can see it in your eyes and how beautiful that makes you. And I can't stop thinking of how I want to see you smile always. And then there’s this tight feeling in my chest and I can't make it go away, and—.”

“Paz!” you exclaimed, laughing and pressing a finger to his lips. You cradled his face in both of your hands and you looked into his eyes, full of worry and pleading. “It’s alright. I feel the same way.”

You had to bite your lip to keep yourself from laughing at the way his eyes lit up with happiness. “Really?” His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his lap. “I was so nervous that you didn’t.”

“Of course I do,” you whispered, smiling up at him. “I knew from the moment you found me out in the desert.”

Paz breathed a sigh of relief, letting out all of the tension in his body. He pressed his forehead to yours, his breath fanning across your face. “I love you, ner mesh’la.” He pulled you in closer and pressed his lips to yours in a sweet, lingering kiss. You smiled against his lips as his words rang through your head.

I love you, ner mesh’la.

---

Now you found yourself laying in bed with him, sunlight slowly filtering through the window. You giggled as Paz wrapped his arms tighter around you, pulling you flush against his chest and burying his nose in your neck. You giggled again and carefully twisted around so you were facing him.

You smiled and kissed his nose as his eyes fluttered open. “Good morning, my leader.”

Paz smiled back at you, leaning up to press a soft kiss to your lips. “Good morning, ner mesh’la.” His voice was more husky than usual, filled with early morning sleepiness. He pressed his face into your chest, stifling a yawn. “Why are you up so early? Go back to sleep.”

You laughed and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t go back to sleep. I need to tell you something.”

He groaned, but lifted himself from your chest and leaned against one arm, his other pulling you closer and drawing circles along your lower back. He smiled at you with sleepy eyes. “What is it, ner mesh’la?”

You had been so excited to tell him, but now that he was looking at you, you felt nervous. You placed a hand over your stomach. “Promise me you won’t freak out?”

Paz huffed and rolled his eyes. “Mesh’la, after what happened yesterday, nothing could faze me.”

You smiled and reached up to place a kiss to his nose. He had all but fallen into your arms the moment he got back from negotiations last night, exhausted.

“Okay, okay,” you giggled as he leaned down to nuzzle against your cheek. You took a deep breath and let it out slowly, caressing the hair at the nape of his neck in a poor effort to rid yourself of your nervousness. “I…I'm pregnant.”

His brow furrowed against your cheek and he stayed like that for a moment before lifting up to rest his head against one hand. His eyes were full of bewilderment. “What?”

You bit your lip and nodded. “I'm only a couple of months along I think. I wasn’t sure when to tell you, but I wanted to tell you earlier, but you were gone, and—.”

Paz interrupted your nervous chatter by sealing his lips on yours. You closed your eyes and pressed your hands to his chest, leaning into him. It was only until he began to press you down into the bed, still keeping his lips on yours, that you tried to pull away.

“Mmff—Paz!” you said, giggling and pulling away from him. He captured your face in his hands and continued to kiss your cheeks and eyelids.

“I'm sorry, mesh’la, I just….” He paused to place a quick kiss on the tip of your nose, then leaned back to look in your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You placed a hand on his cheek and smiled up at him. “Of course, ner riduur.”

You watched his eyes soften and he placed another lasting kiss on your lips before tucking you against him.

“I don’t know what I would do without you, ner mesh’la,” he murmured, placing his large hand against your stomach. “You complete me in every way.”

You smiled against his shoulder, snuggling deeper into his embrace. You placed a hand over his resting against your stomach. You were happy here, resting in Paz’s arms. And you were happy knowing that your child would be raised like this. Safe, secure, and warm.

[martellthemandalor]

Assistance - Chapter 5

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader (No Y/N, reader is nicknamed)

Warnings: Swearing, I think that’s it

Rating: 15

Word Count: 2.9k+

Summary: You ask some questions and Mando gives you hand with your armour.

A/N: There’s some possible sexual tension in this if you squint, as ever I’d love feedback :) (also yeh the gif is really bad I’m still figuring them out lmao)

Masterlist!

The ambient temperature of the barn was soothingly cool, and the change of it felt like a balm against your flushed skin. Your legs were unsteady beneath you as you tried to feign your usual confident strides; however there didn’t seem much point in doing so as from the way the Mandalorian had studied your walk before, you were certain he could see through you right now. He had situated himself on one of the many piles of long red gratham stems that lined the walls of the barn, sitting so impossibly still with his visor trained on you. He watched as you collapsed against the pile opposite him, letting your bag slump against the ground next to you. You leant your head back and closed your eyes, running your hand down your face to massage at your neck as you tried to regulate your heartbeat. Despite the cooler climate of it, the atmosphere in the barn felt hot and heavy. 

You could feel him staring at you again and as much as you wanted to counter it with a fierce stare of your own, you just couldn’t conjure the energy for one. Instead you opted to open you bag and pull out your tool kit before unclasping your right cuff and beginning to tinker with it. The silence felt thick, only interrupted by the occasion sizzling spark of a live wire making contact with your probe.  The respite here did you give you time to think about what had happened today and thinking back you realised you only really had one question to ask. You looked up from your work and your gaze fell across his figure, splayed across the long stems piled beneath him, helmet leant against the wall, still so motionless that you wandered if he was even awake.

“Why were those bounty hunters after you?” Your voice rang across the barn, it startled you how loud it sounded in the quietness, but the Mandalorian didn’t move a muscle. You let the question hang for a few moments, before conceding that he probably was asleep and so ducked your eyes back to your task.

“I broke guild rules,” His even tone cut through the peace, making you look up from your work.

“Yeh no shit laserbrain, I figured that bit out” You retorted, waving your probe at him.

“I was sent to fetch for a quarry for an imperial warlord,” You prickled upon hearing that, jaw tensing on impulse. Kriffing imp. “I did the job, I brought it back to him, I took my payment and left. I knew it was wrong but he was offering beskar that had been collected in the purge, my clan would do anything to have that back. It was only after payment that I realised I couldn’t leave the quarry with the imp, so I took him back, destroying their safe house in the process.” He lifted his head from where it had been laying against the dusty brown wall to look properly at you. A smirk had twisted itself onto your lips, eyes glinting with mischievous delight.

“Anything that involves destroying an imp safe house and, presumably, killing some bucket heads is a victory in my eyes. Are they after you then? Or do you still have the quarry with you?”

“The quarry is under my protection.”

“Well then you’re an idiot,” you scoffed, “the guild will keep sending hunters until what’s owed is given over, surely you know that?” You shook your head at him in disbelief that this druk for brains still had the quarry with him.

He cocked his head to the side slightly. “They will. And I’ll keep fighting and running. The kid is all that matters now.”

“Mother of moons Mandalorian, the imp wanted a child? Whatever for?”

“The kid’s special.” There was a beat, like he wanted to say more, but all he gave was silence.

“That’s it?” You asked, taken aback at such an abrupt response.

“That’s all anyone needs to know.” His head dropped back against the wall. You had so many more questions now, however the soft thud of the beskar hitting the wall told you the conversation was over. Mandalorian’s are known for how they take in foundlings, nonetheless you found it hard to believe that the tin can sitting opposite you had taken one in for himself, let alone one with a bounty on its head. You furrowed your brows, shaking your head as your work drew you back in, enveloping you once again.

“How do you know about Mandalorian creed?” He asked suddenly. You looked up to see him sat up, feet planted firmly on the ground, his posture a dramatic shift from the relaxed way he had been lounging what surely must have been mere moments before, his helmet on a slight tilt as he regarded you. You slightly furrowed your brow at him, scoffing.

“The Mandalorian’s are the fiercest warriors in the universe, how could I not know?”

“Yes, most people know us, but you know us.” He leant forward ever so slightly, helmet straightening on his shoulders. Even from across the cracked floor of the barn you could feel his presence bearing down onto you. You were the one to tilt your head this time, your brows forming a harder line across your face as you furrowed them further.

“I don’t understand,”

“You never asked my name, you don’t ask personal questions, you actively told me you wouldn’t look when I had to drink, you told the people here we would eat in the barn and even then you sat outside to make sure no one came in while I was eating. Others ask questions, they want to know. You already know. Why.” All this time of answering the same questions, people pressing him for answers he simply couldn’t give, he had grown used to the exhaustion of it all. In reality you were a breath of fresh air, yet it was eating away at him that you hadn’t asked the questions yet. For him it was part of the routine and without the usual interrogation it felt like there was something missing from the exchanges the two of you shared. 

You blinked at him a couple of times, before letting your eye wander from the T shaped visor to the cobwebbed beams of the roof above. You swallowed thickly and returned your gaze to statue of beskar.

“I studied,” your eyes fluttered shut at the admission, shoulders sinking somewhat as they did. “As a child I had heard about an ancient creed of fighters, whose battles are legend and whose weapons are a part of their religion. Story’s like that stuck in my impressionable mind, so when I was old enough to travel and discovered the city over had an info stack, it was the first place I went. The Mandalorian’s were all I was interested in studying, you have such great tales and legends and wars, your weaponry is unparalleled and your armour? It’s something else,” The mere idea of that was enough to make your face light up, nose crinkling slightly as you looked up at him.  “I’d just turned 18 when all the information was wiped from the info stack. The empire had banned all knowledge of Mandalorian’s; they were eradicating your history. It’s more important than ever that the creed is respected and your clans live on. That’s why I don’t ask questions. That’s why I respect your creed to never remove your helmet.” The assuredness of your voice was punctuated by you flicking the interface of your cuff shut with a flick of your wrist, the snap of the metal pieces connecting echoing through the dry air. 

The Mandalorian leant back slightly, arms bracing against his armoured thighs. He could see the glint in your eye when you spoke of his clan, the way you waved your probe at him talking with your hands in way he hadn’t seen before now. You truly cared about this.

“Thank you,” he affirmed simply, adopting a softer tone through his vocoder.  You nodded back him, pressing your lips into a small smile of acknowledgement.

“So then,” You started, eyes scanning across the bails of gratham scattered around you, eventually falling on the pile of blanket the pair of you had carried out from the house, “seeing as you’re the one sleeping in the helmet, I think it’s only fair you get pick of the bail.” Standing up, you gathered an armful of blankets and threw them at the man of beskar. He caught them without looking, gloves closing expertly around the soft fabric. You watched as he looked down at them, hand splaying over the bundle, then back up at you.

“I’m fine on this one,” He informed you, before rising to spread the blankets across the bail. You’d already spied a particularly comfy looking pile. The long plants hadn’t been carefully stacked into a rigid formation yet, and when you arranged your own selection of blankets on top of them it resembled some sort of nest. You nodded your head indignantly at the makeshift bed you had created, then glanced over to find your assistant already lying on top of his own bedding. He hadn’t taken off the heavy beskar, and you found yourself wandering how comfortable he could actually be sleeping like that. You shook away the thought, turning your attention to removing the durasteel of your own armour. Bringing your left arm across your chest you winced as the muscle of your bicep spasmed in pain.

“Kriffing mother of moons,” you hissed bringing your hand to tentatively palm at the armour covered area, but you found nudging the metal only made spikes of pain bloom across your upper arm. You were stupid to think you’d gotten out of that fight unscathed; the blow that hit your bicep must have left a bruise and a damn big one at that. Rolling your shoulder you attempted to ease the tenseness of the muscle, hoping it would make it easier to stretch across- nope. 

You groaned quietly, running your right hand through your hair resting it at the nape of your neck, the low sound rippling from you and disturbing the soft quiet of the barn. Your breastplate had been designed to release right side first and it made the magnetic claps feel alien under your fumbling fingers as you tried to undo them with just one hand. Strings of curses hissed through your teeth and you swung your head back to look up at the high beams of the ceiling when your fingers had slipped over the first clasp again, hands tensing into fists as you fought back the urge to kick something.

The Mandalorian’s attention had been drawn by your audible struggle, watching as your hand repeatedly slipped over the obtuse metallic fastenings that descended the side of your torso. After what had happened this morning he knew that you weren’t likely to accept any help, yet at the same time he could see your frustration simmering hotter and hotter and he didn’t want to see the outcome of you detonating.

“Want some help with that?” He asked, swinging his legs over the stiff bale beneath him and sitting up, watching your erratic movements becoming steadily more exaggerated.

“No,” You hissed, throwing him a warning look. One, two, three more times your digits harshly skimmed the harsh metal. You growled, cradling your aching fingers, watching as the fingertips flushed a darker shade. Taking deep breaths you slowly pivoted to face your beskar clad assistant. “Yes,” You conceded through gritted teeth. You could imagine the shit eating grin he was wearing under the helmet, even if his body language betrayed no sign of gloating as he got up moved towards you.

He stood in front of you, his confidence seemingly faulting, unsure of how to proceed. You lifted your arm slightly, bracing your hand on the back of your neck and angled your side towards him so he could see what he was doing. He hoped his vocoder didn’t pick up on the way he swallowed thickly as he started fumbling with the metallic clasps. The only time he was ever this close to anyone was during fights, but here he was close by choice. It made his brain run in overdrive that you were even letting him this close, letting him help you remove the very items that keep you protected, especially since you’d known him less than 24 hours. Granted you had jumped into a battle that he was possibly, and only possibly, outmatched for and helped him without a second thought. This however was a whole different level of, dare he think it, trust? After a minute of his gloves sliding over the first fastening and muttering various expletives, he noticed you stifling a laugh.

“It’s hard to do undo them with gloves, why do you think mine are fingerless?” You chimed. Right as you did however, the first fastening popped open. He looked up at you, visor inches from your own face.

“You were saying?” He retorted, the victory in his voice evident even through the vocoder of the helmet. You rolled your eyes in response, and by the time they returned to look at him his focus had returned to your armour. “Besides, I thought they were a fashion choice,” He joked quietly. He wasn’t exactly used to making jokes and he was surprised when you laughed properly this time, a rich sound he hadn’t heard you make yet.

“You’re making jokes now?” You marvelled, tentatively giving his armoured shoulder a soft tap. The next clasp popped free with a click, making the Mandalorian nod his head. You watched your reflection in the beskar silver warp and shift at the movement.

“While I’m winning against these fucking fastenings? Yes.”

Once again the familiar silence fell between the two of you. You didn’t mind, between his laser focus on your armour and your own focus on steadying your heart after working yourself up over undoing the damn thing, it was very comfortable. His pace picked up slowly as he got into a method for undoing them and so descended the length of your torso with ease. The both of you relaxed a little into the intimacy of it. Both of you also ignoring when his shoulder would brush against your raised arm or how at the final clasp his hand was resting half on your hip as he worked the fastening open.

“Switch,” He murmured as the final clasp opened, his gentle tone not suiting his cold beskar exterior. You nodded lightly as you shifted position, but as you went to raise your arm the familiar pain in your bicep returned. Your face contorted as you dropped it back down to your side. The Mandalorian took a small step back from you, visor focused on your upper arm. Then without saying a word he disengaged the magnetic seal of the armour plate covering your bicep and removed it, before doing the same with your shoulder plate. You watched his hands as they deftly worked removing these pieces; you figured his armour must use magnetic seals to, given how quickly he disengaged yours.

“Try now.” You moved your arm, the pain was still there, except it was considerably less intense than it had been with the durasteel pressuring it. Resting your hand on the base of your neck again, you gave the Mandalorian a nod to continue. He hesitated a moment, then closed the gap between your bodies and got back to work. There were fewer clasps on this side than the other, so when the shaped metal suddenly started to fall away from your body it took you both by surprise. The Mandalorian was faster than you in catching it, you watched as he carefully removed it from your figure and placed it softly by the side of your nest, next to the other discarded plates. 

You got back to removing the rest of your armour, starting with the cuff that circled your left forearm. What you didn’t expect was for him to come up behind you and start removing the armour from your right arm. He worked wordlessly, and while you initially flinched at the sudden contact, you made no effort to stop him from helping. Your torso and arms felt practically buoyant without the usual weight of your armour resting on you. The Mandalorian paused, you could feel his hesitation radiating from behind you. Then you felt his hand graze your hip as he reached to disengage your thigh plates.

“I can handle it from here,” the words almost fell over themselves as they let your mouth, your body curving away as you stepped from his touch. His own hand instinctively shot back, landing in a fist by his side. 

You both circled away from each other, moving around like clockwork, him towards his bail and you towards your nest as you discarded your thigh plates. He stole glances at you, cursing himself for doing so. You thought of the brief contact at your hip and cursed yourself for doing so.

That was out of necessity, you both told yourselves, it can’t happen again.

You curled into your bed, cocooning yourself in blankets as you felt your eyes grow heavier. The dim light of the barn faded away and you finally let sleep claim you.

Next Chapter

[laurelsofhighever]

The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 69 - Denerim

Chapter Rating: Teen Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Action/Adventure, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Fereldan Culture and Customs, Fereldans, Demisexuality, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Read on AO3

--

Twenty-third day of Wintermarch, 9:33 Dragon

Spring flowers bloomed along the western road to Denerim, but the column of riders and infantry that approached was no proud company in parade shine. They were bedraggled and muddy from weeks of fighting along the coast, tired from the day’s march, and while Rosslyn and Alistair straightened in their saddles as they waited at the gate to be let in, they had to roll their shoulders beneath their armour and hide yawns behind their hands. The decapitated heads of traitors watched them sightlessly from hooks set into the walls above them, many of them fresh enough to still be recognisable despite the depredations of the crows. Mother Berit wasn’t among the number, perhaps saved by her Chantry connections, but Bann Loren was, and next to him a younger man with blond hair and a crude green sunburst painted onto his forehead.

“That was Vaughan Kendells,” Rosslyn said, noticing the direction of Alistair’s gaze. “I can’t say I’m sorry.”

He glanced at her, remembering what she had told him, and the lift of Tabris’ chin as she spoke of her escape from the city. “Me neither.”

Before she could do more than smile at the reply, the gate opened and an officer waved them through. The market-day traffic was thinner than it had been the last time Alistair had visited capital, and he saw more beggars on the streets, but those who stopped to watch them pass did so with open, curious gazes instead of the harried suspicion that had met them in Amaranthine. On impulse, he nudged his horse closer to Rosslyn and held out his hand. Gaze soft, she took it and linked their fingers together as she had in Uldred’s dream, only this time they bumped knees, and there was a smudge of dirt under her eye, and all of his bones ached from days on the road to tell him it was real. People cheered, and it made her blush.

Her smile still lingered when they reached the palace gates and dismounted to hand off care of the army to the officers, and their horses to the grooms that had appeared from a side arch as if by magic. In the momentary confusion, he stepped close to her so he could distract himself from their formal welcome by brushing away the smear on her cheek.

The last time he had been brought to the palace, as part of Teagan’s entourage, he had been all but smuggled in under a helmet to hide his resemblance to the various portraits of Theirin ancestors hung in almost every room; there hadn’t been two flanking rows of guards waiting at attention as they walked up the steps, nor an announcement by a herald. Rosslyn’s titles outnumbered his, and it gave them a moment to pause before they were ushered through.

“Relax,” she told him. “You’re not heading to an execution.”

He only pouted. “This is just as bad as Summerday.”

“Is it really?” she asked, reaching up to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Well. Maybe some things are better.”

He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face at the wry look she tilted at him, but before he could say anything else, the doors to the great hall swung open to reveal not just Cailan and Anora sitting on their thrones on the dais, but also Rosslyn’s grandparents, straight-backed and magnificent in their finery.

“So here ye are,” the Storm Giant boomed. “At last! We were starting to worry ye’d upped and run off with her.”

Anora shot him a peeved glance. “Your Highness, my Lady Cousland, be welcome in our hall.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Rosslyn replied as she sank into a graceful bow.

“I trust your journey was not too eventful?”

“Given your track record, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a slew of rescued damsels left in your wake,” Cailan interrupted. He was frowning, and a bitter, sullen note coloured his voice. “Perhaps you stopped by Soldier’s Peak to rid it of all its ghosts?”

“Not quite,” Alistair supplied, with a careful glance to the woman beside him.

The king seemed to shake himself out of his bad humour. “A jest, of course. It’s good to see you both unharmed.”

Rosslyn adjusted her stance, folding her arms behind her back as if she were delivering a report from the field. “Bann Esmerelle of Amaranthine proved difficult to convince of her allegiances, Your Majesty. We are sorry for the delay.”

“We are glad of your safe arrival, of course – especially given the happy tidings you bring with you,” Anora said easily, without looking at her husband. “My congratulations to you both.”

“Indeed.” Lady Lileas, who until that point had merely watched proceedings unfold before her like an augur scrying bones, swept forward and pulled her granddaughter into a hug. “It’s good to see you, mo chridhe. And as for you,” she added, turning to Alistair with a stare that made him shrink away like a mouse, “You bested An Sgòrnan Aigeinn. I am satisfied.”

“Uh…”

“Can we be away now?” the Storm Giant interrupted with impatience. “My oald joints are starting to creak like a mizzen in a hoolie.”

“You’re not staying in the palace?” Alistair asked.

Lady Lileas smiled. “My grandson has kindly granted us use of his estate while we see to the preparations for your wedding, and we are still Rosslyn’s guardians.” Her expression darkened. “That swine left it in a terrible state. His death was well deserved. Come, granddaughter, you must wish to change out of armour, and there is much to discuss.”

A frown creased Rosslyn’s forehead. “It’s almost dark already and we’ve been travelling since dawn. I’m sure Their Majesties would not begrudge their hospitality – any discussion can wait until tomorrow.”

“You are not staying here,” her grandmother replied, as if the suggestion were absurd.

“I’m Commander-in-Chief of the army,” she pointed out. “I’m needed to plan the spring advance – the war isn’t over yet.”

“You are also not married yet.”

“This is because…?” Her eyes flew wide. “What do you think will happen? It’s not like we haven’t –” Faltering, her gaze flashed to Alistair and skittered away again as crimson bloomed across her cheeks. “We’ve been together on the road for weeks, what difference does it make now?”

“This is how things are done in the joining of two houses.” Lady Lileas drew herself up. “You know this.”

Behind his wife, the Storm Giant cleared his throat and said something in Clayne that Alistair failed to catch, but instead of lifting Rosslyn’s expression it only served to set her mouth in a line of petulant defeat. It was adorable.

“My things will need to be forwarded,” she said. “And I’ll require a schedule for meetings with the army’s officers and outfitters.”

“It will be done,” Cailan told her, having watched the whole exchange from behind steepled fingers. “And the sooner you get married, the sooner we can move your things back, eh?”

With nothing left to say, and a last helpless glance back at Alistair, Rosslyn was chivvied from the hall less like a war hero and more like a child caught shirking lessons, taking their plans for a quiet, shared evening with her and leaving him to wonder at just how quickly their fortunes had been turned around. Anora and Cailan’s gazes itched on the back of his neck, and he only barely remembered to turn to ask their leave before running after her. The clanking of his armour echoed ahead of him, and he found them already waiting just inside the entrance hall at the top of the steps. The looks being levelled at him were not favourable.

“Uh – can I have a moment to speak to my betrothed?” The word still sparked on his tongue. He doubted he would get used to it before he was calling her his wife instead, but thinking about that too closely made him dizzy. “In private?” he added, as he slipped his hand into Rosslyn’s.

The Storm Giant nudged his wife with his elbow. “Ach, go on.”

The clan leader of the Mac Eanraig pursed her lips at him, but it didn’t quite hide the twitch of her amusement. “We will wait in the carriage.”

He didn’t dare breathe until Rosslyn’s grandparents had reached the bottom of the steps, and then, spying an unobtrusive side door leading off the hall, he tugged on their joined fingers and pulled her after him with only the thinnest veneer of patience. The door swung open easily onto a small room lit by a single arrow slit, and the latch clicked back into place behind them an instant before he dropped her hand so he could take her face instead. She giggled as her forehead pressed against his.

“What is this place?”

“A storeroom – something – I don’t care,” he answered. “How long do you think it will be before they come looking for us?”

Gently, she shook her head and nudged a kiss against his lips. “Nowhere near long enough for all these layers of armour, my love.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” he purred.

“I’m sure.”

One gloved finger traced the line of her jaw. “I told you we should have stayed in bed this morning.”

“Soon, we’ll be able to stay in bed every morning,” she reminded him.

“In our bed.” His breath stuttered.

“No sneaking away back to separate rooms.”

“Then…” He steadied himself and found her hand again. “This is just another reason why Guardian can’t come fast enough. How am I going to last without you for so long?”

She laughed, lightly pushing him away so she could get to the door again. “I’m not disappearing off the face of Thedas, and it’s only a few weeks. We’ll see each other every day – we’ve been through worse.”

“I’ll dream of you,” he promised.

“My grandmother would be scandalised.” She pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth as she turned to leave. “Everything will be fine.”

--

It was not fine.

Aside from the wedding plans – fabrics and food and guest invitations and the small feud that erupted between Anora and Rosslyn’s grandmother because of it – they were kept ridiculously busy organising for the march south, and assisting in the city’s rebuilding efforts. They saw each other only in snatches for daily meetings, and barely exchanged two words that were not about policy or supplies. In addition to the schedule, Rosslyn had to drag herself across the city every morning to oversee the army’s drills, which meant most moments she had to herself during the day were spent trying to catch up on sleep.

To keep himself from missing her too much, Alistair took on oversight of the alienage. Nobody else seemed to care about the damage done to the elves, and while Cailan indulged him, or perhaps lacked interest, many of the other nobles already in attendance for Wintersend muttered that he was wasting both time and money on a worthless cause. They quieted after he pointed out that having to contend with an uprising would only add to the strain being faced by all of them, but having to appeal to their self-interest left a bad taste in his mouth.

Anora, at least, offered support for his efforts. As the time went by and Cailan’s preoccupation with finding Loghain took up more and more of his thoughts, the day-to-day politics of the palace fell to her. For this reason, relations with her continued to be fraught, especially in regards to military matters. She didn’t like people stepping on her toes. She didn’t stand for breaks with decorum, either, but she was fair and even-handed in her judgements, and for the sake of peace, Alistair tried his best to follow her lead and stay out of her way.

The only bright spots in all the blandness of days passing too slowly came in the notes he and Rosslyn managed to smuggle to each other during meetings and meals, the only times they got to touch, or even stand next to each other. She had passed the first to him in a chance encounter in one of the corridors, a brief press into his hand and she left with just the flash of her smirk tossed over her shoulder, and a glance down to where a neatly folded square of paper sat in his palm. Before anyone could call him away, he had slipped into a nearby empty room and pored over the lines, just a few sentences written in her elegant hand, but more than she had been able to say to him since they had arrived in Denerim.

I’ll not trust any messengers this time save our own hands, my love, and the time cannot come soon enough when I get to hold yours. When I get to be alone with you. When I can fall asleep beside you once more and never again worry about how long it will be until we must part. I love you.

He passed her his reply with the salt cellar at dinner.

I love you too. I wake up thinking of you. I miss curling around your body and waking you with kisses, even if your hair so often gets caught in the middle. I miss the sound of your voice and the brightness of your eyes. I’d write poetry about them, but you haven’t married me yet and I don’t want to risk it.

It became a game between them, this sly exchange of notes, each one a tiny rebellion at the strictures of propriety, a private conversation when no privacy was allowed.  

My hair would not get so wild if a certain someone didn’t take such delight in tangling it the night before. In case you start to worry, that was not a complaint. I miss your voice as well, and your hands, and what both can do to me, although one benefit of distance is that I get to admire my future husband from afar without him noticing. Your footwork showed great improvement when you were sparring today, though you still drop your elbow too far when you block.

~

You enjoy making me blush, don’t you? Perhaps I can return the favour, Wife-To-Be. There was a moment in the gardens yesterday where you were wandering among the shrubbery with no idea that I was stuck only a floor above you, listening to Brantis drone on about the advantages of a trade deal Cailan has already agreed to. My attention may have wandered, and my hand was nothing but a thrall to the vision before me. I’m sure you can guess the subject.

~

I will treasure this likeness, my love, if I am allowed to keep it? I ought to admonish you for not paying more attention to Brantis, given how hard he tries, but I find I do not have the heart. The expression you captured here, is this truly how I look? Rest assured that I am blushing profusely, though I made the mistake of opening your offering for the first time while in the same room as my brother. Fergus seems to have taken it upon himself to stuff a year’s worth of insufferable brotherly affection into a few short weeks, though in hindsight I should not have told him your note included a sketch. He also says if we want to keep these messages secret, you ought to do better containing your grin in the exchanges. I told him to boil his head.

~

I am glad you like the sketch. It’s yours. I might never do you justice, but maybe in the future we’re to have together, I might practice? You looked tired when I saw you today (yesterday, by the time you read this), and you cannot tell me Wintersend isn’t preying on your mind. I know you too well. I cannot tell you how to feel, but please remember that I love you. So much.

As the holiday approached, Rosslyn’s sombre mood grew more pronounced, and she withdrew into herself. In the palace, the time was marked for celebration, and the festival spirit was upheld by an army of harried servants made busy decorating and preparing guest rooms for the visiting nobles – but it had also been a year since the sack of Highever, since Fergus and Rosslyn had marched away to war and returned to find a ruin. Alistair did what he could to bolster her spirits, but short of slipping his night guard and breaking into the Cousland estate like a common thief, there was little remedy for the nightmares she refused to admit were plaguing her again.

On the morning of the feast he spent an extra hour in the lists, trying to beat out his nerves on practice dummies. The usual meetings had been put on hold for the day, which meant he wouldn’t see her until she arrived with the rest of the guests just before sundown. It would be their first public appearance as a couple, the only one before the wedding, and that meant extra fuss in his attire lest the assembled nobility find him lacking either as a prince or as a prospective husband. Besides, he wanted his betrothed to be impressed.

While he bathed, Marten lay out the same rust-red doublet he had worn for Summerday, with the addition of the mantle made for the voyage to the Storm Islands, and the bracers Rosslyn herself had given him to meet her grandfather. He traced his fingers over the embossed leather as his valet fussed with his collar, remembering. He had almost kissed her after she helped him put them on the first time. Looking back, at what came later, he was glad he hadn’t but he wondered if she knew. Even during the darkest part of his time in Orzammar, he had worn the gift, too stubborn and too hopeful to give them up, and now he couldn’t stop smiling, and the day when he would become her husband rose barely a week away on the horizon, a lighthouse guiding all his thoughts to safe harbour.

“You’re all set, Your Highness,” Marten pronounced, bushing an imaginary speck of dust from his shoulders.

“Do you think she’ll like it?” Alistair fiddled with a sleeve.

“You know her better than me, milord,” the valet pointed out. “I wouldn’t dare presume her taste in outfits.”  

“Right.”

Marten licked his lips. “No one’s in doubt that she loves you, but if you stand up here all night worrying – well, that’ll hardly do you any good, now will it? I’ve done the best I can for you.”

“And you have my eternal gratitude for it,” he replied.

With one last glance in the long mirror, and a deep breath to steady himself, Alistair nodded and left the room. When he reached the door to the king’s chambers further along the corridor, it was a maid who answered his knock, and she told him both Cailan and Anora were still indisposed. Then she shut the door again with a decisive click, before he could say anything else. He shifted on the balls of his feet. The light outside the window was fading from the brightness of late afternoon, which meant a good number of the guests should have arrived. He didn’t want to lurk in the hallway, awkward and bumbling and gossip-fodder for any servants who happened to catch a glance of him in all his worried finery, but he also didn’t want to make a nuisance of himself in the hall – Isolde had always sneered that he got under people’s feet, and however much he tried to block it out, the contemptuous echo of her in his mind remained persistent.

But Rosslyn would arrive soon, if she wasn’t already waiting for him. He could make small talk pretending to oversee the final preparations for the feast until she arrived, and then, he reasoned to himself as he walked, he could talk to her. He could spend the whole night talking to her, and nobody would be able to stop him. Maybe he could sneak her away, to some shady corner where he could hold her hand, and run his fingers through her hair, and kiss her. His thoughts wandered far enough in imagining it that his foot slipped on the first step of the landing and he only saved himself from tumbling all the way to the bottom of the stairs by snatching his hand out for the banister.

“Ow,” he grumbled, massaging his shoulder. “I really hope nobody saw that.”

Allers, the royal guard stationed in an alcove a little way away, made no response to his suspicious glare.

“Alistair?”

His face heated. It was Rosslyn. She stood at the base of the stairs with one hand on the banister and the other lifting the hem of her gown to keep it out of the way of her feet, frozen in the act of rushing up to meet him.

“Huh?”

She was in deep blue damask, the folds of the sleeves and the low, broad dip of the neckline richly embroidered, the fabric outlining the curve of her waist. Her hair fell in a thick black curtain down her back, braided and pinned with the aurum laurel wreath she had worn in the Storm Islands – and around her neck, bare on her pale skin for all to see, his amulet hanging at the end of a delicate silverite chain.

“You fell,” she said.

“I –” He swallowed. “Only for you, dear lady.”

She rolled her eyes, but waited as he skipped down the stairs to meet her, and smiled when he caught her hand to press his lips to the knuckles. Close to, the elegance of her dress didn’t quite hide the slump of her shoulders, nor the brittle fatigue that tightened the corners of her mouth.

“You’re early,” he murmured, still holding her fingers.

She shrugged. “There wasn’t much left to do at the estate, and I wanted to see you.”

“I’ve wanted to see you, too.” He leaned forward. “And I’ve wanted…”

Before he could finish the thought, she reached up and pressed a halting finger against his lips. “I had to drag Fergus with me.”

Fergus. Of course. He followed the tilt of Rosslyn’s head to where her brother stood not even that far away, with one eyebrow raised and his arms folded across his chest, the very picture of a concerned guardian who had just caught someone nefarious swooping down on his charge. Alistair, preoccupied with other things, had completely failed to notice him.

“Ah – um. Your Lordship! You’re looking well.”

“Your Highness,” Fergus answered mildly. “Please, do carry on with my sister. It’s not like our grandmother is in the next room, wondering where we’ve snuck off to.”

“You could go and stall her if you like,” Rosslyn suggested, and when her brother only returned her a flat look, she frowned. “Please, Ferg? I did it for you – for weeks.”

“Only because I bribed you,” he retorted, but his face softened. “Fine, I’m going. But don’t do anything too outrageous.”

“I think that means you’re not allowed to spirit me away to somewhere nobody can find us,” she huffed as he ducked through the door, already looping her arms around Alistair’s neck.

His hands found her waist. “Damn, that’s my plan foiled, then. Please tell me I can kiss you, at least?”

“You may,” she giggled.

“Good.”

His heart thundered more than it should for such a simple brush of lips, but before he could sink too far into the feeling, he pulled away so he could see her expression. Her eyes were still closed, her head turned into his palm like a flower angling its petals towards the sun.

“How are you?” he asked.

A sigh, and her eyes fluttered open to focus on his chin. “It… hasn’t been a good day. I’ve tried to keep myself busy, but it hasn’t really worked. It’s been a whole year, and yet all I’ve been able to think is that they should be here. That it’s –”

“Not your fault,” he interrupted firmly. “I wish I could have been with you – I mean, not that I don’t every day, but today especially, I wish I could’ve been there to make it easier.”

“I had your notes,” she reminded him with a weak smile. “That kept the worst of it at bay.”

He grinned. “Did it now? In that case, I’ll feel a little better giving you this.” With the flourish of a showman, he reached into the end of his sleeve and pulled out a folded square of paper. “For later,” he explained. “When you don’t have an audience. There’s words in it that I hope are reassuring, but also – since you liked the last sketch so much, I thought as a distraction…”

Their fingers brushed as she took the note from him. The blush rising in her cheeks chased away the wan tone of her skin, and for a moment Alistair allowed his mind to linger over all the other scandalous ways he might prompt such a reaction.

She smirked at him. “If it needs to be so private, I had best keep it safe.”

Before he could ask her what she meant, she folded it once more and with nimble fingers slipped it down the front of her dress. Alistair stared. She smoothed her hands over the silk to make sure nothing poked out where it shouldn’t, unconcerned. It was a perfunctory gesture, businesslike, and yet far too thorough to be innocent.

“Are you alright?” she asked sweetly, once she was finally satisfied that everything lay in its proper place.

He managed a strangled sort of noise. “Nothing a long soak in Lake Calenhad wouldn’t cure.” When he caught her expression, falling from a smirk into true concern, he shook his head and pulled her closer, until they were standing hip to hip. “I’ll manage. And don’t think I won’t get you back for that little performance.”

“You started it.”

“You like tormenting me.”

She laughed at that, and darted a quick kiss against his mouth that he was too slow to return. “Shouldn’t you be going to greet your guests?” she asked. “Where is the king?”

“Applying the finishing touches, I think.” He cleared his throat, not wanting to dwell on Cailan or his moods, not with Rosslyn in his arms. “We should be safe from disgrace, in any case. One is only late if one arrives after royalty, after all.”

“You are royalty, my love,” she murmured, smiling wider as he waggled his eyebrows.

“And soon you will be, too.” The reminder stole his breath. “Uh… shall we?”

The eyes of every guest turned to look at them as he appeared in the doorway with Rosslyn on his arm, but for once, he didn’t mind the attention, or the wave of movement that swept through the room as people bowed to him in greeting. Her grandparents stood in one corner with Fergus, given their own deference as foreign dignitaries, and while the back of his neck heated under their knowing gaze, there were enough distractions elsewhere to keep him from too much embarrassment.

He even managed to avoid glancing lower than Rosslyn’s collarbones. Mostly.

“Aye, and don’t they make a handsome couple?” Bann Ferrenly preened once he caught them into his orbit. “I predicted this, you know. I said to my dear Raina, ‘We can’t have these two in such close quarters without them falling for each other. Mark my words,’ I said, ‘There’s much to admire in him, and he would be a fool not to see the quality of such a lady!’”

“Of course,” Bann Aldubard agreed stiffly. “Who could have predicted otherwise?”

At the other side of their circle, Arlessa Élodie of South Reach laid a delicate hand on Rosslyn’s arm. “I, for one, am glad that this war has not been all tragedy – we must move forward, must we not?”

When Cailan and Anora eventually joined the gathering, even Bann Ferrenly was almost out of anecdotes, so it was a relief to follow the line of torches the servants had lit in the darkened gardens, to where a troupe of mummers had set up a stage in front of an open-fronted pavilion furnished with a long table that was already groaning with food. As the nobility were directed to their seats, the troupe master welcomed them and announced a performance of Dane and the Werewolves. At first, Alistair kept his eye on his brother and the carafe of wine placed by his elbow, but though Cailan looked tired, he was dressed in fresh clothes and his hair had been brushed and braided, and he was minding Anora’s voice in his ear.

Rosslyn slipped her hand into his. In the distraction offered by the players she had nudged her chair close enough to his to press against him to the knee. They could do little more under so many watchful eyes, but with every moment counting time down to the wedding, still so many days away, it was enough.

“To us?” she suggested when the servers had filled their goblets and everyone else was preoccupied with the strut of the warpainted hero onto the stage.

He touched his cup to hers and leaned across with a kiss. “To spending our lives together,” he agreed.

--

It was only the following morning that he spotted the note she must have slipped inside his tunic. He picked it off the middle of his bedroom floor with his head still ringing from his hangover, his thoughts whirling about the one he had given her, whether she had opened it yet, what she thought of it, if the ink had smudged against her breasts after spending so many hours pressed to her skin. Perhaps going beyond words into illustrations was a step too far, and even now she was marching through Denerim’s streets to out him as a lecher and declare there wouldn’t be a marriage after all. If it were so, at least he’d have one last message from her to remember her by.

Today I cannot help but think about the past, but the weight sits less heavy on my shoulders knowing my future lies with you. We have fought through so much, together and apart, and it is strange to think how I ever managed without you. What if we had never met, or if our paths had crossed in some other way? Would I still miss waking up without you? Would you miss me?

His worry vanished. Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed the paper to his lips, wishing it could be her instead, that he could put his arms around her and drive out all her doubt.

He was at his desk and finishing his reply before he had even changed out of his smallclothes.

I would miss you. I do miss you. There is an empty space in the bed and the pillows don’t smell like you. You make me better, and make me want to be better. If someone could knock me out so I can wake up on the morning of our wedding without having to endure the torture of not being able to hold you, I would be very grateful.

~

My love, if you lie unconscious, who will distract me with such delightful correspondence? Who will smile at me as you do? And what if whoever it is hits you too hard on the head and kills you? No, it cannot be risked. You must continue to suffer, as I assure you I do as well, but only for a little while longer.

~

For you, perhaps I might make it three days, and believe me, I am counting every moment until you become my wife. I cannot wait to be your husband. I love you.

~

Two days, my love. I can barely eat for nerves.

~

I haven’t slept – can’t until I have you in my arms again. I’ll see you tomorrow.

[spoon-writes]

Ends of the Earth | Chapter 5

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Pairing: Mando x OC

Read on FFN or AO3

Summary: When Sinead's husband is ripped from her, she escapes the Hutt Empire and goes on a quest to find him. Since being a runaway slave in the Outer Rim isn't exactly easy, she makes the Mandalorian an offer he can't refuse and soon they travel across the galaxy, looking for her missing husband.

Chapter index

Chapter 5 - Tatooine

Sinead turned the memory bank over and over, the metal warming up between her hands. Most of her life she'd found herself in close proximity to a mechanic, so learning proper droid maintenance had never been a priority, something she regretted now, looking down at the lifeless box.

A pleasant and familiar hum surrounded her as the ship hurtled through the dark void, lulling her into a sense of calm she hadn’t felt since leaving the ruins. Even now, hours later, she felt the presence of it lurking in the back of her mind.

Suddenly, the world tilted, and Sinead crashed to the floor. The memory bank few out of her hands and skipped across the floor. She pushed herself up on her hands and knees, when the ship rocked violently, making her cling to the bunk to keep from being thrown clean across the ship.

Two alarms started wailing in tandem.

She gritted her teeth and grabbed hold of a rung on the ladder, climbing into the cockpit before the ship shook and tipped wildly.

The Mandalorian was in the pilot’s seat, his hands flying across the dashboard, flicking switches and trying to stabilize the ship. The kid was strapped into his seat, his head swirling around to look at all the light coming to life.

Sinead sat down and pulled the safety harness over her shoulders.

"What the hell is going on?"

"Company."

The Mandalorian jerked the steering handles and the ship spun away, a volley of blaster bolts whizzing past the window.

According to a screen on the console, a small starfighter flew directly behind them, firing every time the Razor Crest was still for long enough. They'd never be able to outrun or outmaneuver it.

Cold dread expanded from the base of her spine, making her muscles twitch and tense. Every sound seemed dull, like she was hearing it from inside a vacuum.

The starboard turbine was hit, showering the cockpit in sparks as the shock traveled into the main engine. A third alarm joined the cacophony.

Sinead swallowed hard and found her voice. "Doesn't this hunk of metal have any shields?" She grabbed the armrests so hard her knuckles turned white.

The stars turned into streaks as the ship careened to the side, another round of lasers streaking past the window.

It had to be pirates, not many were brazen enough to attack a gunship, even out in the Outer Rim. Maybe this time she’d die instead of-

A shadowy figure flickered to life above the dashboard. "Give us the child, Mando," it said, its voice clipping in and out. "I might let you live."

Sinead looked at the child, who gurgling nervously to himself. She wanted to reach over and reassure him, but the harness was too tight. Why would anyone want the kid badly enough to attack them for it?

And explosion rocked through the ship, and underneath there was a sound of metal groaning.

Flashing lights danced on the Mandalorian’s helmet.

“Hold on.” Mando sent them into a wild spin, the stars turning into white streaks as all sense of direction spun away as quickly as the ship.

It felt like Sinead had been dropped down a bottomless well.

The hologram warped as power redirected. “I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” it said before cutting out completely.

There was no way the other ship wouldn’t blast them to smithereens the first chance it got.

Mando hit the brakes, and the ship hung unmoving in the air, before the starfighter screamed past it, scraping against the Crest with a sound like an old hovercart in a trash compactor.

Mando fired once, and the laser ripped through the small vessel before it had a chance to spin around and attack. The ship exploded, leaving glittering debris like stardust in its wake.

Sinead sat back in her seat. Her entire midsection felt bruised from the harness, but the alternative was being a smear on the window so she couldn’t complain.

“Nice flying.” She didn’t mean for it to come out sounding so sarcastic, but fear and adrenaline still coursed through her veins, making the blood rush in her ears.

The Mandalorian either didn’t hear or ignored her, as he checked the status of the ship.

“Losing fuel,” he mumbled mostly to himself.

Sinead undid her safety harness and reached over to the child. “Are you okay there?”

The kid laughed as the power went out and they found themselves in complete darkness.

“I think he’s okay,” Sinead said, gently booping him on the nose. “Please say we’re not stranded out here.”

“I think I can redirect the power,” the Mandalorian said, getting up and flicking a switch at the back of the cockpit.

The ship came to life, a sad, sputtering one that wouldn’t last long, but enough so that Mando could propel it towards the nearest planet, an orange dust ball hanging in the void.

“Are you gonna tell me who’s after the kid?”

Mando glanced at her over his shoulder.

“You know, this whole silence thing is getting old. At least come up with a lie like the rest of us.”

Mando glared at her, and Sinead offered him a sharp smile.

The planet was getting closer and closer when Sinead leaned forward. “What is this place even? Or are you not going to answer that either?”

“Tatooine.”

“Oh, that’s just great.”

The Mandalorian adjusted their course toward a small smidge on the planet’s surface. “The Hutt’s been dead for years, and he hasn’t been replaced yet.”

Sinead made an uncertain sound. “Yet, but I’m sure the clan’s just waiting until the region is stable again. They’re not exactly the type to give up a planet without a fight.”

“You been here before?”

“No, but I’ve heard it’s a desolate hellhole.”

Gold-orange crags and sand dunes took form as they cruised over the surface, the ship groaning with the effort it took to keep them in one piece.

Sand. She really hated sand.

The comm came to life and a scratchy voice filled the cockpit.

“This is Mos Eisley tower, we’re tracking you. Head for bay 3-5. Over.”

“Copy that. Locked in for 3-5.”

Mos Eisley was nearly impossible to see, a sandstone city poking up through the sand which piled up at the walls making the squat houses look like igloos in the desert. A communication tower rose from the center of the city, its blinking lights the only reason most travelers spotted the city from the air.

The ship wobbled as it made ready for landing, and new alarm blared. The Mandalorian turned it off with an irritated slap on the console.

The kid had fallen asleep sometime after the excitement of the dogfight died down, and the Mandalorian left him sleeping on the bunk, while Sinead retrieved the memory bank, which had ended up on the other side of the ship and stowing it away in the nearest compartment.

Mando looked at her. “Maybe you should stay in the ship.”

Sinead blew out a deep breath. “As you said, the Hutt’s long dead. I can take a look around his old palace, see if there’s something we can use.”

“Just be careful.”

Sinead snuck a glance at the Mandalorian. He wasn’t looking at her.

“Sure.”

Even before the ramp was down, Sinead felt the hot, unyielding fingers of the desert close around her throat. Dry heat snuck under her clothes, making her mouth feel as dry as the surroundings. Cold, unwanted memories pushed to the forefront and she took a second to put them back where they belonged, a dark and unused corner of her mind where they wouldn’t get in the way.

Three pit droids hurried toward the ship the second the ramp touch down, their rusty bodies bouncing over dusty ground like springs.

The Mandalorian pulled his blaster and shot once at the ground in front of the droids, who screeched and collapsed into small heaps, cowering in f-ear.

Sinead yelped and pressed a hand to her racing heart. “Fuck, Mando! What is it with you and droids?”

“Hey!” A shout rang out from inside a cluttered garage, and a short human woman wearing greasy overalls stormed out from behind a safety barrier. Her short stature was almost made up by her rather gravity defying hair. “You damage one of my droids, you pay for it!” The way she was brandishing a heavy wrench left exactly how he’d pay for it up to interpretation.

“Just keep them away from my ship,” Mando ground out, shooting a look at the droids who scurried away.

The mechanic gave him an unimpressed look. “Yeah? Do you think that’s a good idea, do ya? Let’s take a look at your ship.”

She walked around it, noting every dent and scratch on her datapad. “Look at that,” she said, holding a scanner up to the ship. “You gotta lotta carbon scorching building up top. If I didn’t know better, think you were in a shootout.”

Sinead stepped forward before the Mandalorian had a chance to reply. “We ran into a meteor shower out by the Torq. Barely made it planet-side, to tell you the truth.”

“Uh-huh,” the mechanic lifted an eyebrow, but she stopped asking questions, turning around to continue her inspection. “… a special tool for that one. Oh yeah, I’m gonna have to rotate that.”

The Mandalorian rolled his shoulders, and Sinead bit the inside of her cheek. That all sounded very expensive.

“You got a fuel leak! Look at this, this is a mess. How did you even land?”

“Like I said, just barely.” Sinead shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “How much for it?”

“The repairs you need ain’t exactly cheap-”

“I’ve got five hundred Imperial credits,” the Mandalorian said.

The mechanic grabbed the credits and have them a good look. “That’s all you got?” When the Mandalorian didn’t magically procure more money, she looked at the droids. “Well, what do you guys think?”

The droids tittered in unison, and the mechanic shrugged. “That should at least cover the hangar.”

“We’ll get you your money.”

“Mm, I’ve heard that before.” She gave both Sinead and the Mandalorian a skeptical look.

“Just remember- “

“Yeah, no droids. I heard ya’. You don’t have to say it twice.”

Sinead looked back at the ship as they left the hangar, a thin pillar of smoke was rising from the turbine and the mechanic had already started banging around underneath it.

The second she stepped out into the blaring sunlight, her face stung with sand being blasted through the street. If she never had to step foot in the desert again, she'd die a happy woman.

"So, what's the plan?" She asked the Mandalorian, who didn't look bothered in the heat. Of course, since she couldn't see his face he might be dying underneath the helmet. The T-visor seemed completely black in the sunlight.

"I’ll head to the cantina, see if I can find work. Don't get too close to the palace, the Hutt's guards might still be around."

Sinead gritted her teeth. "Right, I have been in these kinds of situations before you know: I'm not helpless."

"That's not-" the Mandalorian blew out a sharp breath and shook his head. "Never mind."

Sinead made her way to the Hutt's palace alone, reminding herself to breathe regularly, not too deep and not too shallow. She was just a tourist walking alone, not a runaway slave from the very clan that until recently had an iron grip on the planet. The people walking past her weren't staring, they didn't recognize her at all.

She clenched her hands so they'd stop fidgeting. It felt like someone was watching her, a burning spike to the back of her head.

A market had been raised in a big square, rows and rows of hastily put together stalls crisscrossed in a confusing jumble. Shouts from the many vendors mingled in the air into an incomprehensible wall of sound. A Besalisk was grilling sweet meats over an open fire, holding a skewer in each of his four hands. The meat sizzled as Sinead walked past.

Two Jawas screamed in unison at everyone who came close enough to their stall, doing little to entice anyone to stop. Piles of scrap spilled into the street, and the Jawas screeched in indignation whenever anyone accidentally stepped on it.

Sinead ambled down the rows, trying to look like she was browsing the goods without attracting so much attention that anyone would talk to her. Most of the wares being sold were practical, tools and dried food, spare parts for droids. Under a moth-eaten pavilion that offered little in the way of shade, she found a small booth filled with trinkets that looked like they had been ripped straight out of the bowels of a ship. There were brooches made of twisted metal and rings that doubled as lug nuts.

An old woman sat on the other side of the stall. She wore ragged clothes that at first glance made her look like a scarecrow left out in the sun for too long, and it wasn't until she moved that Sinead noticed her. Her face was disproportionately small for her body, resembling a walnut someone left on top of a pile of old laundry.

"See anything you like?" Her voice sounded like a trash compacter filled with rocks. "I make 'em myself."

That wasn't hard to believe. Sinead hummed politely and picked up a brooch made from cogs and a rubber binding. "I’m afraid jewelry isn't that high of a priority right now."

Her wrinkles deepened as she pursed her lips. "Meh, people don't even know what they need until it's right in front of ‘em. Tell ya’ what, I'll give you a good deal, okay? The earrings for fifty creds."

Sinead couldn’t help but snort. The earrings in question were made from old circuitry, the hooks so rusty that wearing them was a surefire way of getting a nasty infection. "Fifty is a bit steep, don't you think?"

The old woman grinned, showing her one snaggletooth poking over her lower lip. “Low price to pay for beauty, innit?”

Tapping on the table Sinead though for a second before saying, "tell you what, I'll buy one of your-" she gestured to the assorted jewelry- "wares … if you can give me some information in return."

The old lady grinned again, her tooth a terrible distraction, looking like a broken roof shingle. "Let's hear it then. What'ya want?"

"Oh no, information first, then the sale."

A shadow fell across the woman's face as she glared Sinead, her watery eyes studying her face. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you didn’t trust me."

Sinead kept her face carefully neutral. "Past experiences have taught me to hold payment until after I get what I want. I’m sure you understand, right?"

There was a cruel glint in the old woman's eyes. "You bet I do. Ask away, dear."

For one long moment, Sinead blanked on what to ask her. She wanted to talk about the Hutt, but the old crone had done nothing to inspire trust.

"The entire galaxy was turned upside down when the Empire fell. How was it here?"

The old woman cackled and folded her wizened hands over her stomach. "You haven't seen our little art project out by the wall, have ya’? A little parting gift from us to the Empire."

"Who controls the planet now? The New Republic-"

The old woman spat on the sand.

"... right."

"We control ourselves, dearie." Sinead had never heard a term of endearment used with so much venom. "We ain't need anyone come here and tell us how to run our own damn home. After they got the message, most of the bucketheads left. The ones who didn't, well, they make a good decoration, don't they?"

"A place outside the grip of the Empire and the Republic sounds nice."

"Sounds like you have something to hide."

Sinead shrugged. "I don't like tyrants or bureaucracy."

"We got rid of our old tyrant years ago, ain't ever looked back since," the old woman sneered,

There we go.

Sinead shifted her weight and leaned closer. "Heard about that on the subspace, that's nasty business. Any chance the Hutt's head is hanging with the others? I'd like to go give my goodbyes in person."

The old woman peered at Sinead. "Sounds personal."

"As far as I'm concerned, hating the Hutt clan is everyone's business, and those who don't are either terminally stupid or, well, part of the Hutt clan.”

"That kriffin' piece of blubber is probably still out in the Dune Sea somewhere. I doubt even the bloatflies'll touch his stinking corpse."

"He was killed in his palace? I heard that place is a fortress."

"My boy went out with some of the others, just to have a little lookie-loo at the place, but the slaves didn't wanna let nobody in. Said they’ve taken over. Been coming in from all over the galaxy, the buggers."

"They still out there?"

The old woman seemed to remember herself. "You ask an awful lot of question, dearie. Maybe it's time you hold up your end of the bargain, hmm?"

Sinead opened her mouth to protest. If Tatooine had managed to rid themselves completely of Hutt control, then maybe other systems would follow suit. The dangerous look in the old woman's eyes told her, however, that pressing on would be a bad idea.

"Sure," she said, looking earnestly at the merchandise. "Uh, yeah … how much for the necklace?" It was the only thing that, if you squinted and stood five meters away on a foggy day might resemble jewelry. It looked like an old optic unit ripped from a droid and attached to a leather string.

"Hundred creds."

"You're joking."

"My information doesn't come cheap, girl. I can always call the guards, say you robbed me of my hard-earned knowledge."

For once, Sinead was momentarily lost for words. "That doesn't-"

"Since the Empire left, we've had to handle justice ourselves, you see, and sometimes the new guards can be a little rough."

Sinead bared her teeth in a smile. "I'll give you twenty."

"Eighty."

"Thirty."

"Seventy-five."

"Thirty-five."

"Seventy-five."

Sinead tossed some credits on the table. "Forty. That's literally the last credits I own."

The old woman snatched the credits with remarkable speed, squirreling them away in her dirty cowl.

"Pleasure doing business with you," Sinead said, stuffing the necklace into her pocket before moving on from the stall.

When she got back to the hangar, the suns had reached the top of the sky and it had impossibly gotten even hotter.

Mando came walking from the other side, his gleaming armor standing out between the bedraggled denizens of Tatooine. He sped up when he saw Sinead.

"You should stay in the ship," he said, when they reached the door to the hangar at the same time.

"You know, people usually greet each other before starting to bark commands, you should really try it."

The Mandalorian shook his head, grumbling under his breath.

“Did you manage to find work, or do we have to go back empty handed? I have a feeling that won’t go over too well with the mechanic.”

“I did, but look … does the name Fennec Shand mean anything to you?”

The color drained from Sinead's face.

"She's hiding out in the Dune Sea with a bounty on her head. I have to bring her back."

"Alive?"

"Yes."

"What a shame."

Fennec Shand’s name brought with it a very special kind of dread. Every Hutt slave had heard stories of Shard bringing back runaway slaves in a condition where they wished they were dead.

“I’ll stay in the ship.” Sinead looked around, like she expected Shand to jump out from behind the nearest hover-cart. “How long will it take?”

“I don’t know. I’m bringing this kid … it doesn’t matter.”

Sinead bit her lips. “Just make sure you get her. I don’t want her coming to Mos Eisley in a murderous rage.”

The Mandalorian moved towards the entrance to the hangar, and when the door opened, the smell of oil and metal hit them.

She wanted to get off this planet, doubly so now she knew that a vicious killer for hire had made this her home. There was nothing to do but wait.

<- Previous chapter - Next chapter ->

[entering-mymind]

The Mandalorians Prequel

This is the Preqeul of the series where I have inserted my OC character (Mando’s daughter) into the Disneyplus television show. With  her addition I believe this helps the viewers understand the choices  Mando makes in the series. Would love to hear feedback!

It had been six years since Din and Osa established a peaceful life on Lah’mu. Ever since Din packed away his helmet and armor no one had come looking for them, but he couldn’t shake the oath he had sworn. To use for public use, Din had crafted a different type of helmet, since he had broken the Mandalorian Code practically ten years ago. It was prudent to keep his and his daughter’s identities hidden so he also crafted one for her as well.

Osa despised wearing the heavy, hot, bucket on her head but if she ever wanted to see more than the walls in her home, she would have to wear it. Good thing that rule didn’t apply for inside their house, as both her and her father were free to be helmetless.

One day Osa accompanied her father outside, where he was working on one of the moisture towers, as she played happily with a toy she found left behind (from years prior) in their home. It seemed to be a happy coincidence that the two found this abandoned complex six years ago. The home was in the middle of nowhere, still fully furnished, functional, but vacant and dusty, like it had been abandoned for decades.

Din couldn’t have dreamed for a better hide out because his last one ended on bad terms. It was as if this place was left just for him and his daughter and it had served them well until that day.

Din attended to the tower, giving it a regular inspection while he watched his daughter play joyfully in the distance. He could hear her giggling and screaming with enthusiasm, something he had not heard in a few months due to her episodes happening more frequently than he would like.

He did everything he could to help her through them, hope to even understand what was happening to her, but she was young and she was afraid. He tried to encourage Osa not to fear her episodes and instead embrace them, learn something from them each time, but over the years she began to do the opposite. Instead she started to hold it in, which made it worse, but Din was prepared for those moments by the doctor’s sedatives he gave before his death.

Din knew though he had to use them at only dire times because he had been in the path of her projections throughout the years. He had been knocked down, thrown, while also dodging free floating objects, but the older Osa got the stronger her abilities grew. From being merely pushed over and items hovering, Din had been thrown into cabinets or rammed into walls and sometimes hitting so hard he would go unconscious. When he awoke Osa would always be by his side, holding his hand and laying next to him in fear he wouldn’t wake up.

Din tried to reassure Osa that he was strong, but that one time really traumatized her when she seriously hurt her father on accident. Osa was powerless as the invisible force propelled from her body without warning. The tremor radiated through the garage they were in when the ceiling began to in cave on top of Osa, but Din pulled her from harms way and was buried instead.

Luckily Din did not sustain any serious injuries but this incident drove Osa over the edge believing running away was the answer, because Osa was convinced she would eventually be the one who would kill her father. Osa couldn’t live with herself if she was her father’s demise and ran, but no matter where she was her father would find her. She begged him to let her go but he would never come to that conclusion, she was his life. Din swore he would help her in any way possible and noticed by his encouraging words and drawing her focus on him, this routine helped her overcome from releasing the blast and eventually subside the episodes, but it had been weeks since her latest one and this made her ecstatic.

Osa felt on top of the world, her life felt perfect, but that all changed when the both of them saw a ship fly over head and land on the outskirts of their home.

                                                       *   *   *

“Papi, look,” Osa pointed upwards at the ship landing in the distance.

“Osa go inside, now,” Din yelled.

She knew this tone inflicted within his voice and didn’t disobey. She quickly ran for their home but a huge man (who wore armor similar to the one her father use to wear) blocked off her path. Osa screamed from surprise when Din turned to see Osa run for him, he could see her fear, afraid of what these individuals were going to do to them as they encircled Din and Osa. Without hesitation Osa wrapped her arms around her father’s waist when Din took his arm and held her to him. Din knew not to draw his blaster because he was completely out numbered, but yet felt confident they weren’t there to harm them.

“You are a hard man to find, Din Djarin,” a woman – who seemed to be the Tribe leader – approached dressed in silver Mandalorian armor.

Din said nothing, holding his daughter near while eyeing up his old clan, “I guess not hard enough,” he replied.

“You of all people should know a missing clan member is never forgotten until they are back with their Tribe. Our clan can only thrive with our survival and needs to grow in numbers not be depleted,” the woman Mandalorian informed.

“I am aware of the Code,” Din said.

“Then why do you hide from your heritage?”

“No, quite the opposite. I deceived the Tribe. I have…” Din broke off looking down at his pride and joy because he would break the Code all over again in order to have his daughter by his side.

“Oh, I see,” the woman realized by looking at the young one clutching onto Din’s waist, “So this child is not a Foundling?”

“No, she is my flesh and blood,” Din told truthfully making his clan realize his reason for leaving and deception.

“So here you believed you broke the Code,” she said.

“But I did.”

“And yet here your offspring stands increasing our numbers. I presume you have educated her in the Mandalorian ways, hence her wearing a training helmet that she is already practicing. I’m sure she is eager to don a real Mandalorian helmet for her own and follow in her father’s footsteps.”

“You’re allowing us into the Creed?” Din questioned skeptically, “But the oath, the pledge I swore, broken.”

“Yes, but pledges can be made again and besides our clan grows by two now.”

Din didn’t know what to do, him and his daughter were being accepted into the Creed, one of the reasons why he went into hiding. He knew the consequences and so couldn’t face them, he had lied for practically four of those years, but he had a larger issue than just facing his Tribe ashamed, Din had to keep his daughter safe and hidden.

He knew the logical answer, sooner or later they would be discovered even on Lah’mu. If the Mandalorians found them then the Empire would be close behind, it was a clear choice for Din, but would take some convincing for his daughter.

                                                     *   *   *

“What, we’re leaving, why?” Osa said almost in tears.

“We will be safer under the Mandalorians protection,” Din informed while destroying their presence ever existed in their home.

“Safer, from who, who’s after us?”

“Nobody, it’s just no one is safe with the Empire around. Please, Mi Pequeno you have to trust me,” Din got down on his knees staring Osa in the eyes while caressing her cheek with his thumb, “You do trust me?”

“Yes.”

“Good, then take what you can carry,” Din instructed when he pulled Osa forward kissing her forehead and then directing her towards her room.

                                                      *   *   *

Osa didn’t understand why they had to leave, so what if her father’s old Tribe found them, the Mandalorians would keep their whereabouts a secret, there was no reason to go with them, but it wasn’t Osa’s decision.

Osa finished packing what she could stuff in her one bag she was allowed to take as her father stood in her doorway, waiting. With a heavy sigh Osa said her goodbyes to their home, where the two appeared to be replicating the same outcome as the previous owners had. Throughout her years in the home, Osa could see past events play out, she could watch the past as if it had left an impression; happy memories and sad ones.

The one that particularly stood out the most was the family’s last stand against the man in white. It terrified Osa because the man in white destroyed that family’s life as the Mandalorians had come for hers. Osa didn’t know what to think and now understood how Jyn Erso must have felt when she was forced out.

                                                       *   *   *

The flight to the Mandalore covert on Nevarro felt extremely short according to Osa, what she wanted to take forever happened quicker then anticipated. She was dreading what her father had described to her, once she was sworn into the Creed her and her father wouldn’t be able to see each other’s faces until they celebrated her “Date of Existence,” how could this be?

Osa was use to seeing her father’s face on a regular bases, what if she forgot what he looked like? The thought frightened Osa because not only was she restricted from seeing her father’s face, she barely could gaze upon her own, it wasn’t like back at home where she could be helmetless, once dedicated to the Mandalore Code one must walk the path religiously.

Osa didn’t know if she could be that dedicated to something she really didn’t fully believe in, but “This is the way.” The Mandalorians motto didn’t make sense to Osa because how could be closing oneself off from the galaxy the way, shielding oneself off from others the way, but mostly cutting oneself off from loved ones the way?

Suddenly a jolt pulled Osa from her thoughts as the Crest made its landing. From above Osa could hear her father power down the ship and collect the very few things they were allowed to take. Osa stayed huddled in her bed wishing her father would come to his senses and instead take off in order to head back to their real home, but no wishes would be granted that day.

Loud footsteps could be heard descending into the lower deck when Osa laid eyes on her father who donned his old Mandalorian armor. It made him look tougher, not the caring man who would cradle her in his arms, it made him appear menacing, not gentle like the man who would hum in her ear to chase away her nightmares, but mostly the armor made him appear soulless, but this was far from true because her father had the biggest heart.

Osa sat on the bed, cross legged, head down not making eye contact with the Mandalorian, if she ignored him maybe then the warrior would return her Papi, but Din knew, first hand, how hard change could be.

He had to show his daughter all the good the Mandalorians could offer, all their teachings, survival tactics, and ethics. The Code would help her grow from a child and into adulthood by absorbing key knowledge and skills, Din knew “This is the way” but would have to ease Osa into it, which he tried at their home but had been way more lenient then the Creed would be.

Din stood gazing at his stubborn daughter who wasn’t wearing her helmet and who refused to look at him, he couldn’t go about this the wrong way, he had to make her see him like how she did when they were first brought together.

“Have you taken up mediation Mi Pequeno?” Din tried to joke but could tell she was not in the mood.

“No, I’m on strike,” Osa replied in all seriousness.

Din knew this would be an up hill battle, he removed his helmet so she could truly see him and knelt in front of his daughter.

“Osa, I wouldn’t be doing this if I felt it was wrong. It is prudent we join the Mandalorians, their teachings go beyond more then I can give you.”

“I thought you were doing just fine,” Osa said quietly.

“I know you do Mi Pequeno, but I wasn’t preparing you for the galaxy. Just the two of us wasn’t living, by being apart of a larger community allows others to pass along their knowledge onto you, a skill set you never knew you possessed, and hopefully these teachings will help you discover who you eventually want to become. There is only so much I can give you Osa, it is up to you on who you want to be.”

“And you believe the Mandalorians will help me get there?”

“Yes, I do, because they helped me get where I am today, and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else except for right here right now, Mi Pequeno. So what do you say, do you want to take this journey with me?” Din held out his hand praying his daughter would take it and luckily she did.

“I’ll take any journey with you Papi,” Osa displayed one last smile for her father to see before she slipped on her helmet, forever cutting herself off from the outside world and begin an unknown journey she was still hesitant about.

[spookbusters]

Daddy’s Little Ghoul

Summary: Ray takes your daughter to the station for take your child to work day!

Pairing: Ray Stantz x Reader // Word Count: 1.7k // Warnings: None!

A/N: Sorry this took forever to get out! Should be getting back to work on some of my other requests soon :)

"Daddy, daddy, wake up! Wake up!"

Note to Y/N Stantz from Y/N Stantz, just get rid of your alarm clock. Your daughter has got this handled.

A sleepy groan hums in the back of your husband’s throat as he stirs. Your little girl was apparently loud enough to register with him, but not loud enough to actually get him up. "Elodie, honey,” you murmur, fully awakened by your child’s excited tone, "It’s before seven, you should still be in bed." Your five-year-old bounces over to your side of the bed and throws herself into your lap, knocking a bit of the wind out of you. She looks up at you with smiling eyes like those of the man you love. Her hair was frizzy from sleep; distinctly inherited from you, you knew the color and texture all too well. "But, mommy, it’s take your child to work day, remember? I’m gonna go with daddy!" The sentence makes you smile as best you can in your sleepy haze. She took after her father in many ways, and had been looking forward to this for days. "Yes, sweetie, I remember. You know I have something special planned for you." Elodie wraps her small arms around you in a tight hug, "I didn’t forget, I promise." You give your daughter a squeeze, and kiss her forehead. "Go ahead and brush your teeth and get dressed, I’ll get your surprise ready." She lets out an excited squeal, then jumps off the bed and runs to her room on the other side of the apartment. A massive, exhausted huff leaves your lips before you collapse back down on your pillow. Ray is still snoring lightly beside you.

God, you wished you could sleep as heavily as him. You prop yourself on an elbow and admire him for just a moment before you have to get him up. He’s a mess. His face is smashed against the pillowcase, and his hair is stuck to his forehead. It’s adorable, and you remind yourself how blessed you are to have him. Ray only wakes up after a full minute of you peppering kisses all over his face, and once he hears you giggle at the way he wriggles his nose sleepily, he knows he can’t waste any more time snoozing. You're greeted by a gentle hand reaching up to smooth out your hair and, before you know it, you're being pulled down for a loving kiss. A small noise of contentment seeps from your being at the feel of your husband. When the need for air rears its head, you pull away and press your forehead against his. "Elodie woke me up this morning," is the first thing you tell him. "Did she?" "She's beyond excited to go to the firehouse with you. Speaking of which, you need to get up, mister." Ray groans, muttering something about how he hasn’t even left bed, but he already misses it. One sleepy stretch later you’re out of bed, brushing your teeth and throwing some curlers in your hair. You go about your morning routine, getting dressed in your usual outfit of jeans, sneakers, and a button-down from your husband’s drawer. The routine continues with you setting out Ray’s uniform, then going to whip up a quick breakfast. You pull off all those morning responsibilities with perfected efficiency, and you’re finally able to unveil the surprise you had planned for your daughter. “Ok, Ellie, you’re gonna have to close your eyes for this one,” Ray explains, knowing full well what you’ve got behind your back. She seems to vibrate from all the excitement she has to contain, covering her eyes with her hands. Once you think the suspense has gotten to her enough, you unfurl the outfit and hold it in front of you. “Alright, sweetie,” you say, “Open!” 

The moment she gets sight of the jumpsuit, just her size, she lets out something like a screech and jumps out of her chair to inspect it. “It’s got your name on it and everything,” you explain, pointing to the new patch you’d been embroidering the past couple days. It looked just like the ones you had made for the original suits. 

It doesn’t take much effort to get the suit on over her leggings, and when she zips it up the middle you marvel at how much she looks like her dad. “I love it, mommy,” she chimes, “Thank you!” The way she hugs you tightly makes all the time you spent working on it so worth it. “You’re so welcome, honey.” You take a second to look at the watch on your wrist and it’s not until then that you realize what the time is. “I gotta head to work,” you gasp, “I’ll be late for opening!” You grab your purse and the keys to the car, which you toss to your husband. “Lunch for you two is in the fridge, don’t forget it before you leave,” you mention, walking up to Ray and readjust his constantly unruly hair. “We won’t,” he assures. With a kiss for him and your daughter, you’re off to manage Ray’s Occult Books, like you do every day. “C’mon, daddy, we gotta go too,” Elodie urges, lightly tugging on her father’s sleeve. Ray grabs the lunch from the fridge, handing his daughter the Slimer lunchbox she insisted on having for school. Truth be told, he was just as excited for take your child to work day as his daughter! He loved the fact she was so interested in the business and, deep down, he hoped Elodie would take it over one day. The drive to the firehouse was as it would be every morning. Except instead of having some typical pop songs fueling the journey, the cabin of Ecto-1 was filled by Elodie and Ray’s singing.

They had brought her favorite cassette along; Ellie’s little voice would take the lead and her dad would fill in what she couldn’t yet remember. Whenever he did those deep, caricature-like voices, she would giggle loudly. They had to be the two happiest people on the streets of Manhattan. Elodie had just finished a rather lovely rendition of the Unbirthday Song when they pulled into the garage of the firehouse. It took some genuine effort to prevent the young Stantz from launching herself from her car booster seat and taking off into Ghostbuster HQ. But Ray was successful in getting her in without her forgetting anything or getting ahead of herself. At least he knew if the guys needed to take the car for a case, none of her important stuff would get left in there. But when she got inside, it was a totally different story. There was nearly no way he’d be able to manage that much enthusiasm. He was borderline overwhelmed by the sheer will and exhilaration of his five-year-old. As soon as the rest of the guys heard Janine’s playful comment of, “I didn’t know there was a new Ghostbuster on the team,” followed by a small laugh, they knew exactly who had just arrived. “Guess who,” Ray said, the biggest smile on his face as he walked into the lab, Elodie right behind him. “In case you couldn’t guess, it’s my dad and me,” she said, matter-of-factly. “Hey, it’s the Stantz clan,” Peter said, dropping the file he was reading onto the lab table with a genuine smile. Egon glances over his shoulder for a moment before returning his attention to the odd contraption that sat like a helmet on Winston, “You brought my niece with you. Rather unusual.” Elodie skipped around the room saying 'hi' to all her ‘unca’s, managing to tell all three of them separately that it was take your child to work day and that she was spending it with her dad. It wasn’t completely atypical for there to be a child in the firehouse, as Peter had Oscar over plenty of times. But Oscar took after his mother who tended to be rather quiet, unlike Elodie who took after both her parents’ extroversion. So, it was always a learning experience for both her and the team when there was a kid around who was actually interested in what they were doing. Ray couldn’t have been prouder of her. He could see throughout the day’s activities that she was having tons of fun, learning a lot, and really putting the smarts he knew she had to work. She would end up having a lot to tell you when she got home. Like, how Winston would explain to her how to clean a trap once a ghost was caught in it. “This is how your dad taught me how to do it. Ok, so, after you’ve caught the ghost-.” “How do you catch the ghost?” How Venkman taught her how to negotiate when working with a customer. “Ok, so if you just caught the ghost in my house and I want to give you four pieces of candy, what would you think?” “Sorry ‘unca Venkman, but I’ll need five pieces of candy, because, uh... ghosts are expensive?” Or how Egon would explain total protonic reversal to her. “So, Elodie, when two or more particle beams meet, what happens?” “All the nearby molecules stop at the same time and blow up real fast!” For a five-year-old, she sure had a good grasp of that. “I’m really glad she came with me today, Y/N,” Ray told you that night. He sat on the island in your kitchen in his old, faded sweatpants. You were prepping Ellie’s lunch for school tomorrow. “She was so... invested in the things she was learning.” “Well,” you look up from the bag of baby carrots you were zipping up, “She’s been interested in it from the day she could walk.” Your husband kicks his feet a little, looking up to the ceiling with a hint of a proud smile on his lips. “She’s a genius, I think.” The refrigerator door creaks as you place the Slimer lunchbox in its usual spot. “I’m talking Spengler-levels of intelligence.” It’s your turn to grin as you turn to Ray and place your hands on the counter, nestling yourself between his knees. “That’s because she’s got one hell of a dad to take after,” you praise. Ray pushes some of the hair from your forehead, pressing a kiss to your warm skin. “She’s got some smarts from her dad maybe, but she’s really brilliant and beautiful like her mother.” You giggle and place your hand on top of his; the whole moment makes you feel cozy. “We made one great kid, didn’t we Stantz?”

 “You know what, Stantz,” he mimics your playful tone, “I think you’re right.”

[miceenscene]

Star-Crossed

din djarin/female oc | soulmate AU | pre-canon

wc: 5.3k / 22.3k (so far)

summary: The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one. People, house, clan. And when all else failed, your Match. “Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense. But what's a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin?

warnings: is it pining if they're a couple now??, fluff, hurt/comfort, Din Is In A Cult, brief flashbacks

Previous Chapter | Masterpost | ao3

Chapter Seven: The Investigation

The physical heft and weight of beskar had long since faded to the background of Din's senses. But he felt the dense barrier for the first time in years putting it all back on the next morning after Nia had been the one to remove it.

The physical heft and weight of beskar had long since faded to the background of Din’s senses. The absence far more noteworthy in his mind than the presence.

But he felt the dense barrier for the first time in years putting it all back on the next morning after Nia had been the one to remove it.

The memory of fingers running through his hair still tingled under his helmet. She’d gently carded as he drifted off to sleep in her arms, the two of them squeezed into a bunk barely meant for one, and she’d resumed the moment she woke up the next morning.

Perhaps he could wait a little longer to cut it.

Her obvious fondness for his curls was more than worth the minor bother.

Her gentle smile was worth a great deal of bother in his mind, though it was completely absent from her face as they worked side by side back in the Vod’oya headquarters.

With precious other leads to follow, they’d decided that returning and thoroughly searching the records was the best place to start.

The records were thorough, organized and diligent. He’d expect nothing less from a Mandalorian school, despite its… eccentricities.

There was a sudden stop in the records about eight months back. No indication as to why.

Though Din had his guess.

However, the discovery of the stop offered some ease. Nia had been on The Razor Crest for just over seven months. At least she hadn’t spent a great deal of time chipped.

Now if they could just find the bastard who put it in her head in the first place, he’d hold her staff while she delivered righteous justice with her bare hands.

But there was a murder to solve first.

They’d been combing through the rest of the records since the morning, and it was now mid-afternoon.

Neither of them truly certain what to look for, or if their needle was even in this particular haystack.

“Found another gap,” Nia said, leaning back and stretching her neck. “Two days, twenty-seven months ago.”

The only thing out of place was the occasional gap in the records, which were otherwise exhaustingly thorough.

She stood to mark it down on the display board on the other side of the room. They’d found eight in total so far, none longer than four days at most or further back than three years ago.

“It might be computer error,” Din pointed out when she returned to her post at the other terminal.

“Probably,” she muttered, scrolling further down the logs. “Very little else survived wholly… intact… wait.”

“What is it?” He leaned over to look at her screen. There was another gap, three days, thirty-one months ago.

She tapped the screen. “There was a mission between these. I remember, we–we went to a warehouse on Florrum before Bardotta. We burnt the place to the ground and–” The corner of her mouth twitched in a small smile. “Ro singed her eyebrows off with a flash grenade. She looked hilarious for weeks afterwards. I wrote about it in my mission log. Phasia said it was unprofessional.”

“And there’s no record of that?”

She shook her head and turned around to look at their collected gaps on the display board. “These could all be missions, they were never too long, travel time on either side…” she mused, finicking with the end of her braid.

“Someone could have come through and scrubbed them,” Din offered, following her logic.

“But only Vod’oya can get in here.” Her gaze rested on the table still surrounded by seven chairs. “Did I delete them?”

“Or Phasia could have… or someone else holding one of you hostage for access if they were desperate enough...”

“It’s so… selective though. It couldn’t have been a rush job.”

The captive theory wasn’t looking like it was going to hold water.

“And why were they scrubbing missions to begin with?”

Unfortunately, he had no more answers than she did.

She groaned and pinched her brow. “We need someone who’s better at computers than us. Someone who can see if the data’s really gone, or just removed. But they have to be trustworthy...”

A persnickety face immediately came to mind. “I think I know someone who can help.”

Which is how they ended up heading to Tatooine with several terminals in tow.

“Nice to see you on your feet this time,” Peli greeted Nia, all jokes and ribbing until it came time to talk shop.

Given that Nia was generally better with people, Din stepped away to closely supervise the droids refuelling, anticipating subterfuge.

Peli said she’d give data recovery a try, but it would take time. “And it’ll cost ya. Extra!”

“We expected nothing less,” Nia replied, tossing a bag of credits Peli’s way. “Half now, half when you’re done?”

Peli weighed the bag in hand and made an impressed face. “I like you. Mando should keep you around.”

Nia grinned. “He’s stuck with me, I’m afraid.”

“Eh, he doesn’t look too bothered.” Peli stepped closer, as if to be secretive but didn’t lower her volume one decibel. “What’s he look like under that helmet?”

“Oh, he’s exceptionally beautiful. That’s why he covers his face. Otherwise, everyone would be after him for entirely different reasons.”

“I can hear you,” he said, looking their way now that the droids had finished. Peli laughed and Nia just winked, making his chest glow in reply.

Though a question hovered at the edge of his mind, but he didn’t voice it till they left and made the jump to hyperspace.

“Does it bother you?” he asked Nia, not looking away from the pulsing glow as he leaned against the back wall of the flight deck.

“Does what bother me?” she replied, finishing her final checks.

“That you’ll never know what I look like?”

She glanced back at him, still typing. “I know what you look like.”

“You know what I mean.”

She finished and then turned the captain’s chair around before standing. Silently for a moment, she regarded him so thoroughly that he could almost believe that she could see him straight through the beskar.

“I don’t need to see your face to know what you look like, Din. Ni kar’taylir… veman.”

The pause pulled his throat tight and made his pulse thunder beneath his cuirass.

Ni kar’taylir veman.

I know you truly.

That’s what he’d said that night to her in the rain.

Ni kar’taylir darasuum.

I will know you eternally.

Or I love you.

And he’d nearly meant that.

Perhaps she had too.

She closed the distance between them, hands brushing over the beskar barrier and resting on his shoulders. His found a perfect spot in the small of her back.

“Does it bother you?” she asked, looking at him intently again. “That I’ll never see your face?”

It shouldn’t, that same cruel voice hissed in the back of his mind.

But he found himself without a truly honest answer, just mixed emotions sloshing about his ankles.

“I… don’t know.”

She nodded and shifted to tiptoe to press a kiss to the cheek of his helmet, somehow adding to and soothing the conflict all at once.

He held her close till the disquiet slowly settled, but it never fully left after that.

Peli wasn’t cheap so they immediately returned to Karga for more bounties while they waited to hear back.

The return to their normal rhythm was welcome, but immensely improved by the addition of Nia’s flirting and Nia’s kissing and Nia’s… everything.

It became a race to be able to yank his helmet off as soon as the quarry was thrown into carbonite. Whether killing the power in the hull, or shutting the door on their tiny bunk, or even just trusting her to keep her eyes closed.

How other Mandalorians had managed it before him, he wasn’t quite sure.

He resolved to ask the Armorer the next time he went to the Covert. They used to populate a whole planet; surely it wasn’t a complete sin to remove his armor for her, his Match?

Nia, true to her word, never seemed to mind the elaborate measures they had to take.

If anything, they appeared to amuse her. And… on a few memorable occasions, she really seemed to enjoy them.

But to him, his Oath got heavier every time he put the helmet back on.

It went beyond the novelty of her skin on his.

Something… deeper, larger than just them seemed to nearly shudder to life every time she touched him.

Sometimes he would lie awake in their bunk, braided with her, running a hand through her hair as she slept peacefully on his chest, wondering if she felt it too.

This… thing hurtling towards both of them.

Perhaps if more of the Mandalorians’ history had survived the Empire, he’d know what it was.

But instead, they’d have to figure it out together. Just the two of them.

Just like everything else.

They’d been tracking their latest quarry across a mountainous planet for the better part of the day. The mountains were rocky, mostly barren, and littered with caves that made very convenient hiding spots.

They were both covered head to toe in a fine layer of dust from the wind blowing through the crags and valleys between the peaks. Where Nia had repeatedly cleared it away from her eyes was now a different color than her cheeks.

Hopefully, they were getting close.

“Din,” Nia’s voice called from a half dozen feet behind him. He looked back at her, but didn’t even need to see where she was pointing to notice the rising storm of dust racing towards them.

“There’s a cave up the ridge.” He reached a hand for her and put her in front of him as they hurried up the slope to the opening.

The storm blew them inside, covering them both in a fresh layer of brownish grey. Nia coughed a few times as she stumbled deeper inside.

They had to move quite deep into the cave to be free of the wind. Hoping for a break, Din checked the tracking fob. No, it appeared they were not any closer to their quarry.

As the storm fully arrived, the weak light of the sun was dimmed, casting the cave in near total dark.

He reached for his helmet lamp, but a soft blue glow from behind them stopped his hand.

“What’s that?” Nia murmured, moving towards the glow without a moment’s hesitation. Din followed after taking enough hesitation for both of them.

There was a narrow crack in the wall, just big enough for them to slide through one at time, that opened into a large cavern, the walls lined with what looked to be some sort of bioluminescent moss.

The visor on Din’s helmet immediately beaded with water from the warm, humid air. In the middle of the cavern was a pool of opaque teal water, steam rising slowly from the surface.

“The nav computer did say something about hot springs,” Nia said, already walking down towards the pool.

“It may be unsafe.”

Nia stopped by the edge and dipped her staff into the water. It didn’t appear to harm the wood, or her palm when she caught a few drops. She knelt down and reached for the water, sighing as the dust washed away from her skin.

“I think it’s okay.” She grinned and splashed a small handful on his boots. Then she dropped her staff and immediately started kicking off her boots as she unfurled her braid.

“What are you doing?” Din asked, accused really, as her jacket went the way of her boots. Out of habit, he turned away as she grabbed the hem of her shirt, making her laugh quietly at him.

Though some part of him was ...interested in looking back over his shoulder, he didn’t move.

“I am generously granting the quarry one more hour of freedom.” There was a sound of a zipper and more fabric rustling.

Make that very interested.

He huffed, still not moving and clinging to stubbornness in lieu of actual self-restraint. “We don’t have time…”

“We can’t go anywhere with that storm outside. Might as well relax.” She poked his side, making him jump slightly and meet her teasing smile before she waded into the water.

Oh, he was a lucky lucky lucky man.

“Nia,” he said because every other word seemed to have flown out of his head.

The opaque water came halfway up her torso, just wetting the ends of her hair before she slipped fully under the surface.

“Ohh…” she sighed as she resurfaced. Her grin returned as she noticed him still waffling on the shore, yet absolutely enraptured.

Yeah, she knew she had him. And he really didn’t mind all that much. The view was quite lovely from up here.

She swam closer, giving tempting peaks of her strong arms pulling herself through the water, before sinking down so just her head was above the surface. “I would invite you in, but I’m afraid you’d rust.”

He smiled slightly. “Beskar does not rust.”

“Your iron will might.”

He looked back to the opening. Anyone who tried to break in would have to scramble through there, enough time for him to get to shore and grab his blaster if he had to. He unbuckled his rifle and set it next to her staff.

Nia’s smile was bright enough to light the cavern before she turned around. “I’ll close my eyes.”

It took him several minutes to remove the weapons and the armor and the padding and the jumpsuit and the underclothes. Nia had taken to floating while she waited.

He was careful to set both his helmet and his blaster within easy reach. Then he waded in, a deep groan falling out of him as the extremely rare luxury of warm water seeped into tired muscles.

She must have heard him as she chuckled. “Told you.”

It was dark enough to obscure the fine details, but he still didn’t want to risk anything. So he swam out to her and pulled her into his arms, her back against his chest.

The universe settled into place as she did.

“One hour,” he said, reminding himself more than anything.

They floated together for a while in restful quiet, fingers intertwined and her head tucked under his chin.

It’d been a long time since he’d felt such Peace. It was… heavy, secure and immoveable.

“Are those your stars?” Nia asked quietly. “The tattoo on your back, is that your stars?”

“Yes.”

“Tal’onidir, right?” He nodded, and she hummed. “I don’t–what’s that one again…”

“Blood struggle.”

“Oh… that’s… apt.”

She laughed lightly, making him smile and chuckle.

He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Yours are the interesting ones.” He could still picture the relief of her and the stars beside it. “The Mythosaur crown...”

She shook her head and stiffened. “I don’t think those are really mine.”

“You don’t think you’re destined for greatness?”

She scoffed. “We. We are destined for greatness, if they’re true.”

“But it’ll be difficult.”

“Yes. Hard… but worthwhile in the end…”

The idea of Greatness seemed too big to understand. What did Greatness even mean for a foundling bounty hunter and a former vigilante?

Maybe… maybe it just had to be Great for them.

A home could be Great. Somewhere safe and peaceful. Somewhere to stay for a long time.

Usually even the idea seemed so far out of possibility that it became just fantasy.

He looked down at the curve of her cheek that he could see. The elusive idea didn’t seem quite so far out of reach when he was holding her.

“Wonder what it means?” she murmured, her thoughts apparently similar to his.

He kissed her cheek. “I don’t really care.”

She smiled as he tilted her head back enough to kiss her, soft and slow. Before the angle could become strenuous for her, he kissed up her jaw and then down her neck, feeling her every last muscle completely relax as he made his leisurely way across her shoulder.

Her thumb traced the small bullseye tattoo he’d given himself decades ago on his hand before dragging up his arm to brush over the Mythosaur on his deltoid.

“Do you have any tattoos?” he asked, not lifting his lips from her skin.

“Just the one.”

“Where?”

She chuckled. “Why don’t you find it, bounty hunter?”

Challenge issued and permission granted, he nipped her strong shoulder, making her gasp slightly, before kissing his way back to her neck.

He lifted her hair, intending to kiss his way to the other shoulder, and found it.

The swooping Vod’oya ‘V’ rested at the nape of her neck.

The placement surprised him, he could have sworn it was on her arm. He leaned in to kiss it, then stopped.

Wait.

Why was he surprised?

Why did he think her tattoo was on her arm?

He lifted her arm from the water, turning it to examine all sides in the dim blue glow. No tattoo, just a few old scars.

“Din?” she asked, sounding concerned.

Something in his memory finally clicked.

“Did all the Vod’oya have the ‘V’ tattooed?” he asked.

“Yeah, we all got one after our first mission on Cantonica.”

His thumb stroked across the skin just below her elbow as shock filled his senses.

“You’re not the first Vod’oya I’ve met.”

“What?”

“I had a quarry… few years back. By the Guild code, the events are technically forgotten, but… it’s hard to forget a fight like that.” Something else unlocked. “And then… Karga had me deliver the quarry directly to the client.”

“What did she look like? The Vod’oya?”

The rain on the rooftop came to mind first. Then the hooded woman, blocking his blaster fire with just a simple sword and making it look all too easy.

“Red hair. Tall, broad, a scar on her cheek. The tattoo on her right arm, right here.” He tapped Nia’s forearm again, the image of the unconscious woman he’d carried to his ship finally clear in his mind.

Nia sucked in a slow breath. “Phasia.”

As soon as the storm cleared, they captured the quarry and got back to the ship to contact Peli.

“Do you know what time it is?” Peli grouched, just her staticky voice coming over the com.

“Peli, we need you to look up some dates for us in the records. Tell us what’s there,” Nia said, fingers drumming on the dashboard. “And yes, we know it’ll cost extra.”

Peli grumped. “Alright, what dates?”

“Check about three years ago. Any mention of a kidnapping,” Din said.

“Or Captain reported missing,” Nia added.

There were several prolonged minutes of static-filled quiet from Peli, till finally, “I’m not seeing anything like either of those.”

“Are you finding gaps?” Nia asked.

“No. There’s no mention of anyone going missing at all. The only thing about Captain at this time is her being on shore leave for a week.”

Nia looked back at Din, the gears turning in her head. “Are you positive it was three years ago?”

“Yes.”

She nodded a few times, still thinking. “Thank you, Peli, let us know if you find anything new.” And she hung up.

“So three years ago, Phasia had a bounty put out on her, and she didn’t tell the rest of us that she’d been captured.” Nia frowned. “Why hide that?”

“Shame?”

“We didn’t keep secrets from each other, not like this. And she came back, why wasn’t she bragging about her heroic escape?”

“Maybe she didn’t escape. Maybe she was set free.”

Nia let out a long breath, twisting the end of her braid between her fingers. “Three years is before all the scrubbed mission gaps we found. Maybe they’re connected somehow.” She looked back at him. “Do you remember where you delivered her?”

“Coruscant. A penthouse above level 5000.” He’d never made it past the landing platform, but he remembered the shape of the building. “I think I know where too.”

Coordinates were set immediately. But even in hyperspace it would still take time to arrive.

They went through the motions of appearing busy. Din taking time to oil every weapon in his armory. Nia continued her work on her staff; she was beginning to run out of room.

Despite the ever building mystery, there was a question that had lived in the back of Din’s mind since Cantonica. Since they were stuck in a mandated wait, now was as good a time as any to ask.

“When we met Ro… she said that I was ‘one of them’. What did she mean?”

Nia’s hands stilled on her staff for a second, before resuming. “Did you ever go to the Festival of the Frost on the lake?”

Confused at her reply, he answered, “No. We could see the lanterns from up the mountain. When I was young, I tried to sneak out, but I was found breaking curfew.”

She glanced up at him, still working. “That’s what she meant. That you’re part of the– tribe up the mountain.”

Tribe was not the word she was going to use. He could feel it as clearly as her forced casual demeanor.

“What aren’t you telling me?” he asked, calmly. More curious than anything else.

She looked up now, conflicted, and let out a low breath. “Only what you’re not ready to hear.”

He reached for her hand and paused to take off his gloves, wanting to feel the touch of her skin. Pulling her hands off her staff, he held them gently, thumbs brushing over her bruised knuckles.

“Nia. Please.”

She squeezed his hands and was quiet for a few moments, obviously putting her thoughts in order.

“How long were you on Mandalore? Before the Purge?” she asked, searching his visor.

“I finished my training and was sent out a few months before Keldabe fell.”

“Why didn’t you go to the Festival when you were sent out? You were an adult; you could have competed in the tournaments. Or seen the ruins?”

The very idea twisted something in his gut. “…Because… it’s… it was unwise.”

“What was?”

“To…” Why was she asking this? “To spend time with those who were not true Mandalorians.” The old Armorer’s voice still rang clearly in his ear.

She nodded slowly. “What about me? Am I not a true Mandalorian?”

“Of course you are,” he replied, even though something nasty and cruel inside contradicted his own words.

“I went to the festivals,” she said, still conversationally calm. “I saw the tournaments. I was born in Keldabe.” Am I not a true Mandalorian?

Now that she’d laid it out before him, he could see where his own logic wasn’t adding up. He strained to rectify the gap.

“You’re… different,” he insisted.

“How?”

“You’re my Match.”

“What if I wasn’t? What if I was just a woman from Mandalore that you happened to find on Tatooine?” She was studying him closely, not giving him an inch to escape in. “My ancestors rode the Mythosaur. If the Empire had not invaded, I would have worn my mother’s armor. If I wasn’t your Match, would I still be Mandalorian in your eyes?”

The damning truth was that he knew the answer. And in spite of all of his training telling him it was the correct option, he hated it.

“Why does it matter?” he asked, his words heating slightly in his frustration. “It can’t be changed. You are my Match, which makes you Mandalorian.”

“But it doesn’t make me part of your tribe.”

That banked his frustration, concentrating the heat back his way. She’d been allowed in the Covert when she wasn’t in her right mind. But now… even though he considered her Mandalorian, she was barred from entering.

His Match, and possibly someday his chosen partner, forbidden from his community.

How could that be right?

But it was… wasn’t it?

“What happens, exactly, if another living being sees your face?” Nia asked, drawing his attention back to her concentrated study. “If you revealed it, by choice?”

“I could never put my armor back on,” he said in a low voice, his gut twisting for all new reasons. “If… If I chose to break my Oath, I would return it. To the tribe. Let it be melted down and given to a warrior who deserved it.”

She seemed to sense his unease with just talking about it and squeezed his hands tightly. “And would you still be part of the tribe?”

He shook his head, frowning down at their hands. A black pit had opened in his stomach. “No. I would be… as dead—worse. Forgotten.”

“Then what?”

His gaze lifted. “What?”

“You’ve returned your armor, you’re exiled from the tribe, but you still have your life. Then what?”

His mouth opened and shut a few times as he tried to picture something, anything, that would come after That.

It was just darkness. And isolation.

“Then… Nothing. I would have nothing. I would… deserve nothing.”

She let go of his hand to press the control panel on the wall, immediately killing the lights. He was surprised at her clambering into his lap and pulling off his helmet, before wrapping him in a tight embrace. It was tight enough to squeeze the air out of his lungs, but bracing because of it.

She held him tightly for a minute before speaking. “You’d have me,” she whispered fiercely near his ear. He could hear tears in her voice and that made him hold her just as tightly back.

“You’ll always have me,” she promised, letting go just enough to press her forehead to his. “And even… even if you didn’t have me… you have Peli.”

The absurdity of her sentence pulled a laugh out of him. “What?”

“You’re a good man, Din Djarin. And there are more people like you out there in the galaxy than you may think.”

“Point one out next time you see one,” he muttered.

She huffed in amusement, then sobered. “I understand fearing losing your home, more than most. I do.” Foreheads still touching, she shook her head. “But you’ll never have nothing. And you’ll never deserve it either.”

She kissed his forehead, hands cradling his face as if it was beyond precious to her, despite never seeing it.

Something flickered through where his forehead met her lips, deeper than just a star burst.

A loyalty other than his own. A hope so determined it felt like a gift.

A curling wisp of Connection that evaporated so quickly he could almost second guess its existence at all.

So he pulled her down for a kiss, and he didn’t stop kissing her till they arrived at Coruscant.

Despite the entire planet being one metropolis, there still weren’t too many buildings that reached all the way up to level 5000.

Din was piloting as they approached, trying to picture any other landmarks around the twin-spired building from his memory. If he wasn’t mistaken, it wasn’t too far from the old Senate Plaza.

After an hour or two of searching, Nia suddenly gripped his pauldron. “Wait.”

He pulled out of the flow of traffic and then spotted a twin-spired building. That had to be it, right? He flew closer and the octagonal landing platform for the penthouse came into view. Yes, he remembered that too. This was it.

“Stop,” Nia ordered before they got close.

He turned to ask her and found her scrambling back up against the door out of the flight deck, her eyes wide and frozen on the building.

“Nia.” He leapt out of his chair and reached for her, purposefully blocking her view as his bare hand cupped her cheek.

Connection.

Images suddenly flashed in his mind, as if he was remembering but he knew he’d never seen them before.

Dropping off a grappling line onto an octagonal landing platform, exhilaration and rage flowing hotter than blood as she pelts for the door.

Skulking down a dark wide hall, listening intently for anything, hand gripping her blaster tight, and without warning, the lights blaring on, blinding.

Struggling against restraints on a cold table in a white sterile room as a mask is fitted to her face, panic threatening to drown her before gas hisses and everything dims.

Watching a human man in an elaborate suit run a finger along her cheek, wanting desperately to reach out and strangle him and not a single muscle responding. He smiles.

“Thank you for the intel. You’ll make a lovely gift, my dear.”

Din stumbled back for half a breath, the images stopping as soon as he broke contact with her.

What was that?

Nia’s frozen horror kept him from wondering further. He immediately pulled her into a tight embrace, shielding her from everything.

She was shaking, fingers curling under the edges of his armor. “Don’t go in there,” she begged in a wavering voice.

Even if the last time he hadn’t trusted her gut didn’t nearly kill him, her tone would have been more than enough to change his mind.

“We won’t. I promise.”

They parked The Razor Crest in a nearby docking bay and backtracked to the twin-spired building; Nia remaining calm though definitely uneasy on a second viewing. A nearby building was under construction, giving them a perfect place to set up for reconnaissance.

Nia kept watch on the landing pad while Din did his best to try and hack into the computer system. Despite both of them seeing his face, they still didn’t know the name of the man who owned the penthouse and had chipped her.

Unfortunately, Din wasn’t having a lot of success.

“One of us should learn how to work with computers someday,” Nia said, not looking away from the landing platform. As if it might try something if her eyes shifted an inch.

“I nominate you,” he replied as an error code popped up on screen again.

By the time night fell on Coruscant, neither of them had had any luck in cracking into the system.

“We’re going to have to hire a hacker,” Din said as Nia swore under her breath at the error screen’s most recent appearance.

“We can’t afford a hacker. We could barely afford Peli.”

“We could always come back. People that rich don’t abandon their properties. It’ll still be here.”

Nia frowned in the direction of the twin-spires, but before she could respond, the elevator in the middle of the building chimed for the first time since they’d arrived.

They both scrambled for cover, finding some behind support pillars mere seconds before the doors opened.

Din took the safety off his pulse rifle, making eye contact with Nia who had the better vantage. She dared a glance around and then held up a finger.

One person, they could easily take that.

He held up a flat palm before pointing at himself. Wait, me first. She nodded.

He stepped around the pillar, rifle trained on the small, cloaked figure just outside the doors.

“Who are you?” Din demanded, aiming for the shadow of the hood.

The figure walked forward, their gate smooth yet cautious. “What brings a Mandalorian to investigate this place?” the figure asked instead, her voice aged and lightly accented.

“My business is my own. I have no quarrel with you.”

“We will have a quarrel if you do not tell me why you are here, bounty hunter. You and your accomplice behind the pillar.”

Blaster out, Nia stepped around the pillar. “He asked you a question–who are you?”

The figure stared at her, as if in shock, then said, "Niæna?"

The figure pushed her hood back to reveal an older human woman with a head of curly grey hair and a long scar through one eye.

Nia dropped her blaster.

“Anella?”

Chapter 8: The End

taglist: @loversandantiheroes ; @kelenloth ; @keeper0fthestars ; @sarahjkl82-blog ; @thirstworldproblemss ; @spideysimpossiblegirl ; @i-belong-in-fandoms ; @gallowsjoker ; @nova646 ; @darnitdraco

[voidendron]

Supply Run

One-Shot, 1′817 Words Star Wars/JSE Egos Crossover

(( hm. Sam wasn’t supposed to be in this AU. Nor was Angus??? I’m not really sure how that happened- Clans Magniif and Venat were made up for the purpose of this AU. Also The italics in the dialogue for this mean they’re speaking Mando’a instead of Basic, so they’re a translation. Aaaand I’m going more with the Star Wars Rebels version of Mandalorians for this AU than what there was in The Mandalorian. I think that’s everything oof XD ))

Warnings: Swearing, Violence, Minor Character Death, Child Death, Character Injury, Guns Characters: Marvin the Magnificent, Septic Eye Sam, Angus the Survival Hunter

Coming out of hyperspace, the pilot leaned forward in his seat to speak into the ship’s communications.

“This is Marvin,” he said while keeping his eyes fixed ahead, “I’m approaching the planet. I have the supplies.”

No answer from the other end. He couldn’t help but glare from behind his helmet. He rechecked the coordinates he was headed for; they were still correct. He wasn’t entering the atmosphere from the wrong territory.

“Sami, this is Marvin. Requesting permission to land.”

Silence.

“This is Marvin—is anyone there?”

He tried again, again, one more time—nothing.

“This is Marvin, entering planetary atmosphere. If you don’t want me landing, better speak now.”

Lower, lower, he could see the cracks marring the barren ground now. In the distance, black smoke billowed high into the sky. He narrowed his eyes at it. It was exactly where he was headed. Something heavy settled in the pit of his stomach.

“This is Marvin, someone talk to me. What happened?” No answer. He smacked the console. “Hello? Is anyone there?”

Finally, finally, something happened. Not what he wanted, but something.

Two blips appeared on his radar and they were closing in fast. One of them fired, hitting Marvin’s left engine. He grit his teeth and tried desperately to steady the ship for its inevitable crash-landing.

“This is Marvin, Clan Magniif, House Kryze—why are you firing?! You’re in Clan Magniif land!”

Another shot jostled his ship; he was losing altitude. Fast.

He reached blindly for his jetpack with one hand, the other still trying in vain to steady the ship. The device attached to the beskar plating on his back with ease, he slammed the release for the cockpit, and lunged out of the plummeting ship. Years of practice made it easy for him to steady himself and hover right where the ship had been—right where the seat had been beneath him—moments ago as he scanned the skies for his attacker.

“I don’t know who you are or if you can even hear me,” he growled into an open comm network, fighting his own tongue for the shift into the Basic he so rarely used, “but if you’re stupid enough to attack a Mandalorian, you better fucking make sure you kill ‘em.”

There was no way his attackers were Mandalorian. The move had been far too cowardly: Ambush the unarmed supply transport, try to kill the pilot while he couldn't defend himself. That wasn’t their way—not for any of the clans. He would have at least gotten an answer, however vague, that he wasn’t welcome there.

So who the hell was in Magniif-controlled territory..?

The two TIEs that circled around for another attack were answer enough.

He had explosives at his belt, blasters at either hip, a fully fueled jetpack magnetized to his back, electrostaff slung around his shoulder, but he couldn’t exactly say he’d ever gotten into a dogfight without a goddamn ship.

Go for the wings, he told himself. Plant the explosives on those flimsy fuckers’ wings.

He bolted to the side, then straight up, when the shooting started again. Both fighters overshot and had to circle back around.

That is, if he could even get close enough to grab onto one of them. Here comes the challenge.

Marvin jetted off to the nearest of the pair. He kept himself zagging through the air, kept himself out of range of the guns, reached an arm out and winced as he grabbed hold of one of the wings and could feel the strain it put on his shoulder when the TIE just kept moving. The pilot shouted something at him and the craft was suddenly spinning. It took everything he had just to hold on.

His gloved fingers wanted to slip on the smooth metal, the hatch wouldn’t budge when he tried to pry it open. He banged his head against the wing not once, but twice, through all the spinning and couldn’t be more grateful for the beskar protecting keeping his head from being cracked open.

Hold on. Just a little longer, he told himself. Wait for…now.

When there was a lull in the spinning so the pilot wouldn’t make themself dizzy he pulled an explosive from his belt and smacked it down against the wing’s attachment to the cockpit. A second followed, then a third. All activated, all ticking down. A little nod at his work and he jumped away from the TIE.

The wing was easily blown off and he watched the fighter spiral for the desert so far below and go up in flames when it hit the ground. He offered a brief smirk before focusing his attention on the second TIE.

The second went down far easier than the first. A newly graduated pilot if he was to guess; a rookie who’d underestimated their enemy.

Marvin flew down to the surface to check that both pilots were dead, then took off for his home. He could still see the smoke, still wasn’t getting any answers. He wasn’t sure where the supply ship had landed, but that was the last thing on his mind. Where the hell were his people?

Activating his electrostaff as he landed, Marvin scanned the area with a careful eye.

Every last one of their ships had been destroyed. That explained the smoke.

Some of their sturdier buildings had holes ripped into the walls and not a single tent still stood. Some had been burned to nothing, others collapsed at the supports. A few stormtrooper bodies littered the ground, but the brunt of the damage looked like it had come from above.

“This is Marvin. Is anyone here?”

He kicked a blaster from a trooper’s body and ducked around one of his clan’s destroyed fighters.

“Clan Magniif of House Kryze, show yourselves.”

Nothing.

Poised for another attack, Marvin stalked toward the nearest building. Their leader’s quarters lay within.

“This is Marvin. Clan Magniif, are you here?”

He inched forward, into their leader’s quarters, couldn’t help the growl that bubbled up from his throat. It looked like an explosion had gone up in her room—one probably had—and there she lay. Shrapnel had found its way between her armor plating.

Marvin knelt at her side and felt for a pulse. Nothing.

He couldn’t tell if it was the internal bleeding or ruptured organs that had killed her. Did it really matter? She was dead either way.

“This is Marvin. What the hell happened here?” He wasn’t expecting an answer anymore. Not when he found one of the clan’s children, helmet ripped away and shot execution-style, outside one of the downed tents. Not when he saw two other adult warriors who’d suffered the same fate laying nearby.

He could about piece together what had happened.

The Empire had threatened them long enough. It had only been a matter of time before it “made an example of them.” They never should have helped those Rebel forces.

Marvin’s fingers tightened around his staff. Knowing the Empire, they’d swooped in with far more support than even a Mandalorian clan could handle.

More bodies of his people, most killed the same way: Helmets torn away likely while they were pinned down, tossed aside like they meant nothing, shot point-blank.

Anger burned in his chest. The Empire was a coward.

He—they—

He bared his teeth, and when a hand grabbed for his ankle he spun sharply and pointed one of the charged ends of his staff at—

“Sami?”

He was met only by ragged breathing and the sight of his comrade pinned under one of their destroyed fighters. When Marvin tried to move it so he could pull Sami out from under it, the heavy craft barely budged.

Sami was clawing weakly at the metal pinning them down, at the armor on their chest, as they coughed and wheezed for air. When Marvin stood up—plasma cutter, maybe he could find one and cut the fighter away—Sami reached desperately for him.

“I’ll be right back,” he promised, “just keep breathing for me.” He couldn’t see Sami’s expression behind their helmet, but he could imagine their remaining eye open wide as it followed him.

Focus on Sami, he told himself. You can at least save them.

From there, it was a scramble for a tool he could use. Throwing things, tearing apart already-downed tents, shoving bodies aside, tripping over limbs and weapons and discarded helmets, all while trying to get a call to go through to another clan. Venat. Clan Venat. They’d be the best chance. They were closest. They—

“Who’s this?” Marvin could hear the growl in his ear as he finally hit the right frequency. He never thought he’d be more relieved to hear the thick accent of Clan Venat’s leader.

“Marvin, Clan Magniif, House Kryze.” How many times had he said that today alone? “I… We need help.” Oh, he felt like he was taking a bite out of his own pride saying those words. He hated it. Absolutely hated it.

The laughter on the other end had him gritting his teeth. “And…why would we do that?”

“We’ve been allies in the past. I thought—”

“Hah! Your clan’s real good at stabbin’ its ‘allies’ in the back. Why would that—”

“I don’t think just two of us will be much of a problem anymore,” he growled back.

“…Where’s your leader? Lemme speak with her.”

“Ferr’s dead.”

“Your second?”

“Dead. Dead, dead, fuckin’ dead, Angus! There’s two of us left, and one of us is badly wounded. So you either send help or you don’t.”

A speechless pause answered as he was wrestling with prying open a crushed toolbox. He could only breathe a sigh of relief when he saw the tool he’d been searching for within it.

“Well?” he challenged as he tested the tool on a stormtrooper’s dropped blaster before bolting to Sami’s side to start cutting. “If you do this one damn thing, I’ll be in your debt.”

“…I’m sendin’ a transport. Try anythin’ funny—”

“You’ll kill us on sight. Yeah. Got it.”

He shook his head and turned his comm off. Focus on Sami, he repeated to himself. Cutting away the metal was easy. The hard part was dragging Sami away from the collapsed fighter without injuring them any further.

When Marvin pulled Sami’s helmet off, followed by his own, he was surprised to see how alert the other still was. Their face was smeared in blood and they looked exhausted, but their eye still followed him.

“Clan Venat is coming to help. You’ll be patched right up,” he assured.

“Y-you’re too calm.” They paused, drifted a hand over to weakly squeeze his. “…No. You’re angry.”

Marvin tried to smile, but the scowl remained etched into his face. “I’m gonna find whoever ordered this attack,” he promised, “and tear ‘em apart.”

“Heh…I don’t expect anything less from you.”

[insanely-creative-things]

Big Hero 7: The Series

Big Hero 7 S2

City of Monsters PT 1

*'At the private lab of 'Liv Amara, the woman is waiting by the capsule of the real Liv Amara. This has not been going at all with her plans: Not one bit had gone her way. 'Liv' groaned internally as she recalled all the gold confiscated by Nozako Mizichio, and that's because she had fallen behind her payment to the Madame. To which she and Chris learned about the healing potion and seen just how powerful it truly is. That is when Big Hero 7 just had to barge in along with... the thing..

'Liv': *Shudders* Keep it together... that thing can't talk.

* Now all that is left is this: get the herbal medicine from Cora's family... by marrying into her family. She could still hardly believe that Mizuchi Mizichio is the long thought dead son of Nozako, thus making him the current lord of the clan. But here he is, living like a pauper along with the old hag and his daughter... his daughter Cora.*

'Liv': I'm running out of time, *To the real Liv* Please, hold on a little longer...

*The doors open to reveal Chris coming back with a slight frown on his face.*

'Liv': Well? What does Mizuchi think of his new bed?

Chris: Well...

*He then went on to explain that the presents he sent to Mizuchi over time had done the opposite effect: Instead of making him curios and seek out his admirer, he chose to ignore it and spend time with his family... especially his daughter.*

'Liv': UGH! That's all he ever thinks about! Just about how his daughter!

Chris: I did look in a little bit. I think he's so attached to Cora because she's whats left of Akemi.

'Liv': Akemi?

Chris: Mizuchi's first wife... and Cora's mother... And I have to admit... She was quiet a beauty, no wonder he's not interested. If I wasn't dating Lenny and she was still alive I'd totally do-

'Liv': Chris keep your brain off your pants and focus! Of course... *Sighs frustrated* Well, if receiving gifts from an admirer isn't enough... I may just go in face to face and court him personally...

*'Liv's' face scrunches to a frown as she pulls out an old Sycorax ID card of Cora, awkwardly smiling... this girl.. this little girl had grown from a simple tool she thought she could use had now turned into her greatest adversary: if Nozako were to learn of her granddaughter, there will be no doubt the Madame would arrange that all the power and money after her passing, shall go to this little pest, unaware of her own bloodline.*

'Liv': After I get the medicine and marry your 'Papa'... You're gonna wish you were never born!

*The pressure from her hand cracks the ID before falling into pieces underneath her feet.. and surveyed by Liv Amara's capsule, the same blinking light recording for its user... Lenny frowns at the image before he walks down the hall of the castle, where the doors of the Madame open for him to enter.*

* A sunny day of San Fransokyo is passing along normal for the teen couple Hiro Hamada, and Cora Mizichio… well.. slightly normal. They two are chatting to themselves over minute events of their lifes and even potential projects they could build together. And just following behind them is a familiar, stocky, build of a man in green wearing a motorcyclist helmet. The couple passed by a bus stop when they heard soft footsteps behind them, and so when they turned around all they could see were a couple of alley cats yowling as it launches itself to some poor dude. They continue walking together and turn right to a corner... but when he tried to take a turn as well.*

Hiro: Wasabi, why are you following Cora and I?

*Wasabi yelps as he jumps back by the sudden greeting of the couple.*

Wasabi: *Taking helmet and fake mustache off* What? I haven't been-Well-

*Cora pulls out her own phone and shows the pictures of Wasabi around the places they had gone to throughout their hangout.*

Cora: The street car? Our robotics class, lunch with Aunt Cass, and even from my house!

Hiro: Whats going on?

Wasbai:... They're onto us guys!

*The teen couple blink as soon enough they see the rest of the gang come out of their hiding spots and rip off the fake mustaches off their faces. *

Cora: OK... this clearly needs some talking to...also... why didn't you bother taking proper disguises if you are all wearing fake mustaches?

*They all unanimously agree to group up at Hiro's room to talk about the older people's behavior.*

Hiro: So you all been following Cora and I?

Honey Lemon: Yeah.. and more specifically Cora.

Cora: What? why me?

Gogo: Well for one: Noodle Burger Boy trying to kidnap you multiple times.

Fred: To which leads to *Hums out Obake* kidnapping you himself.

Wasabi: There was also the fact that Sparkles captured you guys for views.

Gogo: The time you were poisoned by a yellow diamond back snake. Why did you think I went to the woods with you two and Krei?

Honey Lemon: And the fact Orso Knox took you through out the city?

Cora: Orso Knox only took me cause he thought I was gonna be hurt by Liv Amara! So it isn't technically kidnapping.

Wasabi: Even so, we're noticing a pattern and we just want you two to be safe.

Hiro: Guys, its fine, we can handle ourselves! Baymax, tell them we don't need protection.

Baymax: *Lighting belly with images of the couple in danger* That would be untrue.

Hiro: Really Baymax? Really?

Honey Lemon: And Liv Amara is out there and she's been a little to forward with you Cora.

Gogo: And we promised your dad that we would protect you...And we promised Tadashi too.

* Hiro and Cora look at the team with widened eyes before looking at each other and both recall their own promise to be by each other's side...and Hiro's mind went to the open house where Cora is screaming for help in the clutches of-*

Cora: Hiro?

Hiro: *Snapping out of it* Wh-what?

Cass: Heyn kids!

*Cass comes up to Hiro's room holding a tray of cookies and a glass of milk. She places the tray onto a space of Hiro's desk before leaving downstairs to continue working. The gang took this as a time to leave the couple be and talk later. And so after they left, the two teens are left on their own, thinking over their past kidnappings before Hiro spoke.*

Hiro: *To Cora* They're right..

Cora: What?

Hiro: I mean... they have a point. You remembered what happened with all of that!

Cora: So do you, and you were kidnapped too.

Hiro: Cora , Liv Amara is out there and who knows what's she's planning. I-I can't risk loosing you again like in the open house! I can't...

*Cora blinks before she lets out a soft smile to which she kisses his cheek, causing the boy to snap out of his melancholic frown to a surprised blush.*

Cora: Babe, whatever comes next, we're here for each other.

Hiro: Yeah.. *Wraps arm around Cora's shoulder* We are...

*'Liv' is currently walking down the hall of her building, turning her head to see how everyone's process is going. She shakes her head at Karmi's lab, at work with a set of 'viruses' that needed to be used for a cure. She should had realized how much of an idiot that Karmi was when she learned that the teen believed that viruses are living organisms rather than non-living set weapons that only attack other living cells.*

'Liv': *Wondering out loud to herself after passing through* Why did I ever give her that internship?

Chris: *Appearing right behind* You thought it would be funny.

*'Liv' couldn't help but chuckle at that.*

'Liv': Anyway, you got things ready?

Chris: Yup. It should be ready to use by the time of your*Winks* 'date'.

'Liv' nods as Chris heads out to complete his other tasks while she pulls out her phone to see that the text she sent has been replied. After reading it she smirks as she types out a response.*

Meet me at La Moulin Rouge Café at 8.

That's when she gets a response*

OK. Done.

*Later on in the day, Hiro and Cora join up the rest of the gang at Fred's patio accompanied by none other than-*

Gogo: What are you doing here Kage?

*Kage rubs his arm gingerly as he looks around the patio with the gang accompanied by his Baymax at his side. Cora steps up and speaks.*

Cora: Papa and Grandmama are busy tonight so Kage will be with us for a while.

Wasabi: Where exactly?

Hiro: Cora's grandmother said something about checking on the ocean for Orso Knox and Mothra-

Fred: Mothra? That's the name you guys came up with?

Cora: Well we can't just keep calling her the creature. And its a name she likes... Papa is...he's...

Kage: *Sighs* The stalker wants to meet up with my brother tonight.

*The gang look at Kage in surprise at hearing those words.*

Fred: Hold on, giant dad is gonna go ahead to meet up his stalker tonight?

Cora: *Disheartened and sarcastic* Yup. *Sighs* hopefully Papa could make the stalker stop it... he's been getting uncomfortable with all these expensive presents.

Kage: Well... *Clears throat* Lets just focus on now. If you try to think of something you have no control of you'll drive yourself in circles. Besides, I do recall Ice-Frost taking over night patrol while you all train am I right?

Cora: Yeah... you're right! We just need to focus on our training right now!

*Hiro nods in agreement with his girlfriend as they whisper to each other. Kage lets out a small content smile until he spots Gogo's suspicious stare directed at him.*

Gogo: *Low voice* We're watching you Kage...

Kage: *Neutral* Understood...

Hiro: OK, while we're still not thrilled about the secret babysitters service, you were right about new threats out there so...

Cora: We-

Fred: *Jumping in front of them excitedly* Did you guys make upgrades?! Tell us you made upgrades!

Baymax: Hiro and Cora made upgrades.

*Soon afterwards the skymaxes arrive carrying their upgraded suits to the foyer. Kage slightly hums, curios about how Hiro and Cora had integrated to their suits to tackle more dangerous foes. They all dress up in their suits and for the most part.. it looks relatively the same.*

Fred: Hold on... they look the same.. so whats different?

Cora: You'll see~*Sing song*

Hiro: Wasabi? Press that button.

*And when Wasabi does he got himself a plasma shield and a plasma dagger coming from both his armor.*

Wasabi: Ooh~! I got a Plasma shield and a Plasma dagger!

Cora: *To Gogo* Wanna try out your disc Gogo?

*Gogo tries to takes the disc from Cora's hand only for the blue haired teen to drop it... and turn into a hover disc.*

Gogo: Hover disc, nice!

Fred: Woah! That is too cool!

Honey Lemon: *Looking at her boots* New boots?!

Hiro: Chem boots!

*Honey lemon squeels in delight before hugging Hiro and Cora tightly. After the bubbly chemist lets go she tests out her chem boots and found to her excitement she could indeed let out any type of chemical compound by the stomp of her boots. She stomps her boots to create an ice slide to which she happily glides through.*

Honey Lemon: *To Gogo* Sweetie look! Oh boy, I can't wait until Miyuki sees this!

Gogo: I do... and ya know. It would be interesting if we three could race? My new wheels versus Miyuki's ice and your chem boots.

Honey Lemon: Sounds exciting!

Fred: *To Hiro and Cora* What do I do?

Hiro: How do you feel about head lights?

Fred: Head lights?

Cora: See that little button in between your costume's eyes? You'll see.

*Fred manages to find the button as he turns around, and soon his costume's eyes let out a bright light that had temporarily blinded the others.*

Fred: Sorry guys! But oh my god this is awesome! I need to come up with a good battle quip just for this... maybe face bright justice!

Gogo: *Using her hoverdisc as a shield* Turn it down! *Softly* Idiot.

Fred: Did Gogo just call me an idiot?

*Soon voice replays of Gogo's description of Fred rings inside his suit... and that could only mean one thing.*

Fred: Do I have-?

Hiro and Cora: Super Hearing?

Fred: This is like Christmas, and my birthday, and the human fist punches up the mirror all rolled into one! Lets jump for joy Honey Lemon.

* Fred and Honey Lemon join hands as they do indeed jump up for joy. Kage hums again, impressed by the work put into their suits. He turns to the teen couple and note somethings similar between their own suits.*

Kage: So, I see you added a lot of new equipment to their ultra suits. If I may ask, what did you two add to your own?

Hiro: Simple, We added over some of the powers Sora helped us create along with a new ultra powered magnetic disc.

Cora: My own gloves can now ooze to escape tight grips and *turns to her back to see the back plate armor sprout a shark fin* open up fins to swim through water easily. *To everyone else* And all the suits are made by a counter-bioluminescent fabric and coating!

Kage: Hmm... that is very impressive... I'm proud of you two.

*The teens look up when they heard that, but when they do Kage is by his Baymax's side talking. But even so, they heard his words clearly... he's proud of them...*

Hiro and Cora: *Slowly giving a small smile to Kage* Thanks.

Honey Lemon: Oh wait! What did you give Baymax?

Cora: ITs a surprise.

*Mizuchi is staring heavily into the café window, his eyes furrowed as he thinks about all the possibilities that could happen if he does go inside to meet his... admirer. Days. Days of presents and love notes, with poems connected to biology and marine biology. flustered as he is to receive such notes and tokens of... affection. This was uncomfortable on so many levels. Besides, as of now his focus are on his brother and his daughter. He just needs to talk to them so they never bother him again.*

Mizuchi: OK... Here I go...

*Mizuchi enters inside the café, looking around until he founds the clue the person left on their message: A bouquet of roses adorned with yellow carnations. He goes to the table and sits on the opposite side. The person lets down their bouquet.*

'Liv': Its so nice to be out on out date isn't it Mizuchi?

Mizuchi: *Shocked* M-Miss Amara?!

________

Mizuchi: You-You were behind-

'Liv': All those presents left on your doorstep? My apologies but I've been so busy with my schedule that I couldn't think of any other way to contact you for this date.

Mizuchi: A date... Of course...

'Liv': Why don't you sit down Mizuchi?

*Mizuchi looks at the chair before he does, his brows still furrowed as he thinks over what he should do next. This is Liv Amara: The woman who had been a bane to his daughter, her boyfriend, and their friends. He knows by know that Liv Amara is more than guilty for all the crimes she committed. But he also shouldn't let her know about it unless he risks all of their lives.*

'Liv': So.. tell me all about your week. I would love to hear it.

*At the remote beaches of San Fransokyo Kaguya is with Orso Knox and Mothra as they converse over their thoughts.*

Kaguya: That was a close one when my Cora fallen ill... her mermaid blood is of dependent of the sea as mine.

Knox: I know. At least once a month you go to the ocean and swim as to hydrate yourself and continue building white cells while you thrive on land.

Kaguya: I had hoped Cora's sudden illness was not related to it.. but I was wrong.. it has gotten stronger. More unpredictable. Now with the witch running around and Mizuchi dealing with his stalker, who knows what else could be revealed about cora's blood?

Knox: I agree, so long as that witch roams freely, no one would ever be safe.

Mothra: *Chirp*….

*Kaguya turns her attention to Mothra, who is staring down at her hands with drooping feelers.*

Kaguya: Are you alright Mothra? Do you need to sleep?

*Mothra gives out a chirp that sounds similar to a child muttering 'I don't know'*

Kaguya: Hmm... I will give my healing tea for you two once Big Hero 7 defeat Liv Amara. You have my word.

*Mothra chirps happily as she hugs the old mermaid tightly, to which Kaguya chuckles slightly while Orso Knox lets out a smile. After some discussion, it was decided between Big Hero 7 that they go out in the field while Kage and his Baymax look for any evidence to corner Liv Amara. Soon enough, they all managed to catch up with Miyuki Frost, already dressed in her super suit.*

Fred: The city was dark...but their hearts were.. light!

*Fred turns on his headlights while Ice Frost and Gogo were jumping round the roof tops with Fred. Miyuki is quick to create a puff of snow to land on safely.*

Fred: Oops! Sorry Gogo! Sorry Miyuki! But you guys have to admit, the quip is getting better.

Wasabi: *Via Comlink* Everything OK over there?

Gogo: Define OK.

*At Wasabi and Honey Lemon's side they were at the top roof of Noodle Burger Boy restaurant while Hiro and Cora are on Baymax flying through the sky.*

Honey Lemon: At least we know we're all out there for each other. *To Hiro and Cora* Now remember you two, if you guys are facing any of Liv Amara's monsters-

Hiro: That we contact you guys immediately and stay close to Baymax.

Cora: We know Honey Lemon, thank you.

Wasabi: At least with all of us out there we could catch each other's backs.

Miyuki: You got that right. So far everything is fine over-

Fred: Wait! I'm getting something!

*Fred turns up his volume to hear what Fred is hearing.*

Wendy: Get away from me! Help!

Fred: I can hear her screaming all the way across the city!

Miyuki: Then lets get a move on!

Gogo: Couldn't agree more.

*Wendy Wower didn't know what just happened. She was just locking up her building for the night when she was confronted by some fungus looking little man. When he grabbed her wrist she simply ripped his hand off her.. only for him to grow in size, appearing like a cross of his old Mayoi and his disgusting smile.*

Wendy: Let me go you fungus freak!

Sparkles: Nope, lets just focus on the abduction right now.

Wendy: I'm not going with you freak!

*Reaching for a small vial she manages to spill sodium chloride onto his hands to which he yelps in pain as Wendy takes this as the time to run. But she really should have accounted for another thing... the growl of the rock bear chimera is enough to stop Wendy in her tracks. Mizuchi and Amara sit quietly at their table as they wait for their own orders to arrive. So far tonight was not going so smoothly, for both Mizuchi and 'Liv Amara'. Neither of them could talk beyond simple topics like the weather or their work. Their talk about their work is especially brief. Mizuchi could not find an appropriate time to tell her to leave him be without appearing to be threating while 'Liv' can't make him more relaxed for her plan to work. *

'Liv': So.. how is your daughter?

Mizuchi: Hmm?

'Liv': Cora, how is she?

Mizuchi: she's fine right now. She had gotten over a very hard fever and is taking it slow.

'Liv': Oh,poor girl! Well, I'm glad she's OK. She was my favorite intern at Sycorax you know... she delivered very interesting notes.

Mizuchi: I know... How have you been recovering since the Orso Knox attack Liv?

'Liv': I'm happy to say that our repairs are finished and I am close to finding the motherload of cures.

Mizuchi: Is that so?

'Liv': yeah. It may appear something so ordinary like tea... but one look closer and it opens up a world of possibilities for this cure... it makes it seem like magic.

*Hiro and Cora are soaring through the sky the rest of Big Hero 7 try to track down the helpless victim trapped in whoever's clutches its in tonight.*

Cora: OK, its seems that Hiro and I have the best chance to catch up to save her!

Honey Lemon: But you guys are still faraway!

Hiro: Its fine! We thought of a back up.

*Hiro presses a button on his chest and soon an extra set of turbos comes flying through and ready to land on Baymax. Hiro and Cora climb down before getting back up. Once they charge up the turbos, they were ready.*

Cora: Blast off!

*And blast off they did. The extra set of turbos sped through the air as Hiro and Cora scream in a mixture of fear and delight, a scream associated with rollercoasters. Before they knew it they were all at San Fransokyo bridge where they see in front of them... a very large, stocky build of Sparkles holding Wendy Wower in his hand.*

Fred: Woah! Have you been hitting the gym?! You look jacked!

Sparkles: Haha! Thank you!

Miyuki: Never mind that! Its time you freeze where you stand!

Hiro: Big Hero 7 has beaten you before Sparkles. And we'll do it again!

Cora: You can bet on it!

Sparkles: A bet? Ooh~ Very interesting. And you are right, seven heroes and one villain... boring.

Momakase: But three villains~

*The team look around to see that Sparkles is not alone. Joining him soon are none other than Momakase, and the rock bear chimera.*

Cora: Oh no...

Sparkles: Plot twist!

_________

Sparkles: Ladies and gentlemen! Its the entertainment event of the season! The defeat of Big Hero 7... plus one Ice Frost.

Fred: That's kind Big Hero 7 Phase three stuff, and we're only in phase two right now so-

Cora: Fredzilla duck!

*Momakase launches through the air to slice apart Fred but he dodged in time. Momakase gave a brief look that spelled out the following.*

Momakase: Once I'm done with him, You're next Bastard Child!

*The other members of the gang see the rock chimera of Bessie come charging up towards them.*

Cora: We can't get near it or our gear is fried!

Miyuki: Then leave him up to me!

Hiro: Ice-Frost wait!

*But Miyuki is already zooming forward to fight head on, turning her head briefly to tell them what she's doing.*

Miyuki: Bessie here can only deactivate tech right? Well lucky me my powers are au natural! So you guys focus on Momakase and Sparkles!

Hiro: You got it!

*Fred continues to hop away from Momakase until she kicks him on the side and is ready to strike down when Wasabi's plasma shield gets in her way. *

Momakase: Ooh~ I see you brought new toys.

Gogo: Sure did.

*Gogo and Honey Lemon choose to go after Sparkles with Gogo throwing her disc at the guy while Honey Lemon uses her chem boots to skate to Wendy Wower in his clutches. With quick thinking and a great aim from her chem bazooka, Honey Lemon freezes Sparkles while Gogo snatches Wendy before she is encased in ice along with him.*

Wendy: Nice shot Chem Princess!

Honey Lemon: Thank you doctor wower!

*Wasabi continues his sword fight with Momakase, both giving their all before Wasabi exhausts himself from dodging so much.*

Momakase: You're not much a challenge are you?

Hiro: Nope, but he is!

*Momakase turns around to see Hiro and Cora jump off Baymax while Miyuki continues to freeze and dodge the chimera.*

Hiro: Over Drive mode Omega Danger!

*And so, with his new ultra armor, he transformed into his new and improved over drive mode.*

Momakase: Oh how cute, don't you remember what happened last time? It didn't go over so well.

Baymax: With Kage's assistance, Aqua Girl built me an extra battery reserve.

Momakase:...Did you just say Kage?

Cora: Baymax rocket fist!

*And soon enough, Baymax charges forward and knocks out Momakase down for the fight.*

Gogo: Wait a minute... Kage helped you on making the battery reserve?

Hiro: I was there! Nothing bad happened.

Miyuki: Guys!

*That's when they all remember Miyuki and her fight with the rock chimera. She is clearly near exhaustion as her body starts to warm up. With quick thinking Hiro contacts Miyuki.*

Hiro: Ice Frost! I have a plan. I'll set up a trap while Cora gives the signal for you to come over where I am!

Miyuki: Alright!

Hiro runs off to the clearing of the traffic where he shoots out two magnetic discs that pin to the sides of the bridge. Cora gives the signal by having her suit reflect the light from the street lights.*

Cora: Come on!

*Cora joins Miyuki as they both run to Baymax as the rock chimera charges at Hiro. But before its very aura could destroy his upgrade, Hiro is quick on his feet and uses the magnetic pull to fly himself up in the air... while Bessie the rock chimera crashes through the gate and into the sea below.*

Wasabi: Woah...

Fred: haha! I am impressed!

Honey Lemon: *To Wower* Are you alright?

Wendy: Woweroos always are.

*That is when the ice casing of Sparkles breaks off and frees him... but at the cost of his jockey build. Now he is back to being his short, pathetic self. He quickly runs off along with momakase, who turns her head and glares at them.*

momakase: You all got lucky...

Cora: Is it really luck? Or are we just good at kicking your ass?

*The two finally leave as the rest of the team check over Wower.*

Wendy: Thanks you guys.

Cora: No problem, lets just get you home.

*After delivering Wendy back home safely, they all meet up at Fred's place to recover from their late night out as Kage now finds himself, along with his own Baymax, in charge of their rest. He remembered the shocked faces the rest of the team expressed when they revealed that their Baymax told momakase that he built the battery reservoir with Cora and Hiro. But after more reassurance and talking, they are cool for now. Chris is at the building checking over the injuries Sparkles and Momakase had gotten.*

Chris: She's definitely not going to like you failed to destroy Big Hero 7.

Momakase: Oh bite me. Where is Liv Amara anyway? You do know we are due for our payment as well!

Chris: Oh.. she's getting there.. Oh! Look at the time!

*He soon uses a syringe to inject Momakase to sleep before she could utter out a question towards him. It had been a long night for Liv and Mizuchi as they now leave the café where news of Big Hero 7 winning is sprawled across every billboard.*

'Liv': *Under her breath* Damn it you had one job!

*But she is quick to hear Mizuchi's sigh of relief... Looking closer to Aqua Girl and the man... They do look similar...what if..*

'Liv': I say you must be really proud of your daughter saving the city again, aren't you?

Mizuchi: *Distractedly* I'm always proud of my Cora, no matter what she does.

*When those words leave his mouth he is frozen still. Soon the weight of what he revealed comes crashing down as he sees 'Liv' smirk at him. She points to an alley down the road as to chat in private, to which he reluctantly followed. Once at a distance where no one would hear them Mizuchi is the first to speak, and with a dangerous glare soon growing on his face.*

Mizuchi: If you lay a hand on my daughter or her boyfriend Hiro-

'Liv': So Electro-Magnetic Alpha is Hiro Hamada? huh.. it fits. Anyway, if you want me to be quiet, then there's one little bit I need you to do... a proposal of sorts.

Mizuchi: I would rather die then be mutated by the likes of you!

'Liv': Oh no... this isn't a business proposal, I already have goons for that... What you need to do Mizuchi, if you want your precious daughter and her wittle boyfriend safe... is marry me.

*mizuchi's eyes widen in shock at her words, not expecting this to be the blackmail.*

Mizuchi: Marry you?!

'Liv': Yes... by marrying you, I can be in line for your mother's gold and power!

*Now his heart is beating faster than mach 2.*

Mizuchi: Y-You know about-

'Liv': I was admittedly shocked to learn that you are Nozako's son and that you lived your life in squalor with your family. But that can change.

Mizuchi: And what makes you say that?!

*That is when Chris hops up to mizuchi's shoulder and injects him with a paralysis serum to which the tall man falls down to his knees before 'Liv' and Chris. Chris then hands 'Liv' an object... a lipstick. After applying them on she walks up to Mizuchi and holds up his head.*

'Liv': ITs alright... by the time we say I do, you'll be wrapped around my finger.

*Morning is rising up at last as the first to wake up is Cora. She notes how she is cuddling next to Hiro with a blanket over them as they slept on their fully charged Baymax. The gang had been given separate mattresses to sleep on, courtesy of Heathcliff, while Kage sleeps on with his baymax. Cora then sees her phone with a text from her grandmother, explaining she got home last night but couldn't find her or Mizuchi. Slightly confused, Cora explained that she had stayed up all night and is recovering at Fred's house, though she points out that her papa could simply be at work already.*

Hiro: *Yawning* Hey... morning.

Cora: Good morning..

*Soon the rest of them wake up before Cora receives an incoming call... from Grandville..*

Cora: Professor Grandville?

Hiro: What's she calling us about?

*Hesitantly Cora answers the phone.*

Cora: Professor Grandville?

Grandville: Cora! Have you and Hiro seen the news?

Cora: News? What news?

Grandville: Look at Sycorax's blog right now! A new post is up and about!

Cora: Grandville.. whats going on?

Grandville: I had just gotten to work when I saw Miss Karmi muttering on about a wedding at Sycorax! I checked over myself and my god! Cora you are in danger!

Cora: W-what? What wedding?

*Hiro is quick to pull out his phone and look up the blog and immediately finds what is this post Grandville is talking about. And immediately... his heart freezes still.*

Fred: Hiro? Hiro? Cora? Whats going on?

*Wasabi turns the TV on to show Bluff Dunder on the new with a picture of Liv Amara... and Mizuchi Mizichio, smiling together happily with the border drawn with hearts and flowers.*

Dunder: It has been 10 hours since the post on Sycorax's blog has announced that not only is Liv Amara engaged to this dashing... fellow.. Mizuchi Mizichio,but that the wedding shall be in three days and invites all to join for this joyous union. Here is a small clip of this announcement.*

*The clip shows Liv Amara, held close by Mizuchi like a couple, as he looks at her tenderly before she smiles*

'Liv': I know that it is a huge surprise to learn of my fiancé, but the moment I met him I knew that we were meant to be. He is a great man with a lovely daughter.

*Cora is shaking in fear even with Hiro holding her still, with the team staring in fear as Kage could only gape flabbergasted and scared. But while their expressions are of fear, everyone else has been congratulating Liv Amara on her upcoming wedding. Karmi delighted over the fact that she could play a role on her idol’s wedding day, at the moment not caring that the man Liv is marrying is infact Cora’s father. The whole city blissfully unaware of the lives she had destroyed... and the ones coming her way.*

'Liv': *Smirking evilly* I do know for sure that in the end, we'll be one big happy family.

A.N: Dun Dun DUUUUUUUUNNNNN! Yup, didn't see that coming huh? thank you for reading Big Hero 7! Love you!

[seeyouinthenextlife]

“Devotion”

~

no one:

me: what’s that I hear?? y’all want another harlebram one shot??

yeah so this is just 50% Helbram teasing King and 50% Helbram being super gay for King LOL

~

“Hey? Are you listening?” Helbram waved a hand in front of Harlequin.

“Huh?” was the fairy king’s unimpressive reply.

A dramatic sigh left the older fairy as he floated a few feet away from the other, “You never listen to me anymore, Harlequin, do you no longer love me?”

Harlequin rolled his eyes, jokingly mumbling something about why does he put up with Helbram. The latter smirked at that; he’d accept this as a win. “What was it you were saying then?” Harlequin tightened his grip on the pillow form of Chastiefol out of habit as he held it close to his chest.

Helbram then retold whatever he had been talking about. The fairy king paid no mind to his best friend again. It wasn’t like Helbram was oblivious; he knew Harlequin, again, wasn’t paying attention. Though this time he didn’t waste his breath, after a couple sentences in he stopped talking. Unfazed, Harlequin just stared at the open field down the hill from where they currently were floating above. A frown settled on Helbram’s face when he realized this wasn’t going to be a make a few jokes, be mildly annoying and then everything will be fine situation. Being ever present since his soul resides in the helmet he got for his best friend, he didn’t need to read the younger’s heart to know what was wrong. For he was there to see and hear it all. He tries to rest a hand on Harlequin’s shoulder but his frown deepens when his hand only phases straight through, “Harle-“

“Helbram,” Harlequin cut him off, rubbing his face as he sighed, sounding as tired as he looked, “I’m sorry but I just want to be alone right now.”

Gaze cast towards the ground, Helbram nodded, “I know,” he looked up towards the clouds then, “But as your advisor I must advise that I am not leaving you alone right now.” He looked towards Harlequin, “And as your best friend, it’s my job to be here for you when you’re hurting.” His brows furrowed, voice soft, “Your other friends might have just decided to give you space but I know better. You’re stuck with me.” He teased the younger. After a few moments of silence, Harlequin refusing to meet Helbram’s eyes, Helbram sighed, “I’m sorry Diane ended up wanting Howzer, it was pretty much crystal clear to everyone how you felt about her-”

“Gee, thanks,” Harlequin muttered, though there was no venom to the words, “Crystal clear to everyone but her.. or if she too knew then it just makes it all worse.” He turned to look at Helbram, the helmet obscuring his eyes, but the deceased fairy could see the tears when they rolled down the younger’s face, “Because if she knew how I felt.. She could have told me she doesn’t feel the same instead of me finding out by seeing them-“ he drops his head, recalling the memory of yesterday afternoon. He had flown down the stairs just in time to see Howzer kiss Diane before taking her hand as they left the Boar’s Hat together to go on a date.

It hurt Helbram to see Harlequin like this. He could feel how heartbroken his best friend is as if it were his own heart that was shattered. But what hurt more was he could hear in Harlequin’s heart.

<And all I want right now is for you to hold me but I’m not able to feel your arms around me..>

“Follow me.” Helbram says abruptly, already flying off in the distance, the helmet flying off Harlequin’s head as it keeps up with Helbram’s movements.

Startled by the suddenness of the request, it takes the fairy king a few seconds before he’s scurrying on after his best friend; rubbing at his face to wipe the tears away. “Wha- Helbram?! Where are we going?” Harlequin stammers as he tries to catch up.

“Ah, I’ll tell you just as soon as you can keep up with me!” Helbram chides, flashing a smug grin towards Harlequin—the younger could only hear him now but Harlequin didn’t need to see it; he could hear it in Helbram’s voice—before zooming off, leaving Harlequin to chase after him.

🦋 🦋 🦋

It takes about a week, but the duo eventually arrive to the town housing the Capital of the Dead. “Go on, we’ve had plenty of good times,” Helbram calls to a confused Harlequin.

It’s only a matter of seconds before Harlequin realizes that Helbram means for the two to enter via a memory of Helbram. “Helbram, I can talk to you and see you with the helmet, why would I take us there?” He gestures vaguely to the path in front of them where he was last time with Diane, Ban, Elizabeth, Hawk and Meliodas when they went to see Elaine.

“Just do it, please?” The older fairy pleaded.

Hesitantly, Harlequin looked from the path to the helmet before following Helbram down the path. He closed his eyes as he played through his memories of Helbram. He figured his most precious memory of Helbram would have to be when he first met him. The day Harlequin hatched, he could remember it as it was yesterday. Helbram crowded him as he introduced himself to the new fairy king. At a later time, Harlequin would learn that Helbram was told by Dahlia that a new ruler would hatch soon. Why? If Helbram knew then he’s never told Harlequin. But Harlequin’s first memories are of that obnoxious and charismatic fairy who had the dumbest and biggest smile on his face as he greeted Harlequin. Welcoming him to the forest and to being his new best friend.

“My, that was a long time ago, huh?” Helbram chuckles.

Opening his eyes, he gasps as he sees Helbram, holding the helmet under his arm. The two made it into the Capital of the Dead, “He-Helbram!” He just stares wide eyed at him like an idiot, “You’re- we’re-“

“Don’t hurt yourself now,” Helbram snickered.

Harlequin huffs, flustered, “I just didn’t think this would work..” he let’s go of Chastiefol, the weapon in its pillow form hovering idly by, aside of the fairy king.

“To be honest, I wasn’t particularly sure it would either,” Helbram shrugged before crossing his legs and resting his arms behind his head to float leisurely in front of his best friend.

“You- what?!” sputtered the younger, “Why did we come here if you weren’t sure we could even get here?”

A mischievous smile spread across the older’s face—and directed right towards the other. Harlequin sighed as he instantly regretted asking. Though, to his surprise, Helbram’s features softened as he looked up at the sky, seeing some of the taller murky, sea-green crystals as well. “You’re right though, I suppose I never did tell you why Dahlia chose to tell me that soon would be our third ruler’s reign.”

More flustered, Harlequin whined now, with the attention brought back to Helbram commenting on matters only he’d know if he’d been listening to his heart and seeing the snippets of memories as they come and go upon being recalled. “Hey, quit reading my heart!”

Helbram ignored him though and continued on, “Dahlia told me the next fairy king would need me.” Harlequin looked shocked, keeping quiet to know what his predecessor had to say about Helbram and him. “Dahlia said: “Helbram, the next king will be a huge crybaby who needs you to keep him in line when he starts slacking! Will you make sure he doesn’t bring shame to our clan?” And who was I to tell our leader no?” He laughed.

Harlequin, rolling his eyes with a groan, picked Chastiefol up and threw it at Helbram, “Ugh, not funny!”

Catching the pillow and continuing to laugh a few moments longer, Helbram smiles at his pouting and slightly embarrassed friend, “Ah, but you should have seen your face!” After Harlequin whined on about how infuriating Helbram was, the latter giggled to himself before starting up again, “No, Dahlia did say you would need me. But also that I’d need you.” He smiled fondly then, meeting Harlequin’s puzzled eyes, “We balance each other out. That we’d help each other grow and achieve our destinies. I’d make sure you wouldn’t let your responsibilities consume you and you’d make sure I wouldn’t cause too much trouble.” He gave the other a thoughtful look, “That we would be the perfect partners and the best of friends.” And jokingly, he added as an afterthought: “Who knew Dahlia was such a psychic, huh? Every day for the following several months I stayed close by the secret tree. I never had a best friend before and knowing that essentially any day now my perfect match would pop into existence had me overflowing with joy.”

“Helbram..” the younger flew closer to his best friend who turned his gaze back to the sky.

“I was so excited to meet you and spend the rest of our lives together. I hadn’t even met you yet but there was no one I wanted to spend my days with more than you. Then you finally hatched and I knew I was right to not have doubted Dahlia. You looked at me and it was as if I too had just hatched. He looked over at Harlequin again to see his best friend looking speechless, trying to process everything. “I brought you here because above everything else, we’re two halves of a whole, Harlequin. I brought you here because you need more from me right now than what the helmet can give.”

“He-Helbram, what are you implying..?” Harlequin’s voice cracked as he was taken off guard, flustered yet again, though Harlequin easily got flustered.

“This.” Was all the older said before bringing the other in for a tight embrace. The helmet dropping to the rocky ground with a loud ‘CLUNK!’. “You wanted me to hold you, crybaby.” He whispered to him.

“Wha-“ Harlequin cut himself off as he lifted a hand to his face where he felt the waterworks flowing. Within moments he was clutching Helbram’s body tightly. Now that he was being presented with the familiarity and calming feeling of his best friend holding him, he didn’t have in him to keep pushing Helbram away. Curious about how all of this was possible right now but ultimately voting against questioning his only shred of comfort that’s helped him feel anything besides broken lately, Harlequin pressed his face into Helbram’s chest, outright sobbing as he tried pulling Helbram impossibly closer.

“Not gonna yell at me again for reading your heart?” Helbram teased.

Pulling from the embrace, Harlequin had tender smile painted on him as tears still flowed down his face. He chose to be in the moment with Helbram, “No, but I’d like to assure you that I do still love you. Very much.”

Helbram’s eyes widened for in surprise for a moment as he remembered the joking comment he made roughly a week earlier. Now his turn to be flustered and stumbling over his words, Harlequin laughed at him. After a few moments he was laughing with him. “It’s good to see you smile and hear you laugh again, Harlequin.” He spoke sweetly.

“Thank you, Helbram, for all of this.”

“It’s my job, apparently, to take care of you,” Helbram chuckled, leaning in close to hold Harlequin again.

The younger moved in Helbram’s hold so that he could press his forehead against the older’s; much to Helbram’s curious surprise. “Eventually we’ll be kicked out of here,” Harlequin murmured, “So let’s make the most of our time here, yeah?”

“Harlequin, what are you implying?” He smirked.

“I’m sure there are plenty of ways to kill the time,” he bit his lip, trying to hold back a laugh at his own horrible pun.

“Not bad, perhaps we’ll make a comedian out of you yet.” The duo giggled. Sobering rather quickly, Helbram pulled back a bit to get a good look at his best friend. As if Helbram could see right through him, which, perhaps, he does. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I will be.” Looking as though he wasn’t completely convinced though, Harlequin leaned in close to rest his head against Helbram’s shoulder, “Even if I wanted to be upset right now, something tells me you wouldn’t allow that.” He chuckled.

Helbram chuckled as well, nodding to himself as he tightened his grip on the fairy king, “Hmm, something tells me you’re absolutely right.” He craned his head downwards so he could press a kiss to Harlequin’s temple, a smile worn by the both of them.

“Hey, you wanna try telling me what you were going on about earlier one more time?”

“Just try to pay attention to me this time.” He laughed before going on for a third time about what he had started a week ago. Harlequin listening attentively this time. And there they hovered for a few minutes, maybe a few hours. Who knows how long they stayed there though it would be correct to say they stayed there happily in each other’s arms.