#have saved the world so many times we've all lost count. i want a fucking drink
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
from a vibes perspective, i totally understand why so many people look at keefe and go âthis guy would be the male equivalent of a wine aunt when heâs olderâ.Â
but. but.Â
taking lore into consideration, in my heart, heâs terrified of alcohol (even if he tries really hard to hide it). because. like. his first exposure is almost guaranteed to be through cassius, and cassius canonically threw a glass extremely close to him at least once when he was, like, 8. maybe cassius wasnât always extra nasty when he was drunk, but thereâs gotta be a correlation in keefeâs brain between risking getting seriously hurt (emotionally or physically) and alcohol consumption thatâs really hard for him to shake.Â
#tw alcohol#tw child abuse mentions#lmk if there's more trigger warnings i should put#i have a thing for hurt/comfort lmao#kotlc#keeper of the lost cities#this is brought to you by:#that one fic my brain started writing internally where it's sophie's 21st bday and she's like man i#have saved the world so many times we've all lost count. i want a fucking drink#and keefe's internally like OH GOD OH FUCK in a bad way but externally he's like yeah babe whatever you want!!#and then she's like. i don't wanna do anything super stupid though. and drinking alone is super stupid when you've never drank before#will you stay w/ me? please?#and keefe's like. i cannot say no to that face#so he spends the night doing an increasingly bad job of hiding how bad he's freaking out#because sophie is a safe space and alcohol is not safe and he doesn't know how to deal w/ the two colliding#ESPECIALLY since sophie's just getting dorkier and sweeter as her filter goes down instead of throwing insults or objects at him#(i feel like sophie would be the kind of drunk that's very impulsive and says EVERYTHING that comes to the forefront of her mind#and stellarlune was more than enough to prove that she sees keefe and a lot of the time her brain just goes hnnngh soft little tortured#artist. MY soft little tortured artist.)#yeah but even intoxicated sophie can tell something's wrong even before he flinches super obviously at an empty glass falling over w/o#breaking. and so she's like nah man it's hurt/comfort time and he's like BUT YOUR BIRTHDAY and she's like do you really think i'm#gonna just let go of the fact that i know you're stressed? i'm not a dickhead keefe#so yeah it ends in cuddles. because of course it does#keefe sencen#annnnd out of the drafts this goes. post!
110 notes
·
View notes
Text
to kill a shadow
(imagine based on the graves' betrayal scene) (also definitely not proofread) (edited bcs i wanted to make the story longer) (also this is my first time writing a fic--well at least after 5-6 years?? so pls be kind to me uwu)
words count: 5,655 character count: 31,118
contents: violence, guns, blood, everything you would find in a typical cod game ofc(can be read as reader!!) x ghost x soap(platonic), everyone r mates, mentions of death, angst!!
(illustration is mine)
"Johnny, Mouse. How copy?"
"Solid."
"Great. Thought we lost you there. Mouse, how copy?"
Silence.
"Mouse?"
Not now, Ghost. I'm working right now. She thought to herself, a knife held tight in her left hand. Crouching right behind a Shadow soldier, her small figure gets even smaller, undetectable to the eyes of the American.
Small hands show to either shoulder of the soldier, the right holding his vest and the left stabbing right to the arteries on the neck. Making sure that there won't be any eyewitnesses, she withdrew the knife to her right, making a big slash no one could able to survive.
The soldier went limp, her right hand already on the vest went tense holding the weight of a dead man two times bigger than her, then left hand soon helped after sheathing the knife back into its pocket. Slowly she put down the soldier to the ground, making sure there was no noise made.
"Mouse busy. Killed a shadow."
"Was already thinking on how to look for a dead body as small as you." Ghost sighed in relief, two comrades alive is better than one.
"No need to. Mouse dead, more Mouse show up later. "
"Yes, and we've got a whole exterminator team outside." Ghost said, his voice low, reminding her of the situation. The sergeant tried to flip her brain right to left, front to back, trying to find a solution. There is no way they're going to hide along the way to safety right? There are just too many of them. Fully armed too, to remind her of their disadvantages.
She was lucky she still had her knife sheathed into her vest when the chaos broke out. Turns out Graves was not the cooperative man they were expecting to be. A fight between teams in this kind of situation is the last thing you would want. Especially against the ones who own attack aircraft that would end anyone in seconds.
The city of Las Almas probably is not the best, most peaceful one in the world, but it has its own charms; the music, the voice of children laughing, the chatter of people, it is never quiet in the city Los Vaqueros dearly loves.
Mouse took a small peek outside the alley, the first one after the last hour running and looking for a shelter to hide. The road that used to be so bright, so busy with locals running here and there is now dark, with nothing but bodies on the ground; men and women-children and also babies, the oh-so-beautiful terracotta floor painted with a shade of blood, streaming down the street, wet with rain.
"Bloody hell." She cursed under her breath, which is definitely the most normal reaction to this kind of scenery. "Does Graves know that they're doing a fucking war crime here?" The three of them can definitely hear the screams of wives, and scared husbands usually followed by a bang that ends them all, and the interrogative Shadows trying to force the Iranian out of his hiding, at least that is what they believe.
"These are innocent civilians..." Soap replied, she can hear the rustling behind his voice, probably still moving around trying to find a place safe enough to take a breath peacefully. "Shadows trying to play hero, aye?"
"Typical American move. Ghost, any ideas on how to escape this shithole?" Mouse has never been happy working with Graves, Shepherd, and anyone who's on their side. Too many orders, no solution. Too many noises for a small mission. She is not a fan of those unnecessary brrrts from the sky but she doesn't hate it, the Warthog-faced plane had saved her life numerous times.
"Stay low. Move through the houses. Make use of what you have. " The Lieutenant is a man of few words, but she had to admit that the things coming out of his mouth are usually useful.
Lucky. Mouse thought to herself, "I've got a knife with me. Soap?"
"Shite, got nothing on me. Probably dropped it somewhere in the forest--ouch--" Soap groaned, no matter how hard he tried to ignore the pain on his right shoulder, it keeps on coming back.
"Soap, you injured?" Mouse went into the empty-used-to-be-homey-coffee shop, her whole body complaining because instead of the sweet smell of her beloved coffee, she is greeted by the fishy smell of dried blood.
"Bullet to my right shoulder. But I'll be fine." Mouse nodded to herself, acknowledging Soap's report. Relying on the minimal light from the street and bright Shadow Jeep headlamp, she scoured the area looking for any extra weapons. It may be an empty house right now, but it still feels bad stealing something that used to be someone's. Especially when they're right there, eyes open wide with blood coming from the hole right between their jaw. The blood is fresh, meaning the Shadows were here, not long ago.
"Give me a sit-rep."
"Welcome to Starbucks, what would you like for today, Sir?" Mouse was proud of that one. She and Soap have been competing on who can make Ghost laugh harder. "Brits don't drink coffee, Mouse." Soap chimed, and she swear she could hear the targeted man chuckle a little. "Wid ye lik' some cuppa, Sir?" He continued teasing Ghost, he enjoys doing it every time. The comedian duo laughed together, satisfied by the joke. "MacTavish, sit-rep." Mouse can swear he was holding his laugh too, but for now, his stern reminder of the ignored comment is all they can get. "Rite, rite. Gated alley, Lt."
Mouse loves it every time someone makes a joke on the comms. These small interactions provide a little reminder of them still being human, not man-killing machines. Being in the army has never been easy, and will never be for anyone in the world, whether you're the strongest soldier or weakest loser out there. The emotional toll will always come like a big wave of a tsunami after every mission. When she was a Private, she believed that there is no way the missions would affect her mental health, that as long as she put nothing but her logical side of the brain into it. She was so tired of the stereotypes that women are much more emotional than men and tried so hard to prove them otherwise. But sometimes the percentage is right, and the surveys don't lie. She broke down in silence not long after her first mission.
Mostly, it was the blood. The only times she has seen blood is when it's flowing out of her flesh. The first time she has seen a fresh body it was so weird, and quickly realized how weak a human body could be.
The guilt of not being able to save everyone will never fade away, no matter how many missions she goes on after that. The kid in the Middle East. The small, weak old grandmother in Russia. The young man who died trying to protect his family in front of her.
The man was holding a handgun still wrapped tight by his dead fingers. Mouse noticed the weapon, and proceeded to take it from the cold skin of the owner, gently. This will help me survive outside. Thank you, and sorry I couldn't arrive earlier to help you. She spoke to the lifeless body in her mind, hoping that it would reach him somewhere, that he would forgive her for not being able to save the family.
She then looked around for any ammunition, because if he owned a gun that means he would have the refills for it, right? She thought and while she scoured the master bedroom for more possible useful stuff, she heard footsteps from the front door.
She stopped for a while trying to listen better to the noise, then held the pistol in both hands. By the weight of it, it seems like the previous owner didn't even get to shoot a bullet before having them in their head. Mouse kept her back to the wall, crouching behind the table in the corner of the room. The suspect of the noise stopped for a while, and from her position, she can see nothing but a familiar pair of boots.
The man is like a walking tower, yet his steps are feather-like. Mouse kept her presence hidden, she knows better than anyone that it would be a stupid idea to ambush a 6-foot-tall military man from the front. The scars and wound marks are proof of it.
She was going to wait until the giant walked past her so she could attack him from his back-until his face come into her sight. It was the lieutenant, probably looking for her and the other sergeant. "I'm inside the coffee shop." She could hear Ghost clearly from her comms, also from the man she planned on killing just a minute ago.
"Ghost! Sir!" She whispered loudly. It has been a long while since the last time she felt comfort in her heart. Seeing a familiar figure after hours of hiding in cold rain surely provide some kind of warmth, at least psychologically. The man in the balaclava somehow is fully-geared from head to toe, looking like a killing machine fresh out of the base. He quickly turned his head to the source of the sound, shoulders relaxed upon realizing that it was his junior behind the wooden table.
"Any injuries?" He asked, keeping it short and simple as always.
"No, Sir. Not a single drop of blood out." She answered, finally stood up, and walked to her superior.
"Good. Keep it that way. Gonna need a backup for exfil." He nodded, then proceeded to go upstairs. Mouse follows him automatically, keeping her footsteps light despite the heavy-duty boots. Ghost walked to the side of the window, Shadows can be seen still scanning the area that is now silent because there is no one alive to be killed anymore.
"See that church? We're going to secure our transportation right there." He pointed to the tall building up on the hills, easily visible because of the lights surrounding it. Probably a Shadow team meeting point. Ghost brought the walkie-talkie to his cloth-covered mouth, "Soap, I have regrouped with Mouse. Meet us at the church, how copy?"
"Loud and clear," Soap responded, almost immediately.
"Soap, can you manage? I can regroup with you first." Mouse reminded herself of Soap's injuries, worried about the lad going to the meeting point alone.
"Aye. Bleeding has stopped, kind of. Will somehow manage." He said, followed by a slight chuckle.
"Stay alive, Johnny." Ghost knows Soap probably better than anyone on the team, he would know when the Scotsman needs help or not.
"Roger, Sir."
Ghost moved his head in the direction of the stairs, ordering her to go downstairs first. She then moved to the direction of the kitchen, then opened the door leading to the back alley. The rainy clouds reflected the light from the church, making it easier to find a way out. Ghost followed her, always making sure no one is looking every time they make a turn into another tight alley.
They made their way into another house, the walls yellow-colored with a splash of dark brown here and there, plants on every corner of the room. Must be a cozy house before this shitshow, she thought. Ghost went straight to the kitchen, finding a rather big kitchen knife and handing it to her. 'Make use of what you have', as the skull-faced man one time said.
"Sir, can I ask you a question?" Mouse broke the silence, either it was her habit of being chatty at the wrong times or her attempt on getting her superior to speak more.
"Speak, Sergeant." He answered, eyes on the kitchen cabinets in front of him.
"How come you're so fully geared? You get a special drop or what?" She chuckled at the last sentence like it was a joke, but it really has been in her mind for a while. She has been going in and out of houses for hours, yet didn't find anything to hold on to as a weapon. How come this man has not one, but two rifles on his back?
"Your first guerilla warfare, kid?" He finally turned his back to the smaller women, slightly nodding his head in question. "You've seen my documents, Sir." Her eyes met with his for a second, then moved to the door to move again. He stayed behind her to keep her back, both of them safe.
Mouse tends to overthink her own actions, also over-analyze others' reactions. Usually by how their lips pout, how their eyebrows crease in confusion after she said something weird, and any changes in facial expressions. By Ghost's face not being visible, she could only rely on the slightest of his eye movements. They're a bit sparkly and strong when he's doing his job, dark when something didn't go his way, sometimes soft when he realized his teammate is injured, and she still can't prove it yet but also sometimes when he's looking at her. Is it because she's a woman? Because she's smaller? Looks weaker? Way greener than him? Anything it is, she doesn't care as long as she can keep working with the team.
"Sometimes you just have to let your experience talk, Mousey." He sometimes calls her Mousey when he's feeling a little bit chatty, usually to emphasize how small a mouse, and Mouse is. She doesn't hate it. Quite the contrary, she kinda loves it. It's like when your best friend gave you a nickname only they can use.
"Can't wait to be as experienced as you, Sir." She turned her head to Ghost one last time before stepping the wet road outside, again. They again stopped before making a turn on the alley. "Don't be like me, Sergeant. Do better." He has seen the glory and the muddy, stinky side of being in the army and he wouldn't wish anyone to see what he has seen and feel what he has felt before. If he could make Mouse stop her career in the military, he would. No human should live restlessly and hold the burden of world peace like this. Especially being in the 141 means that no one on the earth would be thankful for what they did, because if one does, that means they had failed on keeping the task force a secret.
"I can see the church, Sir, but there are too many Shadows walking around," Mouse reported to her superior who was behind her. This time Ghost went first, signaling her to get behind the car across the street. "Find cover. We're going to work our way to the church."
"Roger." The car's engine did warm her body for a bit, having it soaked in water for the last hours. She then peeked into the vehicle, the car key still stuck where it should be, feels like a gift from the great heavens for runaways like her.
"Sir, might want to mark this car. Engine's on, everything's there, we get Soap and run." Mouse said, excited to finally flee from the grasp of the Americans.
"Noted. Now let's move." Ghost led the way, avoiding the enemies' eyes which are ready to fire anyone who doesn't look like one of them. The pair kept on hiding behind cars, slowly making their way into the church.
"Any visual on the church?" Ghost asked the other sergeant.
"Aye. Road's blocked, though." Soap looked around for any threats, then moved to a darker alley, hiding in the shadow, from Shadows. "Try and cut through the shops. Much safer." Ghost warned. "Aye, sir. On my way."
After countless houses and shops, Ghost and Mouse finally reached the side fence of the church. The front steps were heavily guarded by an army of Shadows, making it not an option to sneak from the main gate. They could feel some kind of relief once they stepped on the cold granite floors of the religious building. Shadows might be carefree enough to kill civilians for zero reasons, but they wouldn't be brave enough to attack a church... right?
Whatever the truth is, they proceeded to go to the higher floor of the church. "I'll go first. Watch my back." Ghost said, holding his rifle tight. The church looks like it hasn't been touched by the chaos, chairs, altar, and everything still in place.
Ghost placed himself near the window of the fifth floor, prepared to give Soap the backup he would probably need when he reaches the building. Just right after he placed his sniper rifle(which Mouse kept staring at because how the fuck did he get that?), he noticed a figure that definitely doesn't belong in the Shadows squad. The figure ran into an alley, probably inside the house. The soldiers were facing another direction, not aware enough to notice him.
The pair both know it's ninety-nine-percent Soap who is inside the house. Ghost aimed his rifle at the front door of the said building, his eyes fixed right on the scope. "I'm nearby, Sir," Soap reported through the radio.
Soap was going to open the front door slowly and sneak up to the church, but it was unfortunately locked from the outside. Either he didn't realize that there are enemies outside of the house or a pure case of having so little patience left, he tried prying open the wooden door. Which of course was followed by a rather big noise considering you're hiding from a whole squadron trying to kill you.
"No, no, no, Soap! Not like that!" Mouse loudly whispered, her heart beating fast and muscles tense watching Soap's action from behind the walls of safety, or so she thought.
Soldiers swarmed the door in an instant, meeting one of the guys they have been looking for hours. A loud bang of gunfire echoed, not from the Shadow, but from the man beside Mouse.
Heads soon turned in the direction of the church, giving Soap time to escape. Shadows soon swarmed the church from the front gate, rifles on hand, definitely not trying to repel their sins. If you have done one war crime, why not add more, yeah? Nothing will change anyways.
"We've got visitors here! Meet me on the steps outside!" Ghost packed his sniper rifle, switching to a smaller, M4A1. They ran to the other side of the tower and went downstairs hoping that there will be fewer Shadows there. The American soldiers sure are fast, as one, or two already reached the fifth floor they were camping on. Mouse shot a bullet, piercing through the unprotected area of his face, replied by a bang from the other side. Two bodies dropped to the floor, one in all-black attire and one with a British flag on the right sleeve.
Ghost noticed the fight behind him, then turned his face to find that Mouse isn't there. She might sometimes be stubborn, but there was no time she doesn't obey an order. Ghost was midway to the 4th floor, then just as he was about to reach the fifth, another bang echoed, followed by a heavy thud.
He always has worst-case scenarios prepared in his head, and one is to work out his muscle a little bit and carry Mouse to safety somewhere in this mission. Sometimes his habit gets really spooky and becomes a reality.
"Don't--pick me up. I can go by myself." She grunts, holding up her body with the help of the wall, one hand waving to Ghost, signaling him to not worry. She is not scared of blood, but she hates the smell and the texture of it. She hasn't dared to look at her wound but can feel it from her inner left thigh. "Fast, before another Shadow shows up and kills us both."
Ghost opened his pocket and took out a leather belt, then fastened it right above her wound. He tightened it as much as it could go, then poked a new hole with a knife, the belt resting nice and steady, and of course doing the job of reducing the blood loss at the very least.
"Now we can move." Ghost gave a look of approval in his eye, then helped Mouse to stand straight on the ground. "Quick. I can hear the footsteps. You go first."
Mouse nodded, and they change places. Ghost gave an extra look every time he checks his back, and also every time Mouse took another step downstairs. They stop every time the rustling of army vests and heavy steps of the boots can be heard, wait until they are gone, or shoot them when they're heading their way. Mouse kept count of how many bullets will be left in her handgun, making sure every bullet out are deadly accurate. By the time they reached the ground floor, she only got two left inside the weapon.
Finally made his way to the steps outside the fenced church, Soap was a tad bit confused when he couldn't see any Shadows there. "I'm here, Lt! Area clear, no Shadows!" He reported, but of course, there would be no Shadows outside, because they were all inside chasing for the other two 141 members.
The wooden gate of the church opens, showing a limping small soldier and following a tall man with a skull balaclava, both running for their dear life. "Soap!" Ghost shouted to the man waiting outside of the fence, moving to his location to regroup. Soap shot the gates' lock with a handgun he found earlier, strapped to the body of a dead Shadow. He then opened the heavy gate with his unwounded arm, making it easier for the pair to exit the area they were in.
"Steamin' Jesus, Mouse! Y'alright?" Soap noticed the gunshot wound, the camo cargo pants now dyed dark red. Adrenaline keeps Mouse up, running, and shooting bullets, but other than that, she finds it hard to process. She finds it hard to make a proper sentence to answer him, so she just ran to the car she found before going into the church.
"Mouse found a car before we got here. We need to secure the vehicle!" Ghost ran behind Soap and Mouse, then noticed how Mouse became less and less fast. The bullet probably grazed her femoral arteries, and although not completely sever it, it's still one of the main arteries and it will leak more and more blood as she goes. It is undoubtedly Ghost's belt did wonders because if it doesn't she would've been dead from blood loss right now.
Ghost, being the only unwounded one then ran to the front of them, then picked up Mouse along the way. Usually, Mouse would've resisted, but she had little to no energy for that. "What... the... fuck..." She moved her mouth slowly, still processing what had happened, why is she on the lieutenant's shoulder, why is she not running anymore. One good thing is, Mouse is small enough, at least for Ghost, to carry on his right shoulder.
"Soap, use this!" Ghost passed his assault rifle to the sergeant. "Cover us!" He opened the back door of the Jeep, placing Mouse in a position where she could sit comfortably. Her eyes are still open, aware of everything that is occurring in front of her, but not strong enough to react. The handgun was still held tightly in her left hand, her right hand on the car seat, holding the weight of her body. The blood seems like it's not going to stop any time soon. She grunts, and straightened her body, planning on giving support by making the best out of the two bullets inside her gun.
Soap got inside the car, passenger's seat, and Ghost is driving. The car engine is still on, just like the time they found it. Ghost hit reverse, did a whole donut then hit the gas, reaching the speed that definitely will get anyone a ticket if the town is in its normal state. The Shadows, of course not giving up yet, tried to chase the stolen car. Soap shot rounds of bullets, killing the Shadow that was shooting at them. The driver is still chasing them, but no matter how many times Soap pulls the trigger, the bullets are not coming out. Mouse realized the crisis they're in right now and moved her body to the left side of the seat, took a look at the target, and shoots him. The first bullet was stopped by the window, and the second, the last bullet hit the driver near his neck. Was not the headshot she expected it to be, but still enough to help them run away.
Mouse let out a sigh, adrenaline stopped pumping and a wave of fatigue washes over her. She rested her head on the headrest, then moved her eyes, scanning the inside interior of the car. 'Oh, right' She thought, as her eye stopped on the wet wound. Everything is slow and blurry, and all she thought about was how she wanted to throw her body to a bed and sleep.
"Don't you dare sleep, Osborne." Ghost took a peek in the rearview mirror, finding the sergeant about to doze off. Soap turns his body, keeping a look on the wounded soldier in the back seat. "I'll keep my eyes on her, Lt. Keep driving." He said, and he kept his words, as he literally stared at Mouse without even blinking.
Mouse found the sergeant's action funny and let out a weak chuckle. "Stop. You're scary." Mouse knew that it was game over once she closes her eye. She knows it too well, she has seen it too many times, more than enough.
"Where are we going, Sir?" Soap asked the driver, eyes still on Mouse. "Alejandro has a safe house. We're meeting his men there." If Ghost could go faster, he would. The thing is, this is the fastest a Jeep could go. The blocked roads are also not helping. Soap unfastened his seat belt, then jumped to the back seat. "I'm sorry, little mouse, you know I hate violence but I had to do this."
He hit Mouse's cheeks from both sides, squeezing them and bringing his face closer to hers. "Let's do a little quiz, aye? What's your favorite subject in school?" The surprise slap and sudden quiz did open Mouse's eyes a little bit. "Heh, Lame." The driver chimed in.
"What the fuck, Soap." She laughed. "Mom wansme goodadmahhs." Every second she finds it harder and harder to move her body parts, her mouth not excluded. "Mouse... badadid." Her eyes started getting teary, Soap's question brought up some good memories of her hometown. "Tellmamom... Sorry-ah-lie...d." Her body shakes every time she sniffled, her head full of regret for not being honest with the people she loves.
"You tell them yourself, Natalie. Maybe after we are back in the UK?" Soap's mission was only one, and that is to keep the other sergeant talking. Having little to no energy left, Mouse nodded, hoping that her body wouldn't have to be sent to her house, because it will be funny that Natalie Osborne, who's supposed to be working in the paperwork department of the SAS, died because of a bullet wound.
People who have seen her documents, in this case, Captain Price and Lieutenant Riley, must've known that her parents actually knew about their daughter being in the task force. Her dad actually once became suspicious and called directly to the military hotline. He told them not to tell her, though, because he knows she would be embarrassed as fuck if that happened.
They were approaching the road out of the city but were met with barbed wires, preventing citizens to escape from the lockdown. Ghost didn't hesitate and drove through it, finally getting them out of the destroyed city. The surroundings of the car shifted from the street lights to the dark mountains, and them getting closer to the safe house. She doesn't know if it's because of the lack of lamps, but Mouse felt like her vision is getting darker as time passes. Her headache is gradually getting stronger and her eyelids get heavier each second.
"Hold on, Mousey. The safe house is close. We'll patch you up first thing first." Ghost held tight on the steer, he is not panicking, but no one will ever get used to seeing their teammate's soul slipping out of their hand. They are so close, so close to saving Mouse from the death's door.
"Am sleepy, Simon..." Consciousness fading in and out, she doesn't even realize she's calling her superior by his given name. Wrinkles show up between Soap's eyes, worried about the inevitable. "Come on, hey, you said Mouse don't die, aye?" He gave her cheeks some light taps, in an attempt to wake her up again.
Mexico is not supposed to be this cold, even if it's a rainy night. She doesn't know, it's her first time visiting the country. She could see Soap's mouth moving as if he was talking to her, but she couldn't hear anything. The last thing she wanted to do was to talk. She just wants to lay down somewhere warm and comfy, then sleep.
It all makes sense now. She's not going to be a better person than the Lieutenant, she's not going to be the first female captain in the SAS. The book is closing, and it is by an American betrayer. Should she become a wandering spirit, she will ghost Graves anytime she could. Yeah, that's probably a good plan for her future. She unconsciously chuckled with her last drop of energy, and finally succumbed to the fatigue.
"No, no, no, no, no--Fuck! We're losing her!" He slammed his fist to the car seat, then immediately rushed to fold Mouse's sleeves up and took her gloves off, desperate for any signs of a heartbeat. "How long 'til we get there, Lt?" He finally took his eyes off Mouse after a good hour and gave the Lieutenant a look from the rearview mirror.
"One last turn. Hold tight." Ghost made a hard turn but hardly a drift, the trees fading, and a big barn came into sight. It looks clean but somehow abandoned, with nothing but the field of grass surrounding it.
"I'll carry her. Johnny, you take care of your own wound." Ghost got out of the car first, then opened the back door. "Aye, Sir." Soap nodded, then walked to the said safe house. He kneeled to the iron plates on the ground, suspicious of the placement.
Ghost let out a heavy sigh, then carried the limp body out of the vehicle. He could feel her chest rise and fall softly, a sign for him to not give up hope. He may not say it out loud, but having his subordinate injured under his watch leaves a big guilt on him.
He stopped walking behind the kneeling Scotsman, and he too noticed the object on the grass. "Rigged plates." Soap deducted. "Smart bastard." Ghost approved, amazed by the Mexican Special Forces colonel.
Soap went inside through the open window, his now freshly loaded rifle ready in his hand scanning the lowly lighted area. Ghost followed with Mouse on his shoulder, and a red dot appeared on Soap's forehead. "Don't move." He ordered the sergeant, then a knife was sent flying in the direction of the laser, landing on the wooden pole.
"Who's there?" A familiar sound asked, answered by Soap who realized the owner of the voice. "Rodolfo!" He called, and the mentioned man then appeared from behind the pole.
"Soap! Ghost! Mouse!" His eyes light up, seeing his amigos alive and moving, but his face soon turned the opposite when he laid his eyes on Ghost's shoulder. He jumped out of his hiding, and gave back the knife Ghost threw at him, rushing to help them carry the injured sergeant.
"You guys equipped with proper infirmary?" Ghost waved his hand, signaling the Mexican that he will carry Mouse by himself. "Come," He nodded, then did a light jog to the light switch, turning on some of the barn's light sources. He then pulled down a lever, and wooden barn doors opened, showing them another door, hopefully, filled with medical equipment.
Ghost laid down her body on the hard bed, and gave her one last look, his eyes soft as always. The curious eyes that used to look up at him, were now closed, skin pale. He sighs, he has never been good at expressing emotions, on how to act when his teammate is nearly dying, in front of him. The Los Vaqueros had a combat medic, thank whoever's up there. The British Special Forces went out of the room, entrusting the life of little Mouse in the Mexican soldier's hands.
Whatever results that will come out of the door, one thing that Ghost, and Soap know, is that they were not ready to lose another friend. At least after they all saw her efforts in climbing the harsh world of the army. All those hard work, all the times they have bonded together as a team, as mates. How are they supposed to see Price's face after all this? How to tell Gaz? How to move on to another mission with one gear missing?
They don't have enough time to worry, never enough time for anything. They had to move forward, plan on getting their revenge on Graves and Shepherd, free Alejandro, find Hassan, and save the world from chaos.
One thing they keep in their head, is that you can never kill a Mouse. They will always come back, usually smarter, and even harder to kill. As someone once said:
"Mouse dead, more Mouse show up later. "
#cod ocs#cod oc#cod mw2#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#ghost x oc#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#cod ghost#john soap mactavish x reader#john soap mactavish#cod x reader#cod reader insert#natalie mouse osborne#angst#how could a strip of comic became 5k words fanfic#simon ghosy riley x reader
114 notes
·
View notes
Text
The Roar of Thunder
Bargaining with Beskar, Chapter 12, Book Two Finale
(The Mandalorian x f!reader) (+18)
He couldnât console Grogu, or even get him to eat most days, and that made him just as worthless as Imp scum. The last bounty lay at the end of the wormhole, a pathetic bail jumper that should take no time at all to capture, and once that was complete and the credits collected maybeâŠ
Maybe he should take Grogu home.
<- Previous
Rating: Extra Explicit
Word count: 24.2k SORRY
Content warnings: *deep breath* Dark themes, self loathing, depression, thoughts of suicide, implied parental abuse, drug induced abductions, use of needles, auditory and visual hallucinations, extremely graphic descriptions of violence, blood and gore, stupid amounts of murder. Oh, and smut! Yay!
A/N: THE EPIC CONCLUSION (???) OF BARGAINING WITH BESKAR! Holy shit I can't believe we've made it this far! I know those tags are super fucking intimidating but there is a light at the end of this tunnel, it's just a very long, dark ass tunnel and you're gonna have to work to get there! THANK YOU ALL so much for joining me on this wildass ride that I already said I was finished with once before lol. There's a lot that I'm leaving off with so there's a very good chance I'll come back to this story in the future, but for now, enjoy!
The Crest had been silent before, for years actually, but never like this.
When it had only been him aboard the old gunship, long before the child and much longer before you, silence had been the Mandalorianâs only companion. In the wake of betrayal, the eerie quiet of hyperspace had returned like a plague; creeping in on innumerable, chitinous legs through the Razorâs solid walls, taking up space like something alive.
Or maybe something dead.
Silence was heavy, viscous and rotting in Mandoâs ears. It slithered through his ear canals and down his throat, seeping over his heart like melted tar. It hurt, the silence. Somehow both burning like acid and freezing like ice in his chest and it hurt. It made his bones ache. It made his ears ring in place of the lack of noise, the lack of life and love that he had grown so fond of.
But the silence was better, a hundred, thousand times better than the crying.
Grogu wailed whenever he was awake, sobbing and choking on the tears that streaked down from his cosmic eyes and stopped up his teensy tinsey nose with snot. The little terror never made so much noise in all his life, and he would frequently cry so hard he would tire himself out and fall into a fretful, restless sleep. Din would try everything he could think of, holding the baby, rocking him and shushing him as sweetly as a mountain of metal could; but the child only cried harder for his efforts.
The child wouldnât eat, barely slept, and wept relentlessly. Dinâs shattered heart broke a thousand more times with each fitful sob that tore itâs way out of the tiny toothy mouth of his adopted son, and every day that it continued he thought the agony would kill him.
He knew why Grogu was so heartbroken, though he refused to accept it, still tasting the bitterness of betrayal on his tongue. Dirty Imp. He wanted to be so angry, he still was, but the exhaustion of trying to comfort his son drained every ounce of fight from the mighty warriorâs body. Dinâs decision was final, even if it was starting to feel like the worst decision heâd ever made in his entire life. He wasnât going to let any goddamn Imps near his son, no matter how lovely they were, how beautiful⊠how wonderful.
Grogu was just going to have to get over it.
But...what if he never does?
Din was cradling the child against his bare shoulder, trying, and failing, for the thousandth time that week to get Grogu to calm down. The Mandalorian rocked slowly, holding the childâs head to his shoulder and petting him softly, running his thumbs over his ears in the way that used to make the little beastie coo and hum. Made him close his eyes and sleep. If⊠if he could just get the child to sleep, to relax, maybe he could think straight.
When she was here, what would she do? Din didnât want to think about the monster that he had let into his life, let into his heart, but he couldnât stop the train of thought as it left his mental station. She would sing. She would sing him a lullaby and he would conk right out. They were his favorite. He groaned, blinking up at the hazy cabin lights as if the Maker was up there with better answers.
They were my favorite, too.
Din sighed heavily against the weeping creature he loved so dearly, then started to hum one of the songs he thought he remembered. Low and slow, a deep, rumbling baritone that once was as warm as honey, but now felt cold, lifeless and dull.
There was the briefest of respites in the childâs crying, only to pick back up with a vengeance at the memory of his lost buirâs lullabies. Assaulted by the uptick in the wailing, Din wracked his brain for the words to those songs. Stars, there were so many, but there was one that sort of⊠stuck.
âHey, womp rat, let me see you.â Din pulled the soggy baby from his shoulder, fishing the edge of his cloak around to wipe the childâs flooded eyes. âThere he is. Um, how does it go⊠I have sailed the⊠no thatâs not⊠I went sailing in the midnight sea, something somethingâŠnavigator... wait, please donât cry. Fuck.â
Singing wasnât one of his strong points, no matter how many times you had told him he had a lovely voice, soft and dark and velvety. No, it was you whose voice was spun from gold, not his. You had brought music into his world, that very first day, sitting in the passenger seat with the child in your lap you had broken into a star-shanty that dissolved every barrier the Mandalorian had erected around his heart and sang love into his world.
Your voice wasnât just powerful, it was a siege weapon.
Nothing had ever had that kind of power over him, made him want to rip his helmet from his skull and throw it overboard just to hear your voice as it was meant to be heard in all its glory. And then when he had gotten to hear it clear and true, without the modulation of his audio intake processors, he knew he would never hear anything more beautiful again in his entire life.
His Starsong.
Din tried to bring himself back to the very first song, something about a navigator, guiding a mighty ship through the stars. So long ago, when Grogu had fallen asleep from your lullaby and you were just humming the last verses, you had caught Din staring at you and abruptly cut the song short; thinking that the Mandalorian was ready to slit your throat for being so close to his precious cargo. It wasnât until later, after a victorious but near-fatal hunt that you had been asked to finish it.
You were cradled against his side, tucked into the crook of his arm with your head on his chest, tired and breathless from critical bloodloss and a foolish bout of lovemaking. You had nearly died, and his son had saved your life, given you back to him like a precious keepsake. Din had felt your breathing slow way down, watched your eyes close from behind his visor, and suddenly he just had to know.
How does the song end?
Mmm? Why, do you need a lullaby too?
No, just curious. When you leave, my foundling might ask me about it.
Din stopped rocking the child, struck fast by the memory. Grogu was starting to tire himself out, but the tears still flowed, dampening the flack under his squishy baby face.
When you leave.
He had made a deal with you, one hunt and you were off the hook, spared from carbonite and the Guildâs vengeance; but everything about you enchanted him so much that he nearly broke his own Creed just to feel your body against his, feel your lips on his face, your hands in his hair. Even before he heard your singing his ears had fallen in love with your voice. Maker, the sounds that you had made; the soft little pants, the choked cries, the moans. He had to have you.
He had to hear you.
Ensorcelled by your siren tongue he took you for himself, gave himself to you in the sacred way his Creed demanded should have come after riduurok, but he didnât care. The first time he filled you was heaven, an addiction more fixing than spice. In that moment he was too far gone to try to explain to you that The Way dictated he was bound to you now as your protector, but would have understood if you had told him no. Told him to leave you alone, let you get back to your life. But you had only sunk your claws deeper, given yourself more, entwining yourself with him more closely than the beskar that had been forged around him.
When you leave.
Youâd become protective and caring and dangerous, a weaponized testament to the love youâd grown for your two boys. You hunted with the fury of thunderstorms, defended your kin with your own life, loved them like no one else ever had and it was beautiful. Dinâs foundling became your foundling, and soon youâd become the foundlingâs buir, bound to his little clan by the sacred ceremony of riddurok. Indivisible, inseparable. A pack, a clan, a family.
A lie.
A dirty, filthy, soul crushing lie.
A fucking Imp had been right under his nose, in his fucking bed, whispering in his ear that he was loved, that he meant something. Anger burned behind his eyes at the memories that he once cherished, making their corners sting. Grogu picked up on it instantly, his almost-closed eyes flying back open with another shriek. Din gave up. He couldnât take it anymore. The child was gently lowered to his pram, still sniveling but at least tired enough that maybe he would fall asleep soon.
With squinty, flooded eyes the baby glared up at his adopted father, his ears nearly falling off his head with how droopy they were. He sank his adorable little talons into the fabric of Dinâs wrist, keeping him hostage so the tiny green terror could break his fathers heart just one more time.
âBubu?â
âYes?â
Grogu grumbled with a scowl, looking away from Dinâs exhausted face, trying to find somebody else. âBubu.â
Din had heard the baby use the shorthand of buir for the first time when he was storming up the Crestâs ladder after abandoning you on Elgon Station, hatred and disgust deafening him to the sound of his son's first almost-word. When he was blasting away from the sudden starcruiser, he had heard the baby shouting the sweet phrase over and over and over again, his little voice choked with desperation; and he knew that it wasnât meant for him.
It was meant for you.
Din shook his head, unhooking Grogu from his sleeve. âSorry kid, Itâs just me now.â Fighting the mist forming in his eyes, he closed the lid, sealing the pram with an ugly hiss at yet another betrayal. Sorry kid.
For everything.
Exhausted and broken, Din flopped down in the little sleeping nook that he had once shared with you, sinking into the bedroll. The Tatooinian bed roll. You had picked up the soft, plush foam mattress on your shopping excursion through the desert bazaar, spitting fire about the quality of the bed he had grown used to.
It was your bed roll.
Din was too tired to yank the thing off and shred it like he had been meaning to, at least thatâs what he had been telling himself for the last few cycles. The reality was that it still smelled faintly of you, a scent that was losing its strength with each passing jump through hyperspace. Sleep made him just as restless as his son usually was now, often waking him up in a flop sweat that was slowly replacing the scent in the mattress with wallowing anguish.
Not even an hour after he had laid down he woke up in one such panic, sweat turning to ice on his brow and down the expanse of his chest, and on instinct he reached for you.
But you werenât there.
When you leave⊠her. You left her, Djarin. You left her behind. Left her to die. Itâs your own fault.
Agony and despair and guilt were his only bedfellows now, grinding against his ribs and chewing through the lining of his stomach. He reached up for one of the thin, utilitarian blankets that he kept in the mesh netting high above his head, maybe more to wipe the sweat off than for comfort. Comfort had tricked him and told him lies. Comfort had made him weak, made him blind to the insurgence that laid next to him at night. Comfort was not something he deserved.
The threadbare blanket fell down from its spot, bringing something else down with it.
Bantha wool.
Growling, Did made to throw the fleecy thing away, hoping it would take his painful memories with it, but the smell of you was all over it. Strong as if you were right there with him, as if he held you in his arms again.
He stopped fighting, hugging the desert fabric to his chest and burying his face in it, breathing in the scent of you as if without it he would suffocate and die. He held the air in, feeling it flow through the serrated hole where his heart used to be. The breath in his lungs let itself out, ragged and broken and threatening.
Alone in his little bunk, the best hunter in the parsec swallowed his sobs down, terrified of waking the baby. The scent of you brought him back to that moment, the moment that heâd snapped. Youâd been trying to tell him something, but he had been consumed by his anger, blinded by his hatred of the Empire and the threat that it posed to his son and the memories of what it had done to his people. The Empire that you served.
His body shook at the memory of your confession, I am not an Imp! Thatâs not who I am anymore! Youâd shouted, no, roared, concealing the usage of some kind of⊠interference device that must have been hidden on your person. His visor had flickered and his audio processors blew, nearly deafening him with feedback. The damage done to his helmet was extensive, and like nothing heâd ever seen, the wires and microchips crushed by some phantasmal force. It took days for him to repair, but it was a welcome distraction from his painful memories.
Thatâs not who I am any more.
Din chewed his lip so hard he tasted blood, sucking it back down as not to stain the cherished blanket. Did I make a mistake? No. An Imp doesnât change its plasticast⊠does it? Even⊠even one as strong and beautiful as her. He breathed the scent of you in deep, curling up on his cot until his knees touched the wall, digging up yet another tainted memory.
The memory of him kneeling before you, of him asking for your hand.
You donât know me! Youâd sobbed, waving around a sword of pure beskar inches from his throat. You donât know where Iâve been, what Iâve done!
Youâd told him right then and there that you werenât to be trusted, but... it was too late.
He was in love.
Bedazzled in a pair of opalized fangs far too lavish for such a warrior, heâd sank to his knees at your feet, asking for your hand, or your judgement.
You may now ask him to swear his oaths, and should they please you, you may remove his helmet. However, should he dishonor you, you may remove his head.
It was almost unfair, such an ultimatum of love or death.
You broke every single vow you swore to her, Djarin. How are you any better than an Imp? She loved you, and you threw her out like garbage. You purged that love from your life, forsaking the one that you called ner jateâkara, your guiding star. Without her, you will die in the darkness that you have brought upon yourself.
Without love there was only death left for him, though there wasnât a single being in this parsec that would be capable of killing himâŠ
Except-
Himself.
The brakes had long gone out on his mental trains, and horrifying clarity wrenched his eyes open in the darkness of the bunk. Maybe death would feel better than the heartbreak he was suffering from now. Maybe giving himself up to the cold embrace of the void would feel less damning, less crushing.
To leave this universe on his own volition, and not on the valorous battlefield, was considered the lowest form of dishonor a Mandalorian could endure. Darâmanda. But⊠thatâs what he was. An honorless cur, an oathbreaker. Though his bond to you had been rendered completely fucking worthless, he was still bound to the baby as his father.
Though...maybeâŠ
Maybe he shouldnât be.
He couldnât console Grogu, or even get him to eat most days, and that made him just as worthless as Imp scum. The last bounty lay at the end of the wormhole, a pathetic bail jumper that should take no time at all to capture, and once that was complete and the credits collected maybeâŠ
Maybe he should take Grogu home.
To his people, his real people like he was supposed to do eons ago.
What is it?
It is a foundling. And by Creed, until it is of age or reunited with its own kind, you are as its father.
Din had taken that last line to heart. The last memory he had of his own father still haunted his nightmares, the image of his parentâs eyes glassy with frightened tears as they closed the bunker door over him right before the droid army took their lives.
Decades later an opportunity had been presented to him, an opportunity to give this child a father to grow up with; though the child would likely live for centuries after Din died from either old age or, more likely, a bullet hole. His unknown people had not been good enough to protect the baby, to keep him out of harm's way and out of the grasp of the Empire, but a Mandalorian would be.
Or, so he had told himself.
Somewhere out in the vastness of space were potentially more little green creatures that were missing one of their own, and he had selfishly stolen Grogu away from them to live out his fantasy of being a father.
No.
It wasnât right, it hadnât been from the start.
And now he was being punished for it.
One more hunt, one last credit haul to fuel his ship up, and he would return the baby to his people, giving Groguâs real parents every cent he had left in the most desperate hope that they would forgive him. Forgive him for stealing a child.
And then.
Then it would be over.
There would be nothing left for him.
As if there was anything left for him now.
~
It took a couple of cycles to convince yourself that it wasnât a nightmare, and even longer to come to terms with your waking reality. Your wayward journey through the stars was over just as quickly as it had begun, and you were right back at square one where you had started.
Inside of you a dull, constant ache had settled in the spot where your heart used to be, bitter and stinging against the anger that was growing in your ribs and the nausea festering in your guts. You couldnât close your eyes without seeing the rage-twisted face of the man you had thought you loved, thought you trusted; the image worse than any nightmare. You ran through the scenario over and over and over until it drove you to silent, secretive tears.
Years of learning to track, hunt, and kill quarry was only a blip on your mental radar compared to the memories you had made with the Mandalorian and his son during the short time you had known them. You wanted to remember the good things, like the sweet laughter of the child or even the funny, gross-ish noises that Din made when he ate. Anything but those furious, hateful eyes and bared teeth, but that was all you saw whenever you so much as blinked.
Behind your closed eyes was the face of rage, but when your eyes were open it was even harder to convince yourself this was your reality, because you kept seeing⊠something. A flicker here, a flash of blue there. The feeling that someone was standing next to you when you were in an empty room, as rare as that was now that you were back under the ever-watchful eye of the Admiral.
Though your eyes were playing tricks on you, that wasnât the strangest thing youâd noticed about the old dragon. Aside from the Admiral there wasnât a single member of the skeletal crew that you recognized, though almost all of them wore some form of duraplast covering their faces. Every bilgerat you had grown up with had vanished, as well as most of the officers that youâd actually grown to like, including Chief Wellers, the engineering deck staffed with more droids now than people.
It was strange to say the least, and lonely, being left with only one recognizable face that you loathed. The unfamiliar officers glared at you while you were being led up the Wyvernâs wide entryway days ago, making judgemental passes at your hunt-fucked attire. To better match the remaining crew you were stripped of your gear and weapons and given a fresh, beige-and-black uniform that rode up under your arms and chaffed your thighs. And to add insult to injury you had even been given a stupid little hat to top it off. You hated it, but at least it had pockets. Pockets full of secrets.
Wrapped up in the red silk kerchief that you had stolen on Canto Bight, the pair of beloved fossils weighed heavy against your thigh, a piercing reminder of another life. Why are you keeping them? He left you, dumbass. Heâs not coming back. True as that may be, you werenât ready to let go, the wound was still too fresh, too recent. You missed those strange boys from the stars, and the tiny collection of trinkets was all you had left of a life that had actually meant something to you.
A set of beskar ear cuffs, a red pocket square, and a pair of kraytâs teeth.
An entire lifetime sitting in the palms of your hands.
You had one in your hand now, the opalized bone glittering under fluorescent lights while you used it to pick at the undersides of your nails, the priceless gemstones reduced to cleaning tools. Glancing up at the ship's clock you calculated how long you had before Forescythe would come around to âwake youâ, as if youâd slept at all in the last three days.
The Wyvernâs Tongue was surprisingly still docked at the station you had been abandoned on, a scorching reminder of your trauma every time you passed a porthole or walked the bridge, stuck to the Admiralâs side like he had you on a leash. It was difficult to tell what they were loading the ship up with, but every time you saw the station you caught another massive skiff-load of something with the word HAZARDOUS in big yellow letters being hauled aboard from one of the other starships that had docked nearby.
You heard footsteps outside your spartan quarters, getting closer then fading away. Stormtrooper. Though you werenât being kept prisoner, exactly, the constant vigil between the Admiral and the troopers left you little-to-no privacy, with only the smallests gaps in their overlaps. The rotation of the guards through the hallways was militant with its timing, and it wouldnât be much longer before you had all of their routes memorized.
The long-strided gait of the Admiral echoed far down the hallway, and you snuck your fangs into your pockets so you could make yourself presentable. Oh-seven-hundred, on the dot. Barely a courtesy knock was given before the detestable man was letting himself into your room, running through the dayâs itinerary after a hastily given âGood morning, Sparrow.â
Sparrow. Your deadname was dropped frequently, scalding your steeled ears each time, though rarely was it said with anything short of admiration. You almost wanted to be scolded, and you should have been for dissenting for as long as you did, but the way the Admiral talked to you was friendly, dangerously friendly; and the sweet-talking only made you resent him more.
âToday is the last day we will be docked at Elgon, weâve nearly finished loading up on the...supplies, and will be in hyperspace soon. This old girlâs been fitted with an updated hyperdrive, so weâll make the trip to our destination in good time.â You nodded, avoiding conversation. It was best that you spoke to him as little as possible to perpetuate the lie that you had become tone deaf, and you could tell that it drove him insane. Good, fuck your shit to hell. He gestured for you to follow him on his rounds, walking alongside him like an obedient puppy. âCome along, little bird, there is much for us to do today.â
âYessir.â
He froze and turned back at you, a pouty face stretched grossly across his gaunt features. âNow now, Sparrow, I know youâre upset that youâre not my comms officer anymore, but youâre home again, you can drop the formalities when weâre in private.â He crossed the short distance to you, placing his hands on your shoulder and digging his thumbs into the deep-set bruises that he couldnât see. âYou donât have to call me sir.â
You wished you could vomit on command, spew acid like a voxyn and melt the Admiral's face clean off, peel his smile right off of his skull. You knew what he wanted, but you would rather cut off your own tongue than give it to him. But you knew what would happen if he didnât get what he wanted, your skin crawling at repressed memories. He left you no choice.
âYes⊠father.â
âThere, doesnât that sound better? Almost makes me feel like you never even left.â
No it wasnât better, it was horrid. You forced your face to stay neutral, but behind your eyes you were seething. It must have been the anger welling up inside you that made you see something flicker over the Admiralâs shoulder. Something that definitely wasnât there.
You were going to get off of this ship if it fucking killed you.
~
Of course it had to be Tatooine.
The dirtball of a planet lit up the viewport in front of Din, bathing the cockpit in sickly, lemon-yellow light. The Crest slid easily through the thin atmosphere on well-tuned wings, coasting over the infinitely stretching desert until the familiar skyline of Mos Eisley rose into view.
Mando took the old gunship in with rehearsed accuracy, alighting gracefully on the landing pad in the center of hangar 3-5, though not even the roar of the Razorâs engines could drown out the high pitched argument already echoing around the circular space.
âYou gotta lotta nerve showing up here again, Mando!â Peli barked, tapping her foot like a disgruntled hare when the Mandalorian started down the ramp. She took a big breath to really launch into a tirade when she saw the foundling, with his huge sad eyes and limply drooping ears. âWhat⊠whatâs wrong with the baby? Isâee sick or somethinâ?â Din started to hand her the child, but she raised her arms defensively. âLook, heâs cuteân all but I-I donât need a sick kid on my hands.â
âHeâs not sick, heâs... fine.â Din said in a low, level voice, devoid of almost all emotion. Somewhat reluctantly the mechanic took Grogu from him, and the little green baby curled up in a ball of sadness, hiding his head under her chin.
âAlright, if you say so. I donât mind watchinâ him as long as he donât upchuck on my jumpsuit.â She glanced past the iron giantâs shoulders, her eyebrows raised almost comically. âWhereâs the other one? You get rid of her finally?â Din was still for a moment, then gave a single, slow nod. âGood. Bout time someone turned that Imp in. Iâm tellinâ ya, she cheated at sabbac like-â
âHow did you know she was an Imp?â Mando asked, suddenly alive.
âI have my ways.â She chided. Din cocked his head vehemently above stiffened shoulders. âAlright alright donât look at me like that, geez. When she showed up here it was in a Shimian pleasure cruiser, yâknow one of those fancy, expensive lookinâ ones. Obviously stolen. She wanted me to take it, even offered to pay me just to take it offâer hands, but I wasnât gonna fall for that. She had alotta credits too, almost enough to talk me into it, almost! Thatâs when she pulled out an Imperial officerâs insignia, pure aurodium and easily worth a fortune.â
Peli paused to adjust Grogu, smoothing a wayward ear out of her face. âIf sheâdâa picked it off a corpse thereâs no way she wouldâa kept it. Nuh-uh, wouldâa sold that baby the first chance she got. Nah, it meant something to her once, or maybe it was just the last bargaining chip she had, I donât know.â
The mechanic shrugged. âEither way, I took the token anâ fenced the ship, made alotta cash that day. If she didnât cheat at sabacc so damn much Iâd invite her over more often!â The mechanic snorted a laugh, then a serious look crossed her face. âHey, um, Mando⊠you werenât⊠you werenât too rough with her, were ya? When you turned her in? She wasnât a bad egg, yâknow. Bit snarky but- â
Leather fists creaked at the end of armored wrists, trying to strangle the pain that was constricting his heart. âCan you watch the child or not?â
Surprised by his harsh tone, Peli nodded quickly and watched the Mandalorian spin around on his heel and storm back up the ramp into the Crest without another word. The confused mechanic looked down to Grogu with a playful scowl. âWhatâs his deal, huh, womp rat?â The child cooed sadly, hiding his face. âOh, that bad, huh? Wanna tell me about it over some bantha burgers? Theyâre fresh! Câmon, you look like youâre wasting away, dad not feeding you right?â
âPa..tu...â
With the childâs care secured, Din started his preparations for the hunt. Dressing-down was second nature to him, and going through the motions helped him clear his mind, tune him into his natural state of being. At the armory, he popped fresh cartridges into his blasters, refilled the slug-strap that crossed his chest, and picked out a handful of vibroblades.
He reached into the bottom of the locker, trying to dig out a whetstone when he heard the sweet ringing of ironsong where his wrist armor chimed against a beskar mask. Heâd stashed the engagement present as far down in the armory as he could, somewhere that it would remain hidden, somewhere that it couldnât stare back at him; the eyeless visage glaring daggers of judgement straight through his skull.
Oathbreaker.
Growling, he shoved the slab of steel out of the way, knocking it into something else in the bottom of the armory: Imp guns.
He stopped digging for a moment, cocking his helmet at the collection of grimey, rust-ridden armaments that were dirtying up the bottom of the cabinet. Din pulled one of the standard-issue blasters up into the slanted daylight coming in from the open door, turning it over in his hands. The guns had been collected on Nevarro from a decrepit squad of stormtroopers caught harassing townspeople for information on the missing mandos.
Stormtroopers that you had killed.
Imps killing Imps? That⊠doesnât make sense. Why would she kill her own people? He shook his head. Why would they abduct children or blow up planets? Killing their own isnât that far-fetched. He tossed the blaster back into the locker, covering the beskar faceplate with the rest of the Imp accessories until it was back out of sight.
Finished with arming himself, he took a deep breath and held it in his chest for as long as he could, letting it out slow and steady. He fished the singular bounty fob from his belt, the tracking light flashing with a rhythmic candor. Nearby, but not close. That means theyâre probably in town.
This will be easy.
~
The hour was late, or as late as it could be in a place where âdayâ and ânightâ were only concepts represented by the arms of a clock, but it was perfect for what you needed to do. You were dressed and your pockets were stuffed, bag slung over your shoulder exactly as it had been the first time youâd ran away from home. Five fifteen, three minutes before the next pass of guards.
Your plan was flawless. The Wyvernâs labyrinthian hallways and service spaces would lead you to the hangar bay just as they had years ago, it was just a matter of doing so unseen. If you played your cards right you would miss each and every patrol until you could snag another interceptor and get the hell outta dodge. The Wyvern was scheduled to disembark Elgon at oh-seven-hundred, making this your last chance to escape before the ship was swallowed by the stars.
Five sixteen.
Patting your front pockets where your fangs were hidden, you paced the room, running through the pathway again and again. Straight down the hallway past the guard quarters, left at the galley. Unscrew the loose air vent at the end of the breezeway and take that to the main air shaft âtil you reach the mid deck, then itâs a straight shot-
DÌ”ÍÌ«oÌ·nÌžâtÌ· leaÌžÌveÌ·.
You stopped your pacing and blinked, glancing around the room for the source of the voice. When you saw no one, you sighed and rubbed your temples. Not this shit again. The incessant voice of your nightmares had stopped being scary and started being just downright annoying. Youâd started to get good at ignoring the sound, though it just loved keeping you up at night.
Who needs sleep, anyway?
Five seventeen. Your shoulders crackled when you rolled them, trying to loosen the bruised tissue that the Mandalorian had put in their joints. Asshole. You were about to start counting seconds when you heard the troopers boots echoing faintly from down the hallway. Right on t-
DÌ·Ío̶nÌ”ÍâÌŽÌtÌ·Í Ì”ÍÍlÌ·Ì̱eavÌ”e!
âFuck off, spooky.â You hissed to no one in particular. âIâm blowinâ this popsicle stand and ainât no goddamn ghost gonna keep me here a minute longer.â The bootsteps got louder until they were right outside your door, then continued down the hallway.
Five eighteen on the dot. You waited until the footfalls disappeared entirely, then snuck your way out through the bulkhead door, careful not to make a sound. The long, low-lit corridors echoed with the whirring innards of the Wyvern, but nothing else. Not even your bootsteps.
Much quieter than the ghosts that haunted your dreams, you slinked down the hallway, past the closed door of the guard quarters, hugging the wall by the galley until the five twenty-one patrol passed, then flew to the air vent on the far side of the kitchen.
A knife would have worked better, but a fossil fang was good enough to undo the corner screws that kept the grate in place. You slipped down the air duct right before the five-twenty-three patrol rounded the far corner. Waiting until they passed so they wouldnât hear you, you belly-crawled down the narrow shaft until you dropped into the main air supply.
Wind rushed around you, delivering precious oxygen to every corner of the ship, but even over the near-howling gales you could still hear Spooky giving you a ration of crap.
YoÌ·uÌ” caÌŽnÌ·Ìnot leÌžÌÌȘaÌ”ve! Ì”ÍSÌ·tayÌŽ ÌžÌstÌ·Íay ÌŽsÌ·tÌ”ÌaÌ·y̟̔ sÌ·ÍtaÌ”Ìy
âYou fucking suck!â You spat, hobbling through the just-too-short-to-stand-up ventilation. âKeep your damn pie hole shut unless you have something useful to-â
HÌŽeâÌŽÍs ÌŽÌc̶Ìoming.
You hit the brakes, possibly sacrificing precious time. âWho, Forescythe? Heâs gotta get his beauty rest, that old fuckâll be down at least til-â
NÌ”Ío̶Í, nÌŽoÌžt̶ ÌŽÌhiÌ”m, Din.
Ice coagulated in your veins before it was replaced with molten rage. âOh. Oh ho HO.â You laughed, barely keeping your voice down. âNow⊠now youâve done it, Spook. Now I know youâre not real, and Iâm just completely batshit! Off my rocker!â You soldiered on, a manic grin on your face. âHe is definetly not fucking coming. And if youâd been paying attention youâd know that too.â
HÌŽeâÌŽÍs ÌŽÌc̶Ìoming!
âBlow me.â You hustled through the ductwork until you were above the entryway to the hangar. The interceptor bay was on its own air supply in case a magcon failed and vacuumed all the air out, a separate system from the one you were in now. That way the rest of the ship would still have precious oxygen in the event of catastrophe, all you had to do now was get through the door.
The five-thirty-five trooper plodded sleepily along, tilting his egghead back to sip at a steaming mug of caf. What is the point of having a guard rotation if theyâre not even awake. Once heâd rounded the corner you set to work on the air vent, quickly spinning the threaded ends of the screws around between your fingers until they clattered to the floor far below.
Carefully you moved the grate out of the way and dropped to the decking in front of the hangar door. Bingo! You dashed to the access panel, slapping your hand on the wide palm reader. Go go go go! The blue laser light slid back and forth, back and forth, lazily reading your fingerprints. Come on!!!
The panel went red. ENTRY DENIED.
âCocksucker!â You slapped the screen, demanding it take another reading, but instead it flashed another line of text: SPW-7042 PRE-EXISTING MEDICAL CONDITION DETECTED, ENTRY BARRED DUE TO HAZARDOUS RHYDONIUM EXPOSURE.
ââScuse me?!â you poked at the screen like an geriatric Gungan, âThe hell do you mean rhydonium? What fucking lunatic loads a starship up with rhydonium?! Whatever, fuck your rhydonium nonsense you big goddamn hunk of junk, let me through!â
A third line of text ticked across the screen: CONDITION: PREGNANT.
You BARKED you laughed so hard. âWooooow, that starfuel must be fuckinâ with your circuits, shitscraps, Iâve been chipped since I was thirteen. Ainât nobody home.â Loud footsteps echoed further down the hallway, times up. Cursing silently, you poked at the screen until the faulty reading cleared, then booked it in the opposite direction of the incoming trooper. Your plan to escape had been thwarted by the Wyvernâs garbage security protocols, and without another way through you were stuck until the ship made it out of hyperspace.
In a week.
~
Somebody had once equated Mos Eisley to a wretched hive of scum and villainy, and the description couldnât possibly be more on the nose. A multitude of shady market-goers hustled and bustled down the desert streets, kicking up sand and dust as they went. The Tatooinian bazaar was one of the few places that the Mandalorian blended in, amid the multitude of colorful characters the armored hunter was practically invisible.
Din ambled through the streets, not even trying to be sneaky, though behind his beskar he was suspicious of everyone that passed him by. He wasnât too concerned about his last bounty, almost nonchalantly making his way to the cantina where the bail jumper would certainly be at with their nose buried in either a deck of cards or a shot of spotchka. Or both.
It was easy to follow the street signs to the local dive bar, making him feel almost lazy with how little effort this would take. Feeling bored almost to the point of pessimism, he took a deep breath, the filtered air bringing with it the smell of street food.
He stopped, holding the air in his lungs before forcing it out quickly, taking another handful of deep sniffs. Though he wasnât eating much these days, or sleeping, or anything else that humans needed to do in order to function properly, the aroma of whatever was being cooked distracted him until it had his full, undivided attention.
Din followed his nose off of the path he was taking to the cantina, his helmet tilting back slightly with each strong inhalation, taking him down the busy main street until he spotted the source of the familiar spice.
Over a large fire a spit was turning with what looked like oversized root vegetables, slathered in herbs and spices and grilled to perfection. Mando cocked his bucket at the rotisserie, ignoring the chef that was trying to hassle him into buying something, trying to figure out what was so familiar about it.
Then it hit him.
You.
Many moons ago, heâd watched you book it out of the safety of the hangar and dash towards the delicious street food while the Mandalorian began picking off the hunters that were still chasing you. Youâd barely even looked up from your meal as the bounty hunter dragged a squirming Trandoshan down an alleyway and slit itâs scaly throat. It wasnât until a whole drop through hyperspace later that Din had found out that you had bought him one of the grilled veggies as well. Before you even knew his name.
Mando, you never ate your breakfast.
You⊠got me breakfast?
Yes? I said I would.
Thank you⊠youâre very kind.
And donât you forget it!
The memory flooded his synapses with forgotten joy before being replaced with scalding fury. He shook his head, storming off down the busy main road, dead set now on finding his quarry. How dare you let that fucking Imp continue to distract you. Get to work.
The doors to the cantina nearly broke off when the living locomotive plowed through them, barging his way through the sleazy patrons towards the bar. Lively music and inhalant smoke hung heavy in the air, shrouding the far corners of the saloon and the secrets they may have kept hidden.
Din was too annoyed with himself to properly check his surroundings, but whatever, itâs just Mos Eisley, he could whip every fucko in this joint with his hands tied behind his back if it struck his fancy. He strode up to the bartender with an air of disgruntled confidence so strong it rivaled the smoky atmosphere with its potency. The Mandalorian fished the final bounty puck out of his many pockets and slammed it down on the counter, its holoprojection wavering in the heady smog.
âHave you seen this man?â Din snapped at the bartender, pointing at the weasley-looking face of the bail jumper shining above the counter.
The barkeep, a shaggy-looking Toydarian with a torn wing, eyed the beskar clad warrior suspiciously. âHmm. Canâtaâ sayâa have.'' he huffed, clearly lying.
âAre you sure?â Din asked, sliding a couple of credits over the counter. âMaybe this will jog your memory.â The Toydarian snatched the coins off the counter with shovel-clawed fingers, stowing them away on his belt.
He leaned forward, the acrid smell of alcohol and rotting teeth quickly overpowering the stench of tobacco. âMaybe I seeâs âim, maybes I donâtâŠâ Another couple of credits clinked to the counter and immediately vanished from view. âYa, I seeâs âim.â He stroked his thickly bristled chin, seemingly deep in thought. âYou know what? Youâa seemâa like a good guy, why donâtâa I takeâa you to âim, hmm? Come come come.â
The creatureâs wings flapped unevenly as he rose off the stepstool he was using behind the bar, floating through the cantina towards a door obscured by an ornate drapery. Din started to follow, but stopped, feeling his hackles rise on the back of his neck. Should I actually follow this guy? Maybe itâs a trap. He pulled the fob out from his belt just enough that he could see the blinking light flashing quicker than before. Iâll be fine, letâs just get this over with.
The Toydarian opened the door behind the curtain, and immediately the reek of Spice wafted up from the hidden cellar. Drug den, great. That would make sense, what better way to spend your bail money than Huttese Spice, wasting away in the dark. Cautiously he made his way down the stone steps, the light of the cantina fading away as the door started to close behind him. Before it shut, he knew he heard the barkeep mutter something under his breath.
âCoo ya maya stupaâŠâ You weak minded fool.
Din whirled at the insult, but the door had already slammed shut, echoing loudly through the hollow passageway. Cursing, Mando continued down the stairs into the spice den, the aroma of the coveted drug growing stronger with each step until it was making him nauseous. At the foot of the stairs was a low, poorly lit room, the stucco ceiling strung over with dark purple lanterns that steeped the den in near-darkness. Strewn about the floor, the inebriated lounged on pillows or rugs, or even the bare stone, plumes of narcotic smoke dancing over their shadowy faces, obscuring most from view.
Pulling the fob out again, he hovered the tracking device over each intoxicated body, waiting for the light to change green. His search took him further and further into the basement until he had to switch on his headlamp just to be able to see. At the farthest end of the room the last possible person was slumped against the wall, and the hunter crossed the remaining distance to the limp figure, grabbing them roughly by the shoulder and hauling them into the light.
The dead manâs withered head snapped from its twiggy neck and rolled away into the dark, making Din nearly throw the corpse to the ground, the body rattling in the manacles that chained it to the wall. Startled, he backed away quickly, too quickly, backing into something sharp. He tried to whirl around on his sudden assailant, but the stabbing pain of an addictâs needle immediately pierced through the thick layers of his duraweave and into his flesh.
Reacting on fear more than training, he lashed out wildly, firing his blaster with one hand and his flame thrower with the other. The wall of fire lit the cellar up brighter than daylight, illuminating the alien faces of the falsely-inebriated attackers that had been lying in wait for the barkeep to send another fool into their trap. Fearing for his life, for his son, Din battled his way through the many hands grabbing at him, but even in his fury he started to feel his pulse slowing down, reacting to the heavy dose of Spice he had been pricked with.
The room began to spin, his eyes began to lose sight, and it wasnât until his skull cracked against the dirty floor that he realized his helmet had been removed in the fray, damning him forever in the eyes of his Creed. As the world began to fade away he felt himself get kicked over onto his face and a pair of cuffs locked around his wrists.
âSkocha-kloonkee, the Impsâa gonna payâa lotâsa money for you, mister bucket man. Hehehe, shouldâa known better thanâa to go into a spicehole alone.â
Before Din lost consciousness entirely, his spiked mind conjured up an image of you, lounging in the passenger seat with Grogu seated on your lap, watching the stars streak by overhead. He tried to reach you, his arms straining weakly against his fetters, trying to touch the memory of you one last time. You turned to him and smiled, holding the babyâs fat little paw up and waving it at him.
âBeans, say bye-bye to papa.â
~
The hour was still early, but you were already dressed in your stupid little monkey suit, ears clad in your empty beskar cuffs, pockets full of fabric and fangs; backpack abandoned entirely to avoid suspicion. Today you would be finding out where the Wyvern was destined for when she left port, but you didnât really care. All that mattered was that the hangar doors would be open during the myriad of activities.
Today was your chance to escape.
*Beep!* Dropping from hyperspace in: one hour.
The navigational warning chimed throughout the expansive corridors of the Wyvern, echoing pragmatically in your spartan room, and you danced a little jig with excitement. Toodle-oo, fuckos! Consider this popsicle stand: blown!
In your abysmally small quarters the fresher area left much to be desired, but the Admiral had at least done you the decency of giving you a private room with itâs own washing space, as tiny as it was. The shower, sink, and potty all shared the same square footage, and the mirror on the wall was barely big enough to fit your face.
You were working on your appearance now, making yourself presentable before father dearest came around. The more you looked like you had accepted your position as crewmate, the less likely he was to notice you go missing when you slipped away. You combed your hair with your fingers, brushing it back as to more easily seat the dumb little hat on your head. Turning away from the mirror, you picked the hat up off the sink and started to put it on, but nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw someone else's eyes staring back at you.
YoÌ·uÌ” caÌŽnÌ·Ìnot leÌžÌÌȘaÌ”ve.
Angrily you stomped your foot, startled by the flickering, faceless apparition that wasnât physically there when you turned around. âShit balls of motherfucking hell! I canât get offâa this ship fast enough! I canât get away from you fast enough!â You smushed your hat on your head, glaring at the bluish, indeterminate figure.
HÌŽeâÌŽÍs ÌŽÌc̶Ìoming.
âListen here, you ectoplasmic bitch.â You hissed with fury, stabbing your pointer finger at the warped image in the aluminum. âI donât know who you are, or where youâre getting your âinformationâ from, but he ainât coming!â The deep-cut wounds of heartbreak that had started to scar over split open again, spilling fresh sorrow down over your ribs. âI-I donât need him anyway. I can handle this myself.â
He nÌ”eeÌ”d̶s yÌ”oÌŽÍ̧u̶.
âBullshit!â You stormed away from the mirror while the Wyvernâs antique wiring faulted overhead, making the fluorescent lights flicker and allowing the shadows to reveal the space where the phantom was standing; casting a faint, ghastly aura on the corners of the room. Snatching a fang from your pocket you whirled on the void, brandishing the pointy end at where a throat might be. âWhoâdâya think you are, anyway, huh? Acting like you know whatâs best for me? Telling me that Dinâs gonna come back? Ainât no knight-in-shining-beskar coming for me and Iâm sick of you telling me otherwise!â
HÌŽeâÌŽÍs ÌŽÌc̶Ìoming.
âThatâs it! Iâve had it with your games! Your lies! Show yourself, you spookyass motherfucker! Show me who you really are!â
Sweat began to bead on your brow, anger and heartbreak and venom coursing hotly through your veins until it was pulsating behind your eyes. You grabbed the second fang, ready to sink your teeth into the incessant phantom, their edges cutting into the marks they had already put on your palms once before. To any onlookers you would have appeared like a madwoman, brandishing glittering fossils at empty space, your lips pulled back in a snarl, ready to strike.
âI said show yourself!â
Out went the lights.
And in came the ghosts.
Though the bulbs overhead had blacked out completely, the room was radiating with the light of the sudden crowd, the masses of shimmering specters appearing to go on endlessly throughout a space bigger than your room, bigger even than the Wyvern herself, stretching well beyond the edges of infinity. Farther and farther and farther until your eyes couldnât distinguish them anymore.
There. Were. Billions.
You blinked fast, your breath catching in your lungs until you were nearly hyperventilating, feeling claustrophobic amid the incorporeal congregation. The sweat on your brow turned to ice, your eyes darting between every face, every person, every body, seeing them clearly for the first time.
Some of them wore elaborate robes, some of them were dressed like peasants, and even more distressing were a collection of beskar plated warriors, their visors glowing with otherworldly light. There were species you were familiar with, and many many more that you werenât. Some of them were even wearing white duraplast, their eggshells cracked to reveal the glowing eyes underneath.
Some of them you recognized.
âWe are the victims of the Empire. The citizens of Alderaan, of Jedha, Scarif, Mandalore and countless others. The Republic we once served turned its back on us, and then its weapons, eradicating the very people that brought it into being.â
Many voices spoke at once, the cacophony of it resonating in your skull until you were clawing at your ears, nearly dropping your impromptu daggers to protect yourself from the skull-splitting noise.
âYou must stop it from happening again, but you can not do so alone. Only with your soulmate at your side will you save the people from the vindication of the Empire.â
Hot tears stung at your eyes, flooding out from a place of fear and anger. âSoulmate? SOULMATE?! Bullshit! Bullshit bulllshit bullshit! Din is not my soulmate, if he was then he wouldnât have left me here rot! Dumped me on the Empireâs front fucking door like yesterdayâs garbage! Not that I can even blame him anymore, who could ever love an Imp? We are monsters!â
âYou are not an Imp, Traâlaar. You are something far greater than they will ever be.â
The sound of your gifted name hurt in your chest more than the broiling hatred that bubbled underneath your broken heart, taking you down to your knees. In front of you, a pair of specters knelt down to your level, a man and a woman in intricately embroidered red robes. The womanâs eyes were warm and adoring, and the way her cheeks rolled high almost made you feel calm, maybe even loved. The manâs aquiline nose stood out beautifully above his radiant smile, giving you the impression that this was a man who would go to the ends of the galaxy for those he loved.
They looked hauntingly familiar.
The woman reached for your hand, and you felt her. You felt her holding you, as if she were really there, her dainty fingers brushing over where the fang was biting into your skin, fading away the pain. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she was still smiling, looking at you like someone seeing the stars for the very first time.
âYou are Hope Incarnate.â
You bolted upright from your little cot, gasping for air until your throat was so dry it felt like fire. Sweat streaked over your brow and down the dip of your spine, soaking the sheets under you. With wild, bloodshot eyes you searched around your closet-sized room for any trace of the phantoms, but even in the dim night light you could tell you were alone. Angry with yourself, you slammed a fist into the steel wall, furious that you had been duped by hyperspace yet again.
The pain of striking the unforgiving hull stung more than you thought it should. Flipping on the lights, you gasped when you looked at your palms, the healed krayt bites red with fresh blood. It had been days since you sliced your palms on their edges, pounding on the bottom of the Razor Crests ramp, and the skin had long since closed up. But now it was as fresh as the day they had been cut, weeping crimson.
I have got to get off of this ship.
It took the remainder of the hour to compose yourself, getting out of your sweat-soaked pajamas and tending to your wounds; but at least Spooky and Friends let you be. Your mind replayed the omen on repeat until you were certain that you had completely lost your mind. No such thing as ghosts. You are tired, you are stressed, and you are completely absolutely one hundred percent bonkers. Fuck this entire noise.
Dressed in your stupid little outfit, for real this time, you sat at the edge of your bed until the the Wyvernâs navigational warning sounded again, giving you only a moment before the ship was dropped out of hyperspace. Eager to get the fuck out, you ran out of your room so quickly that you nearly smashed into the Admiral as he was coming around. âAh, good morning, Sparrow. I see youâre eager to start the day. Come, I need you on the bridge.â
Obediently you followed along behind Forescythe without a word, letting the imposing captain carve a swath through the multitude of scurrying crewmates as you made your way to the flight deck. When the blast doors opened on the wide, triangular space, your eyes went right over the heads of the officers and out the window to the bright yellow world hanging beneath the ship.
âIs that⊠Is that Tatooine?â
âHow very observant of you. Yes, it is indeed, though it wonât be for much longer.â
Whispers hissed at your eardrums, you must stop it from happening again. âWhat do you mean?â
The Admiral chuckled, the sound grating like nails on chalkboard. âItâs been hard keeping this secret from you, little bird, but you know how much I love surprises! Oh, look, here comes the rest of the fleet.â He nodded towards the transparisteel as another, smaller starcruiser came into view. Then another, and another, and another until there were at least a dozen titanium daggers hovering in a semi-circle that spanned out on either side of the Wyvern like wings.
âThe Empire has been busy since you left,â he scolded, folding his arms behind his back like some kind of skeletal vulture. âThe Death Star is obsolete, though the mere idea of a supermassive planet destroyer was folly from the beginning, taking decades to build and almost as long to fire. No more, now we can vaporize an entire world with just one single ship.â He gestured with a flourish, blind to the color draining from your face. âThe Wyvern will be at the forefront of the Empireâs destructive capabilities, and lucky you, you will have the honor of a front row seat. What a pity it is that you cannot serenade Tatooineâs demise with one of your songs.â
Stinging bile crept up your throat, threatening to send you into a panic. âTh-thereâs people down there. How can you justify killing so many innocents?â
Forecythe scoffed, âInnocents?! On that dirtball of a planet? Inconceivable. The Maker will thank us for wiping it off of the face-â His monologue was interrupted by a hailing beacon lighting up on the communication officer's holodeck. The officer in your old seat answered the incoming transmission, talking to whoever was on the other line through their headset.
âSir, theyâve located the target.â
âExcellent! And on Tatooine, no less. How ironic. Have the target transported to the receiving hangar so we may make their acquaintance.â
Youâd long since become numb to the Admiralâs prattling, your mind racing to find a way to stop Tatooine from being wiped off the map. The ugly little hunk of rock had done you no favors, but that wasnât an excuse to add more names to the list of dead. You were startled when you were addressed again.
âCome along, little bird, I have a gift for you.â Forescythe said with a crooked smile. If he was trying to be genuine, the effect was entirely lost upon you, his gummy smile reminding you of the forgotten captainâs corpse youâd discovered on Endor. I donât want anything from you, monster. You flashed him a pair of raised eyebrows in response, and he turned on his heel, waving for you to follow. Whatever the distraction was would at least buy you some time.
You dutifully walked alongside the Admiral through the ship towards the balcony that oversaw the receiving bay. The hangar was swarming with troopers and officers alike, eagerly anticipating the transport unit that was easing itself through the magcon field. The bloated tick of a ship billowed with steam as its landing gear deployed, and soon the short access ramp was angling to the ground. Out first stepped a pair of troopers, their guns drawn on the open door.
Then, out stepped a man.
He was cuffed with his arms behind his back, escorted by another pair of troopers manhandling him down the ramp. Blood poured freely from a wound on his scalp, matting his dark brown curls and pooling in the exposed recess of his eyes. His gait was unsteady, though he was still futilely trying to wrest himself free of the troopers as they marched him through the hangar. You nearly puked your heart out at the sight.
Din.
The Admiral laughed proudly, âTheyâve caught that damned mando that everyoneâs been on about, though Iâm not entirely sure why Moff Gideon struggled so much to catch him, or even what he wanted from such a loathsome creature. Thereâs nothing of value on him except maybe his armor.â A vile glint sparked in the manâs eyes. âIt will be so much fun to peel it off.â
You barely heard his words over the sound of your heartbeat thundering violently through your ears. No.. no no no no no. Another egghead disembarked from the transport, carrying Dinâs helmet like an empty garbage can. You swallowed around the cotton growing in your mouth, fumbling for words. âThey took his helmet off...â
âIndeed. Being uncrowned is the greatest dishonor you can inflict on one of those wretched things, it renders them worse than dead in the eyes of their cult. After we remove Tatooine from the sky we should-â
âBefore.â You interrupted, your voice cold and level, far cry from the hurricane of turmoil you were choking down. âBefore we attack Tatooine. I want... I want to tear his armor off, and then I want him to watch. As punishment for stealing my ship.â
The Admiralâs wicked grin sent shivers down your spine, and you knew your lie had taken root. âVery well! Oh Sparrow, itâs so good to have you back aboard. Iâd always wondered if youâd taken after me.â Disgust welled up in your guts at the pride beaming off the vile man, but at least you were going to get close to Din.
And do⊠what, exactly?
The tall man leaned over the balcony railing, shouting down at the guards. âTake the prisoner to the bridge, and make him⊠comfortable. Wouldnât want him to miss the show!â Behind you Forescythe turned on his heel and set off back towards the bridge, and you cast a wary glance down at the prisoner below. Dinâs bloody head hung limpy, but when it swung your way his blackened eyes caught you, glaring daggers through your soul before one of the guards cold-clocked him between his shoulder blades.
If Dinâs here then whereâs Grogu? You watched the transport unit, scanning for signs of life, but it appeared to be empty. Ok, maybe they didnât get him. Your already sickened heart did a violent backflip in your chest, or maybe they did and took him somewhere else, or worse, left him for dead. Din and the guards disappeared through a sliding bulkhead, and you sprang to life to hurry in the Admiralâs footsteps.
When you arrived at the bridge, the stormtroopers had already magnetized Dinâs cuffed wrists to the wall, dangling him just far enough off the floor that he couldnât support his weight properly with his legs. The blood clouding his eyes dripped down the length of his nose and over his lips, staining his teeth crimson. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, hinting at a broken rib or two; but worst of all were his eyes. Bared for all to see, violating his Creed with every Imperial gaze that fell on his uncovered face, and yet the pools of bloodied earth were locked to only one other pair.
Yours.
âLooks like he remembers you.â Forescythe said with a villainous laugh, striding slowly over to the manacled Mandalorian. âMy my, would you look at him, he is quite impressive, or at least he wasâ. The Admiral hovered just out of Dinâs kicking range, cocking his head like a raptor eyeing a weak little mouse. âSee this marking?â he said, pointing a bony finger at the mudhorn on Dinâs pauldron. âThey only get these when they become clan leaders. This oneâs probably got a whole nest somewhere, breeding like rats. Is that what Moff Gideon was after, hmm? The rest of your bucket headed zealots?â
Din growled, the timbre of it so low and threatening you felt a chill run down your spine. He shouldnât be here. Though you were still furious with him for what he did to you, you knew this wasnât a fate that he deserved. Doesnât he though? Doesnât he deserve exactly what he did to me? Bile burned in the back of your throat. No, nobody deserves this, not even him.
Forescythe chuckled darkly at the Mandalorianâs weak show of bravado. âI was there, you know, when they gave the order to eviscerate that pathetic excuse for a planet.â Yellowed teeth shined under cold, soulless eyes in a smile that could freeze blood. âI was one of the first commanders to get to⊠test out the kyber crystal technology that eventually led to the creation of the Death Star. They made me a captain for it, commissioned a Corellian ship for me and everything.â He leaned in close to Din, grinning wickedly at the warriorâs seething anger. âDoesnât Mandalore look so pretty now, all turned to glass?â
âDemagolka!â
The admiral scoffed at the searing insult, nodding to one of the guards. An electric prod crackled to life in the trooperâs grip before it was being stabbed into Dinâs unarmored side, making him cry out in pain.
âNo!â You shrieked, immediately covering your incriminating piehole. Fuck.
-flicker flick-
Forescythe glanced up at the sputtering lights, then slowly, maliciously down to you. He scrutinized you a moment, then readdressed the guard, not taking his eyes away from your failing facade.
âAgain.â
-czzt cRaCK cRAcK CRACK!!-
You ground your molars into paste trying to keep yourself from screaming, but tears pricking in the corners of your eyes gave away your distress, and when the Admiral signaled the guard a third time it became unbearable.
âStop it!â You roared through snarling teeth, ignoring the faulty lighting and the feel of the ship quake underneath you.
Forescytheâs eyes lit up like fireworks. âI knew it.â he hissed, his lips curling upwards in a serpentis sneer. âI knew that voice of yours was special, but I never realized you needed a catalyst in order to unlock your potential. Does this... upset you?â He snapped his fingers at the guard, sending another bolt of electricity through Dinâs body and bringing more angry tears to your eyes.
âStop hurting him! Iâll.. Iâll do whatever you want just let him go!â You yanked the cuffs off of your ears and cast them on the floor, the sound of beskar on durasteel jingling like loose change. âIâll⊠Iâll sing. Whatever you want, just stop hurting him!â
âOh, no... weâre well past that now, little bird.â Forescythe loomed over you, an evil glint in his eye. âNow that I know I didnât waste all those years training your voice, weâre going to take it for a little spin.â
Little miss well-behaved evaporated from your roster of characters, replaced with the big bad bitch you knew and loved. âIâm not doing a goddamn thing. I donât know what youâre on about, you old shitbag, but you donât control me. Iâm not afraid of you!â you growled, snarling like a rabid nexu.
âThatâs no way to talk to your superior officer, bilgerat.â Boney fingers snatched you by the collar of your uniform. âYou think I pulled you from the scuppers because of your pretty little songs? No, Sparrow, I knew there was more to you than that. I knew it when I heard your voice through three whole decks of durasteel, and I knew it when you tried to rip your own ears off after we blew up Alderaan.â Forescythe hauled you to him, breathing gross old-man breath in your face. âYou didnât just watch it get erased from the maps, you felt it die. You felt it through the Force.â
You spat in his face, earning yourself a stinging backhand. âUngrateful brat. I made you, I can unmake you.â The ship quaked again beneath your feet, and the lights in the helm went off, turning the wide, triangular space red under the emergency lights. âThatâs it, you feel it again now, donât you?â The dark crimson lights sank shadows under the Admiralâs eyes, highlighting the bones of his skull, confronting you with the grinning face of death.
From behind the collection of stormtroopers a weak, grating voice called out. âL-let⊠let her⊠goâŠâ Din called weakly before he was electrocuted again.
âI said stop hurting him!â You barked, your words so steeped in anger they almost werenât your own, like someone else was speaking through you.
Forescythe laughed, villainous and wicked. âThere it is! Yes! Does that mando mean something to you, girl?â
âGo t̶o heÌ”ll!â Your voice no longer belonged to you, it was the voice of your nightmares, many tongues speaking at once, spewing toxically from your throat. Around you the air became thick with energy, making the hair on your arms stand on end.
âNow now, Sparrow, is that any way to talk to your father?â
âYou are nÌžÍÍoÌ·ÌÌȘtÌ¶Ì my FAÌ·ÌÌTHÌ”EÌŽïżœïżœR!â The energy in the air became palpable, tangible, burning through your veins and setting your fingertips ablaze with crackling firepower. The Admiral reeled from the burn, dropping your collar and backing away from you with confused, frightened eyes. You clenched your fists so hard your nails dug into the skin of your palms, drawing blood from the marks of the kraytâs teeth. âAnd that is nÌžÍÍoÌ·ÌÌȘt my n̶aÌ·mÌžeÌ”.â
Fear was replaced with undeserving pride, spreading a pearly grin across Forescytheâs gaunt, haunting visage. âThatâs it! Thatâs it, Sparrow! Look at yourself! Look at your hands!â he screamed, pointing at the blisters that were starting to form along your arms. âThere is power within you! Let me help you discover it! Help you use it to raise the Empire to its former glory!â He stretched a claw-like hand to you, âJoin me, Sparrow, and together we will rule the entire galaxy!â
âTHAT IS NÌŽÌÌ»O̶TÌ”Ì Ì¶MÌžÌYÌŽ NÌ·AÌ·ÌÌM̶EÌ”!â You screamed, the fury of a thousand voices knocking Forescythe and the guards down to the unsteady ground and sending the officers running for cover. The burning in your fingertips turned to raw power, sparking lightning from your hands. Electricity danced over the metal decking, snapping at the Admiralâs frantic heels like vicious, bloodthirsty dogs. You didnât see the firepower you were generating, your eyes burning with hateful tears.
You crossed the room on vengeful steps to where the Wyvernâs captain was scrambling to find his footing, snaps of plasmatic energy crackling underfoot with each stride. You hefted the vile man up the wall by his neck until his feet were off the ground, choking and squirming in your grip.
âWhatâs wrong, captain?â You purred with as much benevolence as an abused circus tiger. âAre you trying to sing for me? I bet your voice sounds so preÌŽÌttyÌ”Í. Go on then, sing me a song.â Terror shined in the whites of his eyes, blood oozing from their corners and out of his ears, dripping hotly over where your fists closed around his throat.
âYou can not hide who you are, Sparrow, youâll always be a worthless scupperbrat without my help. You need me.â
You thrashed Forescythe against one of the consoles, crushing his windpipe under your voltaic claws. âI'm not going to TELL YOU AÌ·ÌÌÍÌĄÌČÌ€G̶ÍA̶ÌÌ«I̶NÌ”ÍÌÌł!!.â You could feel his pulse under your fingertips, quick like a frightened rabbit caught in the claws of a mighty, savage beast.
And it felt good.
Energy crackled over his skin where your hands met his flesh, making him writhe in pain from the scorching burn. Under your cataclysmic deathgrip you felt the man laugh, ugly, strained belts of air that made the boiling in your blood rage like molten lava. âPray tell then, bilgerat, who do you think you are?â
You bared your teeth and smiled, dangerous and threatening. You inhaled, bringing every ounce of air in the room into your tormented lungs, ready to breathe dragonfire.
âI
AM
TRÌžÍÌ»Ì°ÌźÌAÌ·ÍÌœÍÌÍÌâÌžÌŸÌżÌÍÌÍ ÍÌŻÍÍÍÌLAÌ”ÌÍÌÍÌÌ„Í
ÌA̶ÍÌ§Ì ÌŞ̦AÌ¶ÌżÍÌÌ
ÌÍÌÍÌ ÍAÌ”ÍÌÌżÍÍÌ°ÌȘAÌžḬ́̌̄Ì̱ÌÌAÌžÌÌÌÍÍÌșÌ«RÌŽÌÌÌÌ̻̚RÌ·ÌÍÍÌÌÌĄÍÌźRÌžÌÌÌÌ«ÌÌčÌ»!ÌŽÍÌ̜̌ÍÍÌŻÌÌ!ÌŽÍÍÍÌÍ!Ì”ÌÍÍÌÌÌÌÌșÍÍ
Ìź!̶ÍÌ̱ÌčÍÍâÌ”Í ÌÌÍÍÌÍ
Hate and anger flowed through you in a pyroclast of scorn, erupting from your wicked maw in a firestorm of blinding energy. Your banshee screech overpowered Forescytheâs own terrified screams, but his terror was short lived as the force of your rage started to make the flesh of his face quiver, ripple, and tear until it was peeling off, revealing meat, then bone.
When only a ghastly skull was staring back at you did you silence your scream, dropping the Admiralâs faceless corpse to the floor. You wheeled back around in time for one of the rising stormtroopers to goad you with the electric prod, making you wail. The pained cry tore at the raw meat of your throat until your voice evaporated entirely, taking your siren strength with it. You stole a krayt fang from your pocket and drove it upwards into the soft spot at the edge of the trooperâs helmet, carving downward and splitting their jugular wide open.
Finding the other fang you lashed out with reckless fury, sinking your teeth into the meat of the second guard, blood splashing out over your hands. The third guard didnât stand a chance as they were caught in your whirlwind of carnage, their blood spilling to the floor with that of their crewmates.
Surrounded by your kills, breath heaving in your chest, you turned your enraged eyes on the man still chained to the wall. Dinâs bootheels scooted out from under him, struggling to get away from the blood splattered banshee that was glaring him down.
He looked so helpless, so⊠vulnerable. You remembered his hateful words, his malicious actions, the heartbreak that was still so fresh and stinging in your chest.
The coppery tang of blood hung heavy in the air, burning in your nose and fueling the rage that surged through your veins. He left you. He left you for dead. He took everything from you. He took your heart and your homeâŠ
And your son.
âWhere is he?â You seethed, numb to the hot splashes of blood pouring over your hands, from both your killstreak and the charred gashes that streaked down the length of your forearms where the meat of your flesh had melded with the duraweave of your uniform.
âS-safe. Heâs safe.â Din stammered, âWhat⊠what are you?â His bloodied brow furrowed, âWhatâs wrong with your eyes?!â
Confused, you glanced at his chestplate where two white-blue lights were shining back at you, and realized with horror that it was your own reflection. The world around you finally started to sink in: the dark red lights, the still-warm corpses, the splatter of viscera on the console that had once been the Admiralâs face.
The klaxon blaring overhead.
Whatever phantom force you wielded dissipated like mist, nearly taking you to your knees as it left. You fell more than leaned over Din to his cuffs, fumbling with the unlocking mechanism until he was freed. âDonât think this m-means that⊠that I⊠woo, that I forgive you, ya big fuckinâ jerk.â You were starting to feel woozy, making you wonder if this was how Grogu felt whenever he used his funky baby powers. âThe ships got⊠got some kinda weapon on it, ânother planet popper. I gotta fi-fi-find some way to⊠to stop it.â
âThe hell do you mean âpopperâ?
You flailed your arms around in a grand gesture, sending droplets of scarlet flying âKaboom!â
âFuck! Groguâs down there! Millions of people are down there!â
âYeah, no shit.â
Din tried to wipe the blood that had pooled around his eyes with the back of one armored hand, but the beskar did little to help clear it away. You grumbled and scooted closer on your knees, trading the fangs for the red silk cloth in your pocket and going right for his orbits. He recoiled from your touch, and instinctively you hissed at him to hold still. Reluctantly, he obeyed, watching you with distrust until he spotted what was in your hand.
âYou kept that?â
Shrugging, you dabbed harshly around his eyes until they were as clear as you could get them. âKept a lotta things.â The talking and the cleaning was making you exhausted, and you sank back on your haunches, nearly falling over into the sprawling pool of blood.
Din caught you before you fell, holding you gently, but even his careful touch burned like acid on your rendered flesh. In the corner of your eye you caught his brows fly high when he clocked your wounds, his breath catching when he saw the whitish tint of bone. âYou need bacta...â
You ignored him, glancing around the room for a solution to your predicament when one presented itself to you. Under the smear of gore that had been belittling you just moments prior, the ruined console of the main power controls flashed a desperate warning:
WARNING, RHYDONIUM COOLING CELLS OFFLINE. DANGER! UNSTABLE TEMPERATURES DETECTED!
Oh the irony. Sparks danced from the shattered screen, raining down over the bloodied skull of the murdered captain and catching in his empty sockets, glaring back at you. You forced a laugh. âThatâs what you get for tryna mess with me, you sick fuck! Gonna blow your own ratsnest sky high!â Your laughter knocked you off your haunches and into Dinâs arms, leaning on him heavily.
Looking up at him you smiled, though his face was a disaster, fear and blood etched into his handsome features. It befuddled you that you could still see his face. âWhereâs your bucket?â
Din scoffed, âThis entire ship saw me without it, not to mention the shitheads on Tatooine that sold me out. I canât put it back on.â
âThere wonât be anyone left alive to remember your face after the ship blows. Howâs that for a loophole, eh?â He scrutinized you a moment, swallowed hard, then nodded. It took a great deal of effort for him to pull both himself and your boneless body up from the floor, and even more strength to stumble over to where his helmet had been stashed, sinking the metal over his head and pocketing the beskar cuffs that laid close by.
The impenetrable beskar slid into place not a moment too soon, his visor flickering to life right as the blast doors to the bridge slid wide, opening on a platoon of troopers.
The eggheads fired with reckless abandon into the delicate consoles of the bridge, aiming for the malnourished Mandalorian and his bloodrending banshee. Even in such a sad state, Din was still faster, whirling you behind his blaster-proof body and setting off the salvo of whistling birds from his vambrace; obliterating each and every Imp in sight.
Hugged to his chest, you blinked at the pile of corpses, then glared at the one who had slain them. âWhy donât you use that fucker more often?â
Din ignored you and blasted the door controls apart, locking the two of you in before dragging you both over to one of the escape pods that dotted the prow. Behind your fleeing duo the console was flashing even faster:
WARNING, RHYDONIUM COOLING CELLS OFFLINE. EXPLOSION IMMINENT! DANGER!
Din set you carefully on your own two feet so he could pry the door to the escape hatch open. The little, single-seated pod was just barely big enough to fit the Mandalorian as he backed into it, his arms outstretched to take you.
You started to squeeze in with him when something out the window caught your eye, and your heart sank through your boots at the harsh reminder that Forescythe had been named Admiral because he now controlled a fleet. The dozen or so starships hovered ominously on either side of the Wyvern, their points aimed right towards Tatooine, poised to make the killing blow.
Din growled at you âCome on, youâll fit. We gotta go before this damn thing blows!â
You turned up to him slowly with glassy eyes. âI⊠canât. The other shipsâŠâ
âFuckâem!â
âNo!!â you screamed, dimming the lights. âIf I donât do something about them then Tatooine is still lost!â You pushed away from him and stumbled back through the bridge, your eyes going from console to console until you spotted the flashing light on the comms station. Hand-over-hand you dragged yourself over to your once-prestigious seat, flopping down in the familiar chair and slamming the frequency wide open.
âCome in Wyvern, this is Jabberwocky, whatâs your emergency, over?â
âThe weaponâs unstable! I repeat! The weapon is unstable! Abort mission! Abort mission! Scramble all ships! I repeat! Scramble all ships!!â
âWho the hell are you? Youâre not the Admiral!â
âThe Admiral is dead, the damn rhydonium has been leaking radiation into the water supply and the fuel lines! The damn thingâs gonna blow! Save yourselves!â
âSeriously?! I mean, roger! Aborting mission!â You watched with a big, shit-eating grin on your face as the surrounding ships winked out of existence, disappearing into hyperspace. The rhydoniumâs warning screen was flashing faster than a bounty fob now, and it wouldnât be long before it blew the old dragon sky high.
âOk, letâs go, please!â Din pleaded, trying to urge you to the escape pod. You leaned back heavily in the officerâs chair, the edges of your sight going dark as exsanguination took its toll. Raising your arm, you watched with a silly look on your face while you flexed your fingers, the tendons squirming over your exposed bones beneath what was left of your char broiled flesh. Most disgustingly of all was the shiny piece of metal on your palm, the Admiralâs aurodium insignia lodged in the sundered krayt bite, fused to your flesh from the heat of your rage.
Haha, gross.
âWhy⊠why are you even still here? Go on, escape!â You sneered at him, still angry.
âIâm not going to make the same mistake twice,â he said, crossing the room with his hand stuffed under his ribs, trying to hold himself together. âIâm not leaving you behind again.â
You strained a laugh, the noise grating in your shriveled throat. âYâdonât need me, yâmade that perfectly fuckinâ clear. Leave me to die with the rest of the scum. Besides.â You chuckled, raising your withered hand so the emergency lights danced over the gold plating your palm. âIâm the captain now, and the captain should go down with the ship.â
There was nothing left for you outside of the Wyvern anyway, maybe it was time for you to join Spooky and Friends for good. The Empire would surely hunt you down for your crimes, an even more vehement organization than the Guild, and that would only put Din and Grogu in even more danger than they had been when they still called you family. On a dragon you had risen to the stars, how fitting it would be that on a dragon would you leave them. Poetic, really.
Din cast a worried glance at the rhydonium thermometer. âIâll carry you if I have to.â
Tilting your head back until your skull met the headrest, you relaxed and closed your eyes, feeling the hot drip drip drip of blood running down your arms and pooling at your feet. âWhy bother? Why do you even care what happens to me?â
With enormous difficulty he pulled his helmet back off, leaning in close to you. You flinched when two armor plated hands came up under your face, gently lifting you by your chin until you were met with his eyes. Even in the crimson-soaked lights his enormous honeywells shined with more depth than any ocean, glittering with stars.
âBecause I still lo-â
*kaBOOM!!!*
Somewhere in the bowels of the ship the overheated ore blew its top, shearing the ship in twain. Din was nearly thrown to the ground from the force of the explosion, nearly dropping his helmet to hold on tightly to the arm rests of your chair. He threw the bucket haphazardly back over his head and scooped you into his arms, roaring in your ears about how stubborn you were sometimes. Under his boots the dying dragon began to angle towards the planet below, starting her final journey to meet the ground.
Din hustled to the escape pod, backing into it and hugging you to his chest, pressing you against the hexagonal divot in his beskar that you missed so much. The little hatch slid closed, sliding over your backside and squishing you up against the Mandalorian. Your guts did a nasty flip-flop as you were launched into space, dropping you towards the planet below.
Before you lost consciousness, whether from the blood loss or the inertia, or just plain old exhaustion, you squinted out the tiny transparisteel window at the ship youâd left behind. The front half of the Wyvernâs Tongue was just starting to break the atmosphere, a colossal blade pointed straight at Tatooine's sprawling desert landscape, breaking apart as it lost the battle with the desert planetâs robust sky.
Breaking the sound barrier, dragonfire erupted around its bow as it tore through the dusty air, sending tendrils of flame fanning in its wake. It was falling fast, but the sheer size of it made it appear to be sinking in slow motion, almost like a dream.
Maybe it was a dream, you thought as you felt the plated arms of your podmate tighten around you, his gloved hands burying into your hair as you plummeted towards terra firma. There was a good chance you wouldnât survive landing, it was an Imperial built shuttle after all, but at least you wouldnât die alone.
The roar of atmospheric reentry drowned out any words you may have said to each other, any last words of wisdom or heartfelt apologies would be forever lost to the winds of time, so you wrapped your arms around his waist and hugged him back; a final act of forgiveness before the darkness took you.
~
Far away from the sinking ship, the tiny capsule skittered over the sand dunes like one would skip a stone over a lake, bouncing over the sand until it lodged itself in the side of a hill. The hatch door launched off, sliding away from the two bodies it had protected. Raising his bucket, Din watched as the Wyvern met the ground, the enormous beast of the ship blocking out the suns as it crumpled into the dunes. Dragonfire erupted around the monstrosity, consuming it in a column of flame and ash that whipped up a sandstorm to rival any fallout.
Against his chest plate you laid limply, making it difficult for the Mandalorian to roll you underneath his body. He boxed you in with his arms and legs, putting himself between you and the oncoming sandstorm as it bore down on your pod. Gritting his teeth behind the visor, he curled over top of you while the deadly storm roared overhead, determined to keep you safe if it was the last thing he did.
The desert sands whipped over his back, flinging superheated shrapnel and massive chunks of durasteel flying as if they were toys. Din held your body to his, just waiting for the fallout to crush you both dead, or the sands to blow you away; but an eternity later the storm passed, leaving you both unharmed. Exhausted and in agony, the Mandalorian shook the sand from his back and hauled your near-lifeless body from the newly carved dune, brushing the dirt from your face. âTraâlaar? Are you ok? Can you hear me?â
No answer.
He tugged a glove off and stuffed his fingers up under your jaw, hunting for a pulse. Your heartbeat was weak, but steadfast, and he sighed heavily with relief. âThis is all my fault. I never should have left you behind, cyare! Please⊠please wake up!â Kneeling over you, he ran his hand down your face, gently brushing away the grit stuck to your skin. When you still didnât respond he dug his arms under you and hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the feel of his broken ribs grinding together. With you in his arms for what he knew could be the last time, he set off across the dunes towards the city on the horizon.
~
A warm desert breeze passed softly over you, the first herald of the Tatooinian dawn coming up over the mountains to burn away the mist that hung in the air. It felt nice on your skin, gentle and promising as the new day. It would be so nice to lie like this forever, eyes closed, stretched out and comfortable, basking in the double sunlight. Your eyelids were so heavy, but as much as you would like to laze about til the stars fell down, you knew you had slept long enough.
Slowly, achingly slowly you started to pry your lids open, the world around you blurry and faded. Turning your head was a chore, and was accomplished more through the aid of gravity than muscle. At your side you saw two blurry figures, their features distorted by the haze behind your eyes, but to you they looked like a man and a woman, both wearing intricate red robes like the people in your premonitions.
The familiar lady leaned over you, gently brushing a stray lock of hair from your sticky brow. Her radiant smile shined with love and adoration, rivaling the warmth of the twin suns themselves. When she spoke, her voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if it was already in your ears.
Itâs time to wake up now, Starsong. Heâs waiting for you.
The stranger smiled and glanced over at the man who was sitting down in a little chair next to whatever you were laying on. You followed his eyes to where he was holding your hand, quizzically furrowing your brow at his forwardness and giving yourself a headache that made you squeeze your eyes shut.
When you opened them again, the man in the chair was replaced by a different character, this one dressed head to toe in beskar and bandoliers, his helmeted head tilted forward until it was resting on his chest plate, slowly rising and falling in time with his breath. Even in his sleep he was drawing languid circles on your palm with his thumb, his fingers twitching slightly to hold yours closer.
â...Din?â
The fingers on the back of your hand squeezed tight as he bolted upright, nearly jumping out of his seat and frightening the attending nurse droid. âHey, youâre awake! Are you alright? How are you feeling?â The Mandalorian asked frantically, taking your bandaged hand in both of his and clutching it to his chest.
âWhat⊠whatâdya mean how am I fe- oh.â You looked down at yourself, finding the long glowing tubes of bacta needles sticking from your other arm between long strips of gauze, making you immediately nauseous. A leather gloved hand came up and caught your face, pulling you back over to meet his infinitely black visor.
âItâs ok, cyarâika, nothingâs missing, just keep your eyes on me. You were in bad shape when I got you here, but the infirmary had e-bacta infusions on hand. Youâre healing up well! They were able to remove the metal piece from your hand and debride the duraweave from your burns, and most of the skin on your arms has already grown-â
âOk ok ok enough!â you grumbled, starting to feel sick. You leaned back against the cot, relaxing into the feel of a gentle hand brushing over your cheek and down the side of your neck. Dinâs caresses made you hum from his comfort, but your hums soon turned to growls. âDin, why am I still alive? I should have gone down with the ship.â
The hands withdrew immediately back to the lap of their owner. âI⊠I couldnât let you.â
Your lips pulled back to bare your teeth, adding fresh agony to your growing migraine. âFuck do you mean couldnât let me, You donât get to âlet meâ do anything! How dare you act like you care!â You hissed with a sting in your voice. âWhy do you even give a shit what happens to me?â
âBecause!â He barked, fidgeting with his gloves, watching his own yellow tips go round while he twiddled his thumbs, searching for the right words to say. âBecause I⊠because Grogu would never forgive me if I had let you die.â
Something about that last line made your heart ache, maybe it was the reminder of losing your son, or maybe it was the way that Din was clearly trying to hide deeper feelings. âIâm surprised heâs not in here, wouldnât have to waste credits on bacta then.â
âHe tried to heal you, but something about your wounds wouldnât let him. I-I canât explain it but⊠but he tried.â Dinâs helmet snapped away from you, fixating on something of interest on the bare stucco wall. âHe tried and tried until he passed out, then woke up and tried again. It was too much for him, I-I c-couldnât keep letting him run himself dry.â Din sighed, letting his shoulders droop. â...He misses you.â
Sorrow and fury nearly broke the circuits of the heart monitor, summoning the nurse droid to come check your lines. You ignored the fussing robot to interrogate the Mandalorian further. âWhy? Didnât you tell him Iâm a traitor? Didnât you explain to him that Iâm a lying, filthy Imp?â Your teeth flashed in a snarl. âDidnât you tell him Iâm not part of your clan anymore?â
Dinâs laugh startled you, âThe day that boy listens to me is the day the universe collapses in on itself. Youâre the only one he ever listened to.â Fidgety hands toyed with the strap that crossed over the widest plate of beskar, fingers stopping at each slug to set them perfectly in line as if they werenât already. âI canât get him to eat, or sleep, itâs almost like Iâm not even there. He⊠he cries nonstop, especially when heâs looking for you...â
You blinked at the itching in the corners of your eyes, your tear ducts having long since dried out. Though he was talking about Grogu, you knew by the guilt that steeped his words that the little green terror wasnât the only one suffering from the Mandalorianâs decision to abandon you.
âHe⊠he needs youâŠâ Din trailed off, slowly tilting his visor over at you again, his hands stilling. âIâŠâ
Din paused, letting the unspoken words hang heavily in the air, bringing with them a silence that would rival the infinite void of space. The nurse droid seemed to fade away, followed shortly by the beeping heart monitor, then the walls, then all of Mos Eisley, consumed by the roar of silence.
You could hear it though, the sound of those three little words that would change everything. Three tiny, insignificant words that even ghosts knew how to use. Powerful in their simplicity. You stared at where his eyes should be, imagining his furrowed brows, his tear-streaked cheeks, the corners of his lips twitching as they fought the floodgates that threatened to burst.
Just say it, Din, say what you need to say. Fix what you have broken.
âI...Iâll go get him.â Swallowing around your dry tongue, you nodded, dropping your gaze to the floor. So close. Din stood and brushed imaginary dirt from his clothes, âThereâs someone else who wants to meet you as well, if itâs alright.â
âWho?â There wasnât a single living being in all the galaxy that you wanted to see right now besides Grogu, plus you doubted there was anyone you knew who would want to see you anyway.
âUm⊠someone whoâs been looking for him. His⊠people.â
You felt your heavy heart sink right out through your spine, dropping like a slab of raw meat onto the dusty hospital floor. âHis⊠h-his people? Does⊠does that mean heâs going ho-â
âJust hang on, ok?â Din rose hastily and sped from the room, leaving a thick aura of unanswered questions in his wake. When he returned, he gestured to someone behind him, indicating that it was safe to enter your room. A young man with tousled blond hair and long black robes crossed the threshold to the medbay, but you couldnât care less about who he was or what he looked like, because your eyes were locked to the little green baby he was carrying.
âBubu!!!â Grogu cried, flailing in the man's arms until he was brought closer.
âBEANS!â you reached out with your good arm to take the squirming little monster, hugging him to your chest while he sobbed.
âBububububububuâŠâ He babbled, tears streaking down from his cosmic eyes while he patted your cheeks and dug claws into your skin. You curled up on your side and hugged the baby close to your chest, ignoring the dampening fabric beneath you as your own tears trickled down onto the threadbare sheets. You tried to comfort him by kissing his wrinkly head between choked sobs and carefully smoothing his ears, but the joy of having your baby back only made you cry even harder.
âBoo-boo? Wh-what⊠whatâs he trying..?â
âBuir.â Din answered, his voice strong with reverence. âHe is trying to say buir.â You burrowed your face against the shaky baby and reached out towards Dinâs voice until you found his hand.
âThank you.â You whispered between tears. âI thought Iâd never see him again.â You pried your flooded eyes away from Grogu to glance up at the stranger standing politely in the corner, remembering what Din had said about Groguâs people. âWhoâs mister sunshine over there with the cute boots?â
The young man smiled and bowed slightly. âMy name is Luke Skywalker, I came to investigate a disturbance in the Force that led me here. When I met Grogu I thought it may have been him reaching out to me, but now that I am standing in the same room as you, I realize that you are the source of the shockwave that I felt.â
You cradled Grogu against your chest, âThe Force? Isnât that just a saying the New Republic uses? Live long and prosper, may the force be with you, to infinity and beyond, blah blah blah...â
Luke laughed, âIt is, but the Force is very real. It is the life energy that flows through all living things, even after they have passed on.â The young man crossed the room to your little trio, his robes and cape swishing dramatically with each step. âTell me what happened to the ship that crashed out on the dunes, something tells me you were involved?â
You recounted your tale, from your hyperspace premonitions to your whispering nightmares, describing the ghosts youâve seen and heard. You held up your arms for him to look at the damage the lightning had done, and pointed to your throat when you told him how you shouted the admiral apart. He listened intently and without interruption until you were telling him about the rhydonium bomb that blew the ship to smithereens. âAnd then I woke up here.â
âThatâs fascinating, Iâve only read about Thunderfuries in the ancient texts, I never thought I'd meet one in real life, theyâre exceptionally rare. Some scholars have even described them as mythological. Their charismatic voices have been described as âmore powerful than a siren's song and a thousand times more deadly, able to lull insomniacs to sleep or shout the stars down from the sky.ââ
You kissed Groguâs head and propped yourself up on your elbow. âHow come it's only manifesting now? I mean, Iâve had some weird shit happen in my life but never like that.â
âYouâve probably used it before without realizing it. Have you ever been so mad your voice changed? Or convinced someone with an unbelievable lie? Maybe even called someone back from the brink of death?â You nodded at each of his questions, feeling the color drain from your face. âYour powers may become more volatile when youâre threatened, or when someone important to you is in danger, a catalyst, if you will. May I have your permission to touch you?â
You shrugged, not really caring, but Din stiffened visibly at your side before backing away to let the man through. Luke placed his left hand on your forehead and closed his eyes, concentrating. âYes, the Force is strong with you.â He moved down to your throat, touching your larynx softly. âEven stronger here, Iâm willing to bet that the midi-chlorian count around this area is where it is highest, but I still feel something else.â He palpated your sternum though your ratty hospital gown, then your stomach, and finally the bottom of your belly, making you flinch. âHere. There is something here as well. Itâs faint but-â
âNoâŠâ
âYour younglingâŠâ
âNO.â You shouted, making the man recoil from the energy you gave off. âNot you too! First that damn robot and now this dude. I am not pregnant, I'm chipped! Iâve been chipped since I was a teenager. Get that damn nurse droid over here and Iâll prove it!â You barked at the droid organizing the bacta. âCâmere and scan me!â
The animatronic healer rolled over to you, a long scanner unfolding from itâs chassis. A hologenic light flickered over you, scanning up and down your body, making an extra pass over your abdomen that beeped when it had completed its investigation. âI-am-sorry-miss, but-your-chip-appears-to-be-missing.â
âMISSING?! The hell do you meanâŠâ You trailed off, too many thoughts hitting you at once until one of them struck you like a bell. âHoth. I probably left it on Hoth. Fan fucking tastic.â Oblivious to the needles in your skin you squished your eyeballs under your palms and slid your fingers into your hair, trying to yank it out.
When you opened your eyes back up you flinched from the collection of boys staring at you. Luke looked respectfully embarrassed, Groguâs eyes were full of stars, but Din looked like heâd been frozen in time, not even breathing. He managed to croak out a single word: âCh-chip?â
âYeah, my standard-issue contraceptive implantâs probably sitting in a pile of goo in that fucky cave. You must be packinâ some pretty potent spunk to have already knocked me up.â
âCon... con-con-con⊠c-con..tra-â
âDin?â
âC-conâŠâ Din short circuited and fell silent, his mental cogwheels grinding to a halt. A heavy silence filled the small infirmary for a time before he was moving with agonizing slowness. He brought one hand up and set it so gently on your tummy that it was almost non-existent. â...Mine?â
You rolled your eyes so hard they almost fell out of your skull. âYeah bucket boy, ainât nobody else got to tap this.â You shimmied in a terrible attempt at seduction, bobbing your bacta lines more than your boobies. He nodded solemnly, still trying to reboot, but the silence gave the poor sidelined Skywalker a chance to speak.
âCongratulations, I think. If itâs alright I would like to speak frankly.â You shrugged and nodded, not waiting for Din.exe to come back online. âYours and Groguâs Force powers are very special, but also very dangerous. While it shows that you both have extraordinary talent, without training that talent will go to waste, or worse, could fall into the wrong hands. With your permission I would like to take you both to the Jedi Temple where you can learn to master your abilities.â
You started to try to sit up, struggling against the pain that still permeated your body, but Din sprang to life, helping to ease you comfortably to a seated position with Grogu on your knee. Setting your hand on your collar bone you rubbed at your throat. âYeah, I think I know what you mean. I dunno jack shit about this Force whatsit, but it was pretty cool to melt Forescythe's face like that. If I go with you, will you teach me how to do that without burning my arms off?â
âThe lightning is a byproduct of the Dark Side of the force, it is only manifested through hatred and anger. The more you use it, the more it will destroy you.â
âOh...â
âI will teach you how to use the Light Side, which is achieved through patience and dedication.â He laughed, âAnd also wonât burn your arms off.â
âWhatâdâya think, Beans, you wanna go to school?â Grogu chirped sweetly in your arms, rubbing at his eyes with fat little paws, then yawned. âIâll take that as a yes. Alright, sunshine, itâs a deal, ainât nowhere else for me to go anyways.â
âIâm glad to hear that. Once you have made a full recovery we will be on our way. It was nice to meet you as well, Mandalorian. May the Force be with you always.â The nice young man bowed slightly before turning on his heel and heading out the door, his cape billowing behind him as he went.
Grogu curled into a ball on your lap and fell asleep faster than youâd ever seen, and carefully you brushed your hand over his ears. âPoor baby, so sleepy. You rest now, youâve earned it.â A heavy silence filled the room, punctuated only by tiny snores. When you looked up from the sweet little baby you were surprised to see Dinâs visor locked on you from where he sat, frozen solid. âWell, bucketboy? You gonna say something?â
Wordlessly he started digging into the pouches on his belt, fishing around until he pulled the remains of a microchip out into the dusty sunlight. Although it was nearly crushed beyond recognition, you knew by its broken legs and shattered insignia that it was all that was left of your contraceptive implant. Fresh, scalding rage bubbled in your chest at the sight. âDin⊠Why do you have that?â
âI found it that night on the Sunskate when you sent me to find you some soap. It was in the canister we used to capture the egg-pod-thing. I should have told you about right away but⊠but I was worried that maybe the pirates planted it there. Then I got it into my head that it had come from you and⊠andâŠâ
âAnd what?!â
âAnd Iâm sorry!â He cried in a strained whisper, careful not to wake the blessedly sleeping baby. âI donât expect your forgiveness, nor do I deserve it, but⊠but Iâm sorry.â His modulated voice cracked with something, maybe faulty wiring, maybe tears. âIf⊠if Iâd just asked you about it from the start none of this would have happened.â He gestured vaguely at all of you, sitting at the end of the cot in your shabby gown, your bare feet swinging freely. âIâm sorry for how I acted and what I said. You didnât deserve to be treated like that.â
âYouâre only saying that because you stuck a bun in my oven.â
âNo, what I did was wrong, it was cowardly.â his visor snapped up to meet your eyes, âI have dishonored you and myself. I broke every vow I made to you without giving you a chance to explain. I shot at you, I shot at my wife.â His voice faded away, weighed down by shame. âI am a monster.â His helmet tilted away from you towards the ground, studying his boots.
You thought for a moment, watching the warrior coming to terms with his own judgement. Licking your dry lips, you asked him coldly: âWhyâd you do it?â
âDo what?â
âTry to shoot me.â
He turned away from you shamefully, âBecause you were⊠b-because I decided that you were a threat.â
âA threat to who? To you?â
âNo.â he paused, his breath hitching in his lungs. âA threat to⊠to Grogu.â
âThatâs what I thought.â You chided, cocking a brow at him when he turned to face you again. âYou saw a threat to your son and you acted, though maybe you could have, oh I dunno, listened to me before you went off your rocker.â His hands twiddled with the edges of his legplates, his eyes avoiding your gaze. You readjusted the bundle on your lap, tucking his goofy potato sack robe under his butt. âIf I thought you were a threat, I wouldâa shot you too.â
âThat doesnât make it right.â
âNo, it doesn't, though I probably shouldnât have been keeping secrets from you.â Now it was your turn to look away, turning your gaze up to the stucco ceiling where maybe the Maker was watching you. âHowever, if you hadnât broken my heart and dumped me on the Empireâs doorstep then Iâm guessing Tatooine wouldnât be here anymore, or whatever planet they decided to fuck over. So I guessâŠâ
âYou donât need to justify it. What I did was wrong and hateful.â He scootched the little chair closer to your side until his knees bumped against the cotâs edge, barely inches away from your own. âIf you never want to see me again, I- I would... understand. I wish you and Grogu the best with your training. And the youngling too if⊠if you decide to keep it.â
His visor sank back to the floor before he was pulling himself to his feet, making to leave you and take his guilty conscience with him, but you caught his hand before he got too far. He whirled around, gawking at you with that big metal bird impression that he does so well.
âWhat do you mean if? Why wouldnât I keep it?â
You heard something rattle behind his modulator, accompanied by the strained quake in his shoulders. âI canât force you to, or even ask you to. I know you said you w-werenât ready for children, and to have to raise one alone would be-â
âWhat makes you think I would be alone?â You squeezed his captured hand, running your thumb over his knuckles. Din cautiously stepped closer, brushing his hand over Groguâs wrinkly little head.
âIâm sorry, youâre right. Youâll have Grogu and Luke to look after you. The boy seems trustworthy enough, and once you master your powers-.â
âThatâs not what I mean, Din.â You tugged on his hand, scrounging up the courage to find out the truth, even if you had to use a crowbar to get it. âWhat⊠what were you going to say to me, before the rhydonium blew?â
His armored shoulders rose with a sudden intake of breath, going stiff while the air stuck in his lungs. His response came out slowly. âDoes... does it matter?â
âIf it didnât, would I be asking?â
Yellowed fingertips flashed in the fresh dawnlight filtering in through the infirmary window, fidgeting on the ends of armored wrists. Din squared his shoulders and stood straight and proud, his modulated voice giving away his timidness. âI...â
âYes..?â
âIâŠâ he took your hand in both of his, careful not to upset the bacta lines growing from your flesh or the precious bundle swaddled on your lap. âI⊠I still love you.â
You cocked your ear at him and waggled your brows. âWhat? I didnât-â
âI still love you!â Din fell to his knees in front of you with a mighty racket of metal and munitions that shockingly didnât wake Grogu. âI love you, cyare, I need you! I love the sound of your voice and the warmth of your smile. I love the way you laugh, the way you cry. I love that you terrify me like no one ever has. I love the way you feel, the way you smell, the way your fingers used to tangle in my hair when we slept together.â He carefully lifted your hand until your knuckles rested on the brow of his helmet, âI miss you, beautiful creature of the stars. I would give anything to have you back again.â
âAnything?â
âAnything.â
You pondered a moment, letting him wallow in his guilt until you could hear his breath getting ragged from the suspense. âAlright, give me your ears.â
âYou... want me to cut them off?â
âPfft, no, but I appreciate the enthusiasm.â You said with a laugh. âI want you to listen.â You pulled your hand away from the cool metal of his forehead to pick at the bacta tubes on your other arm. âI was an Imp, but not because I wanted to be. When I was a child I was stowed away on the Wyvern before it left Corelliaâs port, which happened often enough on that skughole of a planet that there was a name for us. We were called bilgerats.â You met his visor, watching the way his head cocked to the side. âThe Empire adopted me, I didnât have a choice.â
âLike⊠like a foundling?â
âMmhmm. When the captain decided that I had potential, or apparently magic, he gave me a name and a real job, but it was never my choice. I chose to leave them behind. I chose to become a hunter. I choseâŠâ You paused, flitting your eyes between the corners of his visor where you knew his eyes were, wishing that you could see them for yourself. âI chose to love you.â
A broken sob rattled his helmet as his composure started to break down, his hands coming up to caress gently at your cheek. You held your hand over the back of his, leaning into his palm. He took a series of deep, desperate breaths before he found his voice again. âC-could you e-ever love me again?â
âOnly if you promise to never dump my ass over stupid misunderstandings again, think you could do that for me?â He couldnât speak, he just nodded so fast his helmet almost flew off. Laughing, you stretched your arm out to him, careful not to lose the foundling on your lap. Din clambered up from the floor so fast his boots nearly went out from under him, plowing into your chest with a hug so fierce you felt your ribs creak. âI sure hope so, tinman, because I still love you too.â
Not even the dry desert air could stop your tears anymore, and you let them flow freely into the fabric of Dinâs cowl, burying your face between his shoulder and the edge of his helmet while he hugged you like his life depended on it. The sharp metal cut your skin and made you frustrated that he even still had the damn bucket on. âDin can you take your helmet off? Thereâs nobody here but the droid. I want to see you.â He shook his head ânoâ, dragging his palms over your back, his leather gloves snagging on the ties that held your gown closed. âCan we go somewhere you can take it off? Maybe⊠maybe somewhere more comfortable?â
âYouâre in no shape to move.â
âPlease?â
He hated it when you begged, or maybe he fucking loved it, either way he was nodding and rising to his feet, stuffing your collection of trinkets into his many pouches. He cast a suspicious glance at the nursebot before helping you pull the bacta lines free. Immediately the attending droid started to protest, but was met with the business end of a blaster. Din cocked his helmet arrogantly, a mused laugh sneaking through his modulator.
âWeâre checking out.â
~
You were giggling like a schoolgirl as you were carried up the ramp into the Crest by the Mandalorian, cradling Mr. Sleepy against your chest. The armored warrior set you down gently on the edge of the bed, jabbing at his vambrace to close the ramp. You sniffed the musty air, crinkling your nose. âHoly shit what is that smell?! No wonder the kid canât sleep, It stinks in here! Open a window!â The singular transparisteel viewport didnât âopenâ, but the ventilation did, and soon slightly-less-stinky desert breezes circulated through the cabin. âThatâs better, now off with your damn head!â
âAlright alright.â Din chided, fishing for the edge of his helmet and pulling the offending beskar away, setting it down gently on a nearby crate. Though the blood had been washed from his hair days ago, a crudely placed cauterizer burn still shined red with swelling, but that was only the start of his worrying features. His hair was unkempt and ratty, his eyes sunken and hollow, even more than they had been when youâd seen him uncrowned aboard the Wyvern. His shaggy facial hair did a poor job of hiding his pale, nearly translucent skin.
But his smile, his adorable, lopsided smile was exactly as you remembered it, rolling the swells of his cheeks right up into his deep brown eyes. Dazzling canines caught the hazy cabin light while he beamed at you sheepishly, his eyes glancing at your face then bashfully away, aware that he must look terrible.
Carefully you set the foundling down on the bed by your side, brushing a wayward ear from his face before reaching out to the babyâs father. Gloveless hands found your cheeks, his touch more cautious than if he were handling porcelain, pulling you into a long awaited kiss.
Din kissed you like it was the very first time, chapped lips brushing yours softly, tentatively, like he was afraid that touching you would wake him from this dream. The dream of having you in his arms again. You slid your bandaged hands up his armored shoulders until you were at his scruffy jaw, pulling him closer.
At the feel of gauze on his skin he pulled away, worry etched into the creases around his eyes. âI donât want to hurt you, maybe we should wait til-â Huffing, you dug your hands into his messy hair, dragging him back to you and kissing him so hard you felt your teeth knock together. He inhaled with surprise before melting into your hands, tilting his head to chase the taste of you deeper.
The bristles of his mustache tickled at your nose, but you were too lost in his love to notice, tangling your fingers in the curls that hung at the back of his neck. The hands at your cheeks glided down to your shoulders, then your sides, then around to your back, deftly picking apart the knots that held your ugly gown together. He pulled away from you again, âMay I?â
You nodded and laughed, âPlease, itâs itchy! Though Iâm pretty sure half of Mos Eisley already saw my hooha flappinâ in the breeze today. Hey what happened to that cantina on the corner? They used to have the best spotchkaâŠâ
âNo idea. Must have been a big fire thoughâŠâ He laughed at his own poorly-veiled lie, kissing at your jawline while he tugged the last knot free. The ratty hospital gown fluttered to the floor unnoticed, the two of you lost in each otherâs eyes. Though you were naked save for your bandages, he couldnât take his off of your face, reverence stretched across his features. âIs⊠do you think what the nice man said is true? That youâre⊠umâŠâ
His versatile hands that could snap necks like twigs or tear flesh asunder came up to settle gently on your belly, rubbing softly back and forth and sending scalding heat to your cheeks. You shied away from him, studying the cabin wall like the secrets of the universe were written there. Flustered, you found your voice, âI donât know, maybe. Pretty early to tell, but he was right about everything else. Probably right about that, too.â
He caught your embarrassment and withdrew. âIâm sorry I didnât mean to⊠If you donât⊠Iâll support any decision you-â
You silenced him with a finger on his lips. âNo, I want to. Iâm just⊠Iâm scared.â You hugged yourself regardless of the warm desert breeze, fingertips fiddling with the edges of the gauze that rode up to your elbows. Nestled against your thigh you saw Grogu twitch in his sleep, half sunk into the smelly Tatooinian bed roll, his sweet little smile matching your own. âYouâre such a good dad, Din, like you were made to be one. ButâŠâ You brushed your hand over the foundling's supersized ears, âBut I donât think I'd make a good mom.â
âYou already are.â Din whispered with more conviction than youâd ever heard, his hand finding your chin to tilt your eyes back to him. âYou always have been. From the day you met Grogu youâve been his mother. Youâre strong, and fearless, and terrifying.â He smiled when you laughed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear for you. âBut youâre also loving, and sweet, and compassionate. And did I mention youâre the scariest thing Iâve ever seen in my entire life?â
You giggled again, rolling forward until your brow met with his. âYouâre just saying that to make me feel better.â
âIâm not. I think youâll be amazing.â He kissed you again, stronger than before, breathing in deeply with the scent of you, of his mate. âI know you will.â You studied his face a moment and nodded, feeling your breath hitch threateningly in your throat. Din heard your hidden distress and backed away, tearing his remaining armor off and gently setting it next to his helmet until he was bare chested before you, a large bacta patch holding his broken bones together.
He dove towards you with passion, his chest pressed to yours, his kiss hungry but gentle. Though his flesh was warm and inviting against your own, your fingers quickly found where his ribs were showing through his sides, rippled like a washboard from not eating properly. You made a mental note to grab some of those roasted taters you liked so much later, but for now you let yourself get lost in the Mandalorianâs touch.
Though his hands were careful, you could tell that there was a hidden desperation behind his movements, his touches frantic to confirm that you were really here. His fingers slid up your back to tangle in your hair, holding you close while he experimentally licked his tongue into your mouth, eager to meet your own. A wide, calloused hand braced on your thigh, supporting his ever-growing weight over top of you. You hummed into his mouth and patted his chest, asking him to give you space.
He looked at you quizzically, but before he could start another long winded string of apologies you nodded down to where Grogu was sleeping peacefully. By the look on his little princely face it had been a long time since heâd slept so well, and though you knew he deserved his rest, he was very much in the way of what you and Din were after.
Maybe it was the bacta still flowing through your system, or maybe it was the fact that youâd survived yet another near-death experience. Or perhaps it was true what the ghosts in your visions had said, that the man before you really was your soulmate, destined to return to you again and again. Either way your body craved him, flooding your belly with heat at the sight of the robust warrior that would rather let himself waste away than live a day without you in it.
You needed him.
And he needed you.
Right now.
You scooched off the end of the bed, covered the baby with a thin blanket, and slid yourself into Dinâs arms, kissing your way up his neck to the bottom of his jaw. He shivered under you, groaning with pleasure until you reached his ear, nipping at his earlobe where you whispered: âDo you remember the first time you made love to me?â
He growled, the low timbre of it making your skin prickle with goosebumps. âHow could I forget?â His scruff brushed your cheek as he nuzzled you, dragging his teeth along the juncture of your neck and shoulder, his palms squeezing into your hips. You took a slow step backwards, luring him to follow until your knees bumped against a crate, a subtle laugh escaping your lips when you plopped down on it. Din fumbled for the sleeping cubby controls until he found the button that closed the protective door, shielding the foundling from your erotic courtship dance.
Not an inch of space remained between the two of you when he pressed his body to you again, slotting his mouth to yours, hands gripping the stubborn crate to support his slow, demanding ruts against your heat. You wrapped your legs around his waist, catching your heels in the pockets of his duraweave pants, trying to kick them off. His rich laugh rumbled against your chest, reverberating in the warmth flooding in your heart, and pussy. âPlease, riddurâika, let me take care of you.â
Lost in the kisses that he was planting down the length of your chest, he didnât see your brows furrow at him. âDo⊠do you still get to call me that?â
He froze, his lips poised just above your pebbled nipple, so close to getting a taste of you. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. âThat...that is your choice to make.â His pleading eyes looked up to you, so big and full of sadness you almost cried. âI would⊠I would like to again, but only if-â
âYes.â you pleaded, running your fingers through his hair, skimming the long, jagged scar. âYes, please, donât ever stop calling me that.â
âNer riddur.â He moaned, sucking the tip of your breast into his hot wet mouth, arms coiling around your waist. The hastily renewed vow tumbled from his lips in between each languid roll of his tongue, mumbled like a prayer to your altar of forgiveness. You sighed and arched your back into his affections, gasping when one of his nimble hands snaked around your front and sank into your folds.
Stars youâd missed this, youâd missed him. Missed the way his lips sought every inch of your chest, missed the way his fingers curled perfectly against the spongy spot hidden in your walls, drawing beautiful gasps from your parted lips. Youâd even missed the way he ran his mouth, spilling muffled praises against your skin between greedy laps of his tongue.
He released your swollen bud with a pop of his lips, kissing down the softness of your tummy. You leaned back until the cool metal of the crate met your spine, offering yourself to him fully. Dinâs whiskered kisses ticked at your sensitive middle, each one slower and more deliberate than the last until he was just below your belly button. The fingers buried inside you slowed, rubbing careful circles that couldnât distract you from the loving way his lips met your skin, his kisses lingering.
âMine.â he whispered with a secretive giggle, his unoccupied arm scooping under the small of your back, holding you steady. He kissed you once more, then pressed his entire face into your belly, rubbing his scruff over the tender flesh, almost like he was scenting you.
Still speared on his fingers, legs flung wide to accommodate him, you lifted your head to get a better look at his foolishness. âTinmanâŠ?â
âIâm sorry, I just.â He planted his chin on your pubic bone, slipping his fingers out and smiling up at you with adoration in his eyes. âI just⊠I canât believe it.â
âReally? After all the times you said you wanted to breed me, youâre flummoxed that youâve actually gotten me pregnant?â
Din popped up like a whack-a-mole at the magic word, a hundred emotions spread across his face. âS-say that again.â
âBreed me?â
âNo!â
âFlummoxed?â His brows sank with frustration over his lust-blown eyes, making you laugh. âFine fine. Din.â You propped yourself up fully, your knees hugging his chest where he was kneeling between your legs. With his head in your palms you brushed your thumbs over his cheeks, reveling in the way he was waiting on bated breath for your words. âDin, Iâm pregnant.â
The joy that radiated off of this man could have knocked the suns from the sky if they were any closer, his laughter so full of hope and happiness you couldnât help laughing along. This was how it should have been presented, not flickering across a screen or coming from a polite stranger. Just this, the two of you alone together, both of you looking like complete garbage and not even caring.
No, in that moment you were the two most beautiful creatures the Universe had ever made, painted so brightly in excitement and love that it was blinding. Din kissed your palms, his face already starting to bubble over with emotion. âIâm⊠Iâm gonna be a dad?â
âMhmm, now câmere, give mama some sugar.â You hauled his beautifully wrecked face up to yours, kissing him deeply. His tongue was sloppy, needy, spearing into your mouth between groans of pleasure. You heard the fumble of buckles and zippers, then the flump of pants hitting the floor. His heavy cock bobbed against your belly, leaving kisses of precum above the womb it had filled. You rocked your hips, trying to notch him in your slick folds, but his fingers met your cunt again, scissoring you open.
âI said I wanted to take care of you, buirâika.â He groaned into your mouth before disappearing down your body and burying his face between your legs. Dinâs wicked tongue spun delicious circles around your engorged bean, slurping and sucking away as if it was the only thing heâd ever eat again. You were just starting to feel the knot tightening in your guts when his dutiful mouth slowed, licking experimentally into your cunt, humming curiously.
âWh-what? What is it?â You panted, rocking your hips against him, trying to fuck yourself on his face.
âYou taste different.â He caught your questioning groan and shook his head, the motion making you convulse with need. âNot bad different, just different. Sweeter.â There were a plethora of excuses you could have made, maybe it was that heâd just forgotten how youâd tasted, or maybe it was the fact that youâd been living on Imp food. It couldnât possibly already be from your changing hormones.
Could it?
Nothing but cries of pleasure made their way past your lips when he dove back to his feast, pulsing his expert fingers against your core and spiraling you towards devastation. Locked to his face, you squirmed on his tongue until he brought you the stars, your pent-up orgasm soaking his scruff and dribbling down his chin. Greedily he lapped your arousal away, humming at the taste. Youâd barely gotten a chance to catch your breath before he was rising to his feet, angling his throbbing cock up into you and stretching you full.
âDin!â You whined, your cries swallowed by his mouth on yours, letting you taste your own release. Shit heâs right, I do taste good! His kisses became messy, then lost all together, his head falling from yours to bury against the crook of your shoulder. His cock eased itself out, making you feel every ridge, every vein before it was slamming back into the cradle of your body, the sound of him fucking you resounding wetly throughout the hold.
âRiddurâikaâ he moaned into your skin, sinking his sharp teeth into the meat of your neck to mark you as his once again; leaving a blooming patchwork of welts in his wake. With his teeth holding you in place he started giving you what you both so desperately needed, pounding deeply into your flooding cunt. Your walls clenched around him, making him groan and strain, his hips snapping with frantic, frenzied thrusts. It was all you could do to hold on.
Eyes closed, lips parted, head lolling back, you were consumed by his passion; digging your nails into the skin of his back and surely drawing blood. Under your fingertips his muscles coiled and bunched, rippling with each powerful thrust, his cock demanding to be swallowed whole.
Your weeping wellspring sucked up every inch of him, drawing him all the way inside to the gates of your precious womb. The head of his cock bumped haphazardly against your cervix, his length shifting the ring of muscle even deeper into your body, the delicious stretch making you obscenely wetter.
Releasing your captured throat, the Mandalorian leaned back from you, throwing your legs over his shoulders so that there was nothing to stop him from burying himself to the hilt. Each ragged thrust scraped his curls over your sensitive clit and sent his cock spearing into something devastating inside. You cried out from the force of it, your muscles squeezing around his girth as you were catapulted towards ecstacyâs edge.
âThatâs it, meshâla, soak my cock. Claim me as yours!â His oaken voice sent you spinning, obeying his command and drenching his swollen member in your divine nectar. He groaned at your fluttering muscles, your silken folds caressing him and drawing his own gushing orgasm from him. Under your calves you could feel him straining to keep from shouting the heavens down, his face contorted almost painfully while he painted your insides with rope after rope of hot, potent baby batter.
Broken panting echoed in the tiny space of the Razor Crestâs interior, carried by the wisps of desert air breezing in through the ventilation. Din fell heavily forward, his sweat-streaked chest just inches from your heaving breasts, barely giving you room to breathe. Slowly he sank further down, the skin of his abdomen sticking to your belly, then your chest, sealing you together. His hands found your face, brushing the hair from your sticky brow and planting a kiss there, paving the way for him to rest his forehead against yours in sacred unity.
Hot breath mingled in the space between your mouths, bringing with it the spice of lovers bodies, a mix of lust and sweat and adoration, flooding your synapses like an addiction. Though he would happily let himself melt into your body the threat of crushing you underneath him made his exhausted arms shake, especially now that you were harboring precious cargo.
He butted his head against yours once more before pulling himself upright, offering a hand to you. You took his gentle gesture, but the shift in gravity made your soaked cunt gush with your combined cum, oozing down the side of the crate and pooling on the floor. Din couldnât help himself, his agile fingers sneaking down to your wrecked pussy, stretching it around his fingertips and watching his pearly conquest slip out of you.
Humming with adoration, Din took you by your elbows, careful not to upset your bandages, and hugged you close. The Mandalorian felt like a furnace pressed against you, trailing his fingers up and down your spine and giving you conflicting goosebumps. âYouâre so beautiful, meshâla.â He purred, nuzzling into your neck. âThere can be no other as beautiful as you.â
âYet.â You chided, turning to meet his confused eyes. Stealing one of his hands you pushed his palm to your belly, laughing when he put your puzzle together.
âOur babyâŠâ He cooed, still mystified by the concept. âOur baby will be beautiful, and terrifying if their mother is anything to go by.â
âRude.â you barked, tugging playfully on his ear. He chuckled, splaying his wide palms over your belly, rubbing tenderly and no doubt imagining you all full and round with his warriors, your breasts heavy with milk, your skin glowing. His spent cock twitched between you, making him flush red. You laughed at his thoughts clearly plastered across his face. âI wonder what theyâll be like, the child of an Imp and a Mand-â
âYou are not an Imp.â He retorted with ruinous conviction. âThatâs not who you are anymore. You proved that when you sank an entire star destroyer to protect the people of Tatooine.â His hands cupped your face, holding you where his big beautiful eyes could see you, really see you. âIâm sorry that I let your past blind me to how much I love you, but now I see you for who you really are.â He kissed your forehead again, a slow, meaningful kiss that conveyed all the words he couldnât find. Stars glittered in his lashes when he met your eyes again. âYouâre not an Imp, cyare, you are a Mandalorian.â
Some kind of noise busted its way out your throat, maybe a laugh, maybe a sob. Either way you were shaking your head. âThank you, but Iâm not a Mandalorian either according to the Jedi boy.â
âI donât see why you canât be both a Mandalorian and a Jedi. Your son is a gremlin and your husband is an ass. I think you can be whatever you want. What was it that he called you?â
âA Thunderfury!â
âA Thunderfury!â He waved his hand dramatically, his eyes shining bright. You snickered at his antics, the melodic sound inviting him to spin you around in his arms, your thighs slicking with lovespunk as you danced. Instantly you wanted the fresher, but your heels knocked against his belt on the floor, making something in the pockets jingle. Bending down, you rifled through the many pouches until you found the one that had your things: two krayt teeth, one blood-stained rag, a pair of beskar cuffs, and surprisingly one other item.
An aurodium insignia.
âThis was the Admirals.â You groaned, turning the half-melted token over in the light. Disgust overwhelmed you, and for a moment you considered opening the ramp door and chucking the emblem out into the hangar. Peli could probably find a buyer for it, but another thought snuck its way into your frontal lobe, spreading a grin over your face. âHow much beskar do you think this will buy me?â
Dinâs brows nearly shot off into space. âThe insignia of a high ranking Imperial officer that you slaughtered? As much as you want, a full set even, but what about the Jedi? Heâs supposed to take you-â
âBut daaaaaad, I need a new outfit for the first day of school! Besides, I can't show up saying Iâm a mando when I donât have any beskar! Also I think the scary sewer queen would kill you if you didnât tell her weâre expecting.â
âYouâre absolutely right, but you do have some beskar.â Din padded over to the armory, throwing munitions and gear out of the way until your faceplate was brought into the light. âI think this belongs to you.â
You took the beloved slab of steel gingerly, turning it over in your hands. Din found the beskar cuffs and lovingly set them over each of your ears. When you set the armor on your face, the visor automatically flashed to life, presenting you with a fireball of a man standing before you, his chest and cheeks burning scarlet. Rolling the iron to your crown, you grabbed the krayt fangs from the pile and handed them to him. âAnd these belong to you.â
The opalescent Impkillers looked tiny in his wide hands, their whitish shimmer almost glowing in the cabin light. He nodded and thanked you, sniffling back his emotions, trying to remain steadfast as though you couldnât see right through him. His fingers tightened over the sharp teeth, their edges creasing his callouses. âIâm going to miss you while youâre away.â
Just like that your beautiful, illustrious moment was cast in a dark, cold shadow. âAway? Youâre going with me, right?â
âI donât know if I can. Iâm not a sorcerer like you or Grogu, and Iâll have to do something to earn credits for the baby. You go to school, grow our child. Iâll find work, thereâs always bount-â
âWoah woah woah. Abso-fuckin-lutely not! Youâre coming with us! Iâm not going through this pregnancy or my forcefuckery without you.â
âThe boy flew an X-wing here, thereâs not exactly room-â
âThen weâll get the coordinates for the school and just⊠meet him there? You said youâre never leaving me behind again, well Iâm not leaving you behind either, ya big fuckinâ jerk.â
âI donât think heâs going to just give you that information. What makes you think you can convince him?â
âFirst of all, something tells me heâs desperate, and secondly,â You planted your feet wide, ignoring your sticky, cumsoaked thighs and jabbing your fists to your hips, beskar crown glittering like royalty and making Din realize that one of these days he was going to have to tell you that as an Alorâs wife, you were technically were.
âIâm Traâlaar, the Thunderfury!â You roared, channeling your Force power to make the Crest shake on itâs fat little legs. Dins wide eyes were a stark contrast to your beaming smile, but the sound of scratching and chirping caught your ears before either of you could say something.
The sleeping cubbyâs drophatch slid out of the way, revealing the disheveled little baby. Grogu glared at the two of you, rubbing his squinty eyes and squeaking on about how youâd interrupted his beauty sleep. Giggling, you took the baby in your arms and sat down on the bed, cradling him against your bare chest. âAw Iâm sorry, Booger, I got carried away.â
Snuggling the child, you were surprised when Din came over to you with a warm washcloth, offering to clean his mess from your thighs. You held Grogu close so his eyes were covered while Din tended to your needs, gently wiping the evidence of your reforged bond away.
When you were as clean as he could get you, you thanked him and scooted back up the bed, resting your weary head on the bunched-up bantha wool at the back of the cubby. You cooed at the fussing baby. âDo you need a lullaby, sweetie? I need to practice before bucket-baby comes. Would that be ok?â Groguâs enormous eyes seemed to light up even in the dark recess of the alcove, his little head bobbing with a nod.
âHeâs missed your songs, cyare.â Din hummed, crawling into the bed with you, laying so that he faced you and his son. You shot him a cynical glance, but he didnât shy away. âIâve missed your songs as well. I-if your voice hurts too much, itâs fine, we can-â
âIâve missed singing to you as well, and to your son.â
âOur son. Just like it will be our baby. Iâll never make that mistake again, you have my word, and should I ever break it again I want you to put a bullet in my skull.â You were about to protest that last line, but his stern glare told you he wasnât joking, so you nodded, agreeing to his terms.
âAnything in particular you want me to sing for you, husband?â
He smiled, running his hand over your bandages until his fingers tangled with your own, dancing lightly over the foundlingâs forehead. âThere was one a long time ago, it was the very first one you ever sang to Grogu, before he even had a name. Something about a navigator?â
âOf course.â You played with his fingers and cleared your throat, dropping your voice into a low whisper like youâd done a hundred times before.
âOh, I have sailed the midnight sea from Hoth to Arvala-5.
Seen the Cloudshape Falls of Alderaan, met rocks that were alive.
But soon I came to realize as world to world I roamed,
That nowhere in the galaxy could really be my home.â
Across from you Dinâs eyes fluttered, fighting the pull of sleep so he could listen to you for as long as possible. You nestled closer to him until your foreheads bumped together, your faces curled towards the child that was already starting to drift back into his afternoon nap.
âSo call the navigator, set the course and go!
Weâve stars and planets to explore, my wild heart tells me so.
Beneath the metal decking I can hear the engine sigh
And all I need is a mighty ship and a staaaa-aarr to guide her by.â
Neither of your boys made it to the last line, so overcome with stress-induced exhaustion that they were both sailing off to dreamland on the words of your song. Later you could find Mr. Sunshine and sort this whole Jedi nonsense out, but regardless of what the stranger wanted you werenât going anywhere if Din couldnât be by your side, the two of you having already suffered enough apart, missing your soulmates.
No, come what may, your clan of three, soon four, would not be splitting up again. Come hell or high water, you were in this together.
<-Previous
TAGLIST
@mrsparknuts @cookiejuicedesu @kaermorons @ironbabey @theflightytemptressadventure @emesispo @what-iwish-youknew @misscamptl @t3a-bag @poppunkdee @misscamptl @pandastasia @simpingmess @lilychristine01 @inaturenymph @buttercup--bee @blackd0gdesignuk @tanzthompson @transientblueseraph @jasmincita @sunnnygiiirl123 @beskarboobs @doin-stuff @marvelranger
#the mandalorian#the mandalorian x you#the mandalorian x f!reader#din djarin#din djarin x you#din djarin x reader#bargaining with beskar#bwb
123 notes
·
View notes
Text
Summary
Roche and Iorveth go on a date with Geralt as their chaperone (not the hat).
Content Background
This one is especially painful to yeet because it was already completed, together with 50% of the next chapter that was the smutty bits. It was finished right about the time I posted Chapter 5 and would have fit in as Chapter 11, but it just didn't make sense with all the additional plot points I'd shoved in.
I've redacted the parts that could potentially get my tumblr banned btw please donut laugh when you see it.
Original Fic
It Took Years
Length
2,300 words
_____________
âGeralt, remember when I released you from prison and saved you from the Nilfgaardians a year ago?â
The white wolf raised his eyebrows in surprise. Roche had never called in a favour for him, and he could tell that Geralt knew it was going to be quite significant. He had thought about it too many times and despite the embarrassment and possibly never being able to look the witcher in the eye, he simply had no other choice.
âLook, I just need you to help Iorveth and I create an alibi.â
â... Uh-huh?â
âWe have a meeting with Dijkstra in Novigrad in a week's time, and I plan toâŠâ he swallowed hard when the words became momentarily stuck in his throat. It took another second for him to gather his courage to speak, and the slight tremble in his voice was immediately noticeable.
âI plan to spend the night with Iorveth in one of the inns the night before. But we need someone to cover us.â
The white wolf seemed to grow even paler and his lips pressed together in contemplation.
âYou know that I have enhanced senses.â
âI know, but I need to make sure that no one catches us. Not the Scoia'tael, Blue Stripes, Dijkstraâs spies, Redanian spies, any Nilfgaardian-â
âAlright, alright, I get it. You just need to make sure that everyone thinks that I invited you two for a drink and make sure that no one is listening in.â
âI know Iâm asking a lot of you, but youâre the only one I can trust in this situation. I havenât⊠Iorveth and I donât have any other opportunities. I canât even hold his hand without worrying that someone is watching.â
Geralt stared blankly at him and Rocheâs heart began to pump harder. His worry must have shown on his face, for the witcher immediately sighed and shook his head.
âCome to the Chameleon. Iâll get you guys a suite. With a wall to separate the living area and the bedroom.â
Roche looked up at him and down a few times, wondering first if Geralt had misspoke, and then if he had misheard. When the witcher said nothing and shrugged, Roche finally accepted it with a nod.
âThanks, Geralt. Drinks are on me,â he muttered and hung his head a little. Embarrassment was beginning to burn his cheeks.
âDonât mention it. Iâll see you soon.â
<center>_________________________</center>
âWhy are we here so early when Geralt only wanted to see us after sundown,â Iorveth whispered as they passed the guards that almost ripped their papers in half. Roche had smooth-talked his way in and Iorveth was impressed, even though he didn't let it show.
They had set aside their armour and entered the city dressed as merchants: Roche in a nondescript outfit that let him blend in with the rest of the nobles, and Iorveth draped in a cloak that obscured his elven features.
The sun was nowhere near setting when they arrived in the city. Roche had intended to take him on a date around the city, but didnât want to admit it.
âI didnât want to disappoint Geralt by being late.â
âGwynbleidd would have understood.â
âWell, since weâre already here, we might as well explore the city. I heard of a tavern along the docks with an elven cook. Would you like to go there?â
The mention of food changed Iorvethâs expression immediately and Roche suppressed his laughter.
They dined at the Golden Sturgeon, where Iorveth immediately received preferential treatment from a redhead with freckles (it's Bea btw). She made sure to seat them in a relatively hidden corner and Roche could see the elf progressively relax as his shoulders began to sag. He even spotted the hints of a smile dancing on his lips when she put some strange fish dish in front of him.
Just when Roche thought that Iorveth was incapable of enjoying himself even more, he became increasingly pliant when they sat down at the Chameleon for a pint while a band played in the background. Roche didn't understand the first thing about music, but his two mugs of ale were enough to get him to keep his reservations.
Besides, he had something really cute to look at.
The elf's cloak was finally down and he could see the tips of his pointed ears twitch with every beat of the drum. He thought about how nice it would have been to pin him down to the bed and toy with his ears. His eyes trailed across the elfâs neck. If they didnât have anywhere to be tomorrow, he would have left bite marks across that smooth skin.
<em>Mine,</em> he thought, and he wanted the world to know once all this was over.
âYou play the recorder donât you,â Roche asked out of the blue. Their eyes met and Iorveth was slightly startled by the intensity of his gaze, but he didnât back down.
âYeah. Thereâs been too much going on recently and I havenât had the chance to though.â
âYou can practice with mine tonight.â
âVernon,â Iorveth warned with a glare, and then quickly glanced around the room to see if anyone was within earshot. There wasnât, but the tension in his body didnât leave.
âI could polish yours all night too, you know.â
The elf flinched and could see the pink develop along the tops of Iorvethâs high cheekbones and the tips of his ear. Past his flustered expression however, there was a particular heat blossoming in his eyes. Roche didnât let up, his curiosity driving him to see just how much he could take it.
âMy carrying case is a bit small, but Iâm sure yours will fit in with a bit of a shove."
This time, Iorveth couldn't resist the urge to push back. Dandelion's tavern was filled with his regulars who were deep in their own conversations, and they were just talking about music, right?
"So you admit that my instrument is bigger."
"Well the quality of the instrument doesn't matter if the musician has no idea how to handle it."
"I think we've proven that I'm the better player though."
"Our last few encounters haven't exactly been skewed in my favour and I still managed."
"There is no fairness in music and in battle. You should know this, <em>Commander</em>."
The way Iorveth said the word made his mouth go dry.
Now <em>that</em> was truly unfair, and his [banana] agreed. He was seconds away from tugging Iorveth upstairs when the doors swung open and in stepped the white wolf.
"Geralt!" he called out and waved a hand.
"Nice to see you both. I hope you didn't wait long."
The witcher took a few steps towards them, sniffed the air and wrinkled his nose. He had this resigned look about him and Roche immediately knew that he could smell their arousal.
"Let's drink in my room," Geralt suggested and grabbed four mugs of ale from a passing waitress. She protested at first, but nodded and flashed him a huge smile when she saw who he was.
They headed up the stairs and Roche had to try very hard not to openly stare at Iorveth's ass. It [eggplant] and he had no choice but to stare ruefully at the ground.
As soon as he saw that the second floor was empty, he reached out and pinched the elf's behind. Iorveth jumped at the touch and almost spilled his own mug of ale, and Roche was treated to one of those embarrassed glares. They quietly ascended another flight of stairs and neared the room, and Roche could feel his heart race and his breathing grow ragged.
Finally, after two weeks of planning and trying to fit all the pieces together, it was happening. It had been a year since Dol Blathanna and months since they started seeing each other, and Roche was raring to go.
Geralt opened the door to a suite on the top floor that was exactly as he described: a small living area with a table for four and a few sparse furnishings, though it was far more comfortable than the arrangements he was used to. Partitioned off by a wall and door was a bedroom mostly occupied by a sizable bed and more pillows than he could count. A decision made by the bard, no doubt.
As soon as the door closed behind them and they set down their mugs, Roche grabbed Iorvethâs collar and shoved him towards the bedroom. The elf looked mortified and nearly lost his footing, but he recovered within the span of a few steps. He grabbed Rocheâs arms and plucked them off him, then tried to shove him backwards but Roche held his ground.
âWhat the fuck, Roche?!â
Roche took a step back and considered Iorvethâs anger. The elf's gaze had grown sharp and alert, but he was mostly just shocked at the audacity of his actions. He just flashed him a devious smile and was returned a twitch of confusion.
âWhat? Didnât you always like roughhousing me on the forest floor?â
âNot in front of Gwyn-â
Roche barely gave Iorveth a chance to answer. He charged forward, wrapped an arm around the elfâs waist, and threw him straight into bed. Iorveth went flying into the mattress with a groan and Roche climbed straight into his lap. Heavy footsteps thudded behind them and stopped by the door.
âOilâs on the nightstand. Donât get the sheets dirty and take your shoes off before you get in bed dammit. I canât afford to pay for new sheets too.â
âGwynbleidd, what is the meaning of this.â
âJust a little gift from me to the both of you. Have fun, Iorveth. Just try not to make too much noise.â
The door behind them closed and Iorveth just stared blankly at Roche, who was already taking off his top. No words came out of the elfâs gaping mouth, so Roche blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
âEnjoying the date so far?â
âExplain yourself Roche, Iâm not-â
The elf had to pause when Roche began grinding in his lap. It worked until it didn't, and Iorveth grabbed onto his hips to still them. Roche just wanted to get to the fucking already, but the elf refused to be distracted no matter how much he tried.
âDid you plan all this? Coming to my camp to pick me up. Picking flowers for me along the path. Bringing me to the tavern for dinner. Having drinks. This fake meeting with Gwynbleidd.â
âOf course. When else was I going to get the opportunity to take you out on a date?â
Something in Iorveth cracked visibly and Roche went dead still with nervousness. The other lowered his gaze and Roche cupped his face in his hands, desperate for his elf to be okay. He stroked his cheek gently and tilted his head up to try and get a better look at that unreadable expression. This was the opposite of what he hoped would happen and worry began to pool in his stomach.
âHey, hey. Whatâs wrong. Talk to me,â he urged and placed a peck on the scarred cheek. There was no answer, so he continued fluttering kisses along his jawline. He felt like his world might come crashing down at any moment and resisted the urge to salvage the situation before he knew what was going on.
It felt like Iorveth was cycling through a thousand and one emotions. He cupped the elf's face in his hands and pulled back, where he was greeted by a vulnerability he had never seen before. The other had this dazed and awed look in his eyes, and if Roche wasn't so flustered by the sudden change of pace, he might he caught his surrender.
âVernonâŠâ
âIâm here. What is it? You can tell me.â
âItâs just...overwhelming.â
âIn a good way or bad way?â
âGood way.â
Roche released the breath he didnât realise he had been holding. It was nice that the reaction was somewhat positive, but Rocheâs poor heart couldnât take the anticipation. Surprising Iorveth was turning out to be quite bad for his health.
âWell. Have you enjoyed yourself?â
âMmn.â
âIt's okay. We'll take it at your pace.â
âI just... need some time to process this. Iâve never been treated like this before. It's overwhelming.â
âWell you deserve it. Take the time you need, itâs okay,â Roche encouraged again and placed another peck on his nose as he undid the bandanna that obscured half his face.
This really wasnât how he thought the evening would go, but he had to admit that it was nice. At the core of it, all he really wanted was to be able to kiss and hold Iorveth intimately without fear of someone catching them. Now they were in bed and there was someone trustworthy to watch their backs, he supposed he had achieved his goal. Maybe they could just hold off the fucking for a while more.
âDo you want to take a nap with me,â Roche offered after they'd sat in silence for a while.
âYeah⊠I would like that very much.â
Iorveth tried to take off his cloak, but Roche shushed him and pushed his hands aside. The elf had a blank look on his face and hurt momentarily flashed across his eye.
"Let me," Roche rushed to salvage as he pulled loose the strings on his cloak.
âI can undress myself you know.â
âI know you can, but just let me pamper you a bit more.â
The tips of Iorveth's ears were bright red and Roche suppressed the urge to tease him about it. Slowly, he helped the elf strip down to his underwear and slipped him beneath the sheets. Then he took off his own garments and joined him, snuggling up to that warm and slender body that seemed to fit so perfectly with his.
Yeah, he could wait.
#cut content#iorveth x roche#iorveth#vernon roche#witcher 2#fanfiction#fanfic#ao3#archive of our own#drabbles#it took years
12 notes
·
View notes
Note
And multiples of 4 for Edmund - just so we've got our boys covered! :) Thank you!
Hey, angel! Iâm sorry you had to wait an eternity for this one, but it was a total delight from top to bottom. Thank you for the ask. :)
[Obligatory disclaimer about how Iâll be writing about Edmund as he exists in L.E.A.R., because thatâs the version of him I know best.]
Tagging our amazing Lear squad: @suits-of-woe @witty-fool @lizbennett2013 @cordelialearâ @edmundthebastard
4. Best places to kiss on their body
I think Iâll let the sisters answer this one:
GONERIL: On the mouth, obviously. Where else would you kiss someone? Itâs romantic, straightforward...plus thereâs the added benefit of stifling noise, so weâre less likely to be overheard by James.
REGAN: Just give him a blowjob and be done with it. Self-evident, much?
CORDELIA: Who the fuck told you I wanted to kiss that bastard?
If Edmund himself were to answer this question honestlyâwhich, letâs face it, he never wouldâheâd probably say that he doesnât care where someone kisses him, as long as that someone has long dark hair and smells like violets.
8. Bad memories/experiences
Too many to count. In 27 years of life, Edmund has endured more prejudice and spite, more snubs and microagressions, more contempt and more hostility than men three times his age. Itâs not easy growing up as the illegitimate, biracial son of the richest lawyer in Manhattan and the ex-stripper mistress he keeps stowed away in an Uptown penthouse, like some princess in a tower, especially when everyoneâfrom Edmundâs peers to his teachers to the paparazziâare constantly comparing him to his golden older brother, Edgar.Â
Counterintuitively, one of Edmundâs worst memories is the death of Marianne Gloucester when he was 14. Even though Marianne had loathed him with every fiber of her being, and never missed an opportunity to exclude, disparage, or belittle him (particularly in front of his brother), her passing crystallized the publicâs hatred for Calebâs âFamily of Shameâ tenfold. All over New York, people from Goneril to Edgarâs sophomore friends to strangers on the street suddenly began acting as though theyâd been given divine license to treat Edmund (and Kessa, for that matter) like a war criminal. The weeks following the car accident saw him get beaten up twice, his bike was stolen, his locker was graffitied, and three different mothers spat on him as he walked home from school. Caleb barely registered any of what was happening to his youngest son, he was so wrapped up in his own guilt-laced grief. And Edgar, typically Edmundâs one defender, was even less of a comfort.
The next time Edmund would feel so completely alone in the world came six long years later, when he made the one mistake he promised his mother he never would and lost the sovereignty of his heart to someone else. Cutting himself loose from her required telling a lie that scalded his throat and fractured his soul beyond repair. Before Cordelia, Edmund had always taken pride in being too far gone for saving. Losing her made him realize that he still wanted to be.
12. Grudges and vendettas
I donât know. The world? Society at large? The iron fist of monogamy? White privilege? Fucking âfamily valuesâ? Fiddler on the Roof-level Tradition???
Edmund hates the status quo, because it always leaves him at the bottom of the wheel. But I think the only person he truly wishes he could obliterateâjust wipe off the face of the earthâis the girl who can make him forget that the wheel even exists.
As Kessa likes to say, âDistraction breeds disadvantage.â
16. Dark secrets/âskeletons in the closetâ
From the age of 12, heâs been conniving with his mother to disempower his father, disinherit his brother, and usurp control of Learâs legal team. If that doesnât qualify as a âskeleton,â I donât know what could.
20. What-ifs/Alternate Timelines
I mean, if weâre talking about Shakespeareâs masterpiece, there are as many alternate universes as there are productions of the play. (Shoutout to John Macmillan for leaning into Edmundâs sociopathic subtlety, all while dressed in complete military regalia.)
In L.E.A.R., I think the biggest what-if moment that happens before the action of the play is Edmundâs choice to make Cordelia hate him in order to send her running for Paris. Obviously, that only worked for four years, but it did work. It not only got her out of the cloud of his cigarette smoke, it also gave her the space and pain and clarity to become the fierce warrior queen we all know and love. If Edmund hadnât sold her that story, she absolutely wouldâve gone to Columbia and probably majored in Political Science, rather than International Relations. Anything to make her his equal. And she probably would have a very different relationship to her trust fund, because she would know how much he craved it.Â
17 years old is just too young to have perspective, especially on the first real relationship of her life. I think if Edmund hadnât done what he didâwhich was as much about saving her as it was about refocusing himselfâthen the violet sister wouldâve turned into a creature much more like her sisters. Loving the bastard wouldâve supplanted everything, even the moral compass to which she always clung as a child & adolescent.
If weâre talking about events inside L.E.A.R., then I think the biggest what-if to ask would be: What if Kessa didnât kill herself? Because she does that for one reason and one reason only: to remind Edmund of his endgame. Itâs her death that prompts Edmund to break with Cordelia by going after the two women he swore to her he would never seduce: her sisters. The domino effect of that decision leads to the fatal end of the play. If Kessa had lived...oh god, I get goosebumps just thinking about it. I donât know that it wouldâve been âbetter.â But it wouldâve changed everything. The events of Shakespeareâs play might never have happened at all. *incoherent pterodactyl noises*
7 notes
·
View notes
Text
Gou: What did you guys get in your yearbook?
Aaron: 'Prettiest Smile.'
Sakuya: 'Nicest Personality.'
Candela: 'Most likely to start a bar fight.'
Asher: 'Least likely to start a bar fight, but most likely to win one.'
____
Gabrielle: Well, arenât you all a rag-tag group of adventurers with unclear goals and good hearts! Oh, let me guess; youâre out to save the world!
Blanche: Well, actually, that sounds like a pretty fair assessment.
Aaron: More or less, I guess...
Spark: That sounds awesome! Letâs do that!
Willow: Iâm new here, but I am open to the concept.
Candela: I thought thatâs what we were doing, guys, come on!
____
Sakuya: Donât stay up all night, Spark. Last time you got this sleep-deprived, you tried to eat your own shirt.
____
Sakuya: You're alive.
Seimei: There's no need to sound so disappointed.
____
Candela: I don't know how to tell you this, but... I love you.
Asher: That's great, Candela. Especially considering the fact we've been married for six fucking years.
____
Sakuya: Between Willow, Gou, Yarrow, and Asher -- if you had to -- who would you punch?
Spark: No one! They're my friends. I wouldn't punch any of them.
Sakuya: Yarrow?
Spark: Yeah, but I don't know why.
____
Gou: What is love?
Aaron: An emotional minefield.
Arlo: *stealing her coffee from the booth behind them* A neurochemical reaction.
Spark: Baby don't hurt me.
____
Spark: The floor is lava!
Blanche: *helps Aaron onto the counter*
Asher: *kicks Arlo off the sofa*
Yarrow: *lays on the floor*
Spark: ...Are you okay?
Yarrow: No.
____
Yarrow: I'm being used, aren't I?
Arlo: Only in the most superficial sense, it's still you I'm havng sex with, you're too fundamentally different from the person I pine after, and I'm to much of an uncreative soul to-
Yarrow: Stop, for the love of Arceus, just stop. You somehow made it both worse and better, and I want it to stop.
____
Gou: Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the things you lost throughout your life.
Sakuya: It would be nice to have my sense of purpose back...
Aaron: Oh wow, my childhood innocence! Thank you for finding this.
Spark: My will to live! I haven't seen this in years.
Blanche: I knew I lost that potential somewhere.
Candela: Mental stability, my old friend!
Gou: Mew, could you guys lighten up a little?
____
Cliff: How the hell are you still alive?
Asher: Honestly, Iâm just as confused as you are.
Candela: *from somewhere across the stadium* Spite!
____
Gou: When's the last time you slept?
Blanche: Uh... a few days ago, I think.
Gou: A few- how many?!
Blanche: Uh... *starts counting on fingers* I need more fingers...
Gou: What you need is sleep!
____
Arlo: Blanche, my old friend!
Blanche: I think you tried to kill me at some point.
Arlo: That was obviously just my way of getting to know you.
____
Candela: *in a jail cell* What about my Miranda rights!? Youâre supposed to say I have âthe right to remain silentââ! NOBODY SAID I HAD THE RIGHT TO REMAIN SILENT!
Arlo: *in the cell next to them* You have the right to remain silent, what you lack is the capacity.
____
Altair: I saw you fall, saw the sinners lay on your corpses...
Gou: Hey, whatâs up with Altair?
Altair: I created you, made the pieces perfect, others marveled at your beauty⊠their gazes may have held envy, though, for none are perfect but you. I was only looking away for a moment, but you were gone. I had failed you. And I fell into despair. The only way to save myself was to create, but I knew⊠this time I knew I was only making you to die. And I apologize. For I will undoubtedly fail you again. For a short time, there will be peace and beauty, but none in the face of us shall lay undisturbed. The greatest have fallen, and will continue to fall, and I weep for you for being born unto this place, where brother eats brother, and the undeserving rise to fame. Those that have gone against you know theyâve wronged you, and they will stand before the creator, knowing they have sinned. Do not worry, little ones, you will be avenged.
Sakuya: ...They made some rock towers and went somewhere else for twenty minutes and when they came back the rock towers were destroyed and people were sitting where the towers once were, so they were sad and made more rock towers.
Sakuya, to Altair: Hey, who even is the creator? I thought you were an atheist!
Altair: SHUT THE HELL UP, Sakuya! IâM TRYING TO BE DRAMATIC AND MYSTERIOUS!
____
Asher: So Sakuya was just using me?
Spark: Iâm sorry, Asher.
Altair, trying to contain their amusement: You must feel pretty stupid right now.
Asher:
Spark: Ok, thatâs a time-out.
Altair: No, I was just trying to-
Spark: Go sit over there!
Altair: *walks away in defeat*
____
Asher: I'm so tired of this life. I want to be a roomba. I want knives taped to me. And I want to be set loose.
____
Candela: Hey Asher, Iâve got an idea for how to solve this.
Asher, pulling out a shotgun: Yeah?
Candela: Wh- No! Thatâs not the idea, Asher!
____
Gou: I love murder mysteries!
Altair, trying to impress them: I've been a suspect in four murder cases.
____
Gou: I like your top, Arlo!
Yarrow: I have a name, you know.
Arlo: *sighs* Why. Why are you like this.
____
Blanche: Stop setting things on fire because you're curious about what will happen. What will happen is fire.
Altair: But what if something else happens just this one time.
____
Sakuya: Ayo, what the Fuck is this?!?
Asher, sitting down, surrounded by corpses: I won Mafia, thatâs what.
____
Asher: I have one foot in the grave but in a kind of fun flirty way, the way one might slip on a fishnet stocking.
____
Altair: Everything will be ok. You can not stop it.
Altair: Everything will be fine. You have no choice.
Spark: What the fuck kind of pep talk is that?
Altair: Ominous positivity.
____
Spark: If you put a milkshake in one yard and crack open a cold one in another yard, which yard would the boys go to?
Candela: Schrödinger's boys.
Altair: Fuck!
Sakuya: What about cracking open a cold milkshake?
Blanche: As we all know, the milkshake brings the boys to the yard. The presence of the boys is a prerequisite for the cracking open of a cold one, but cold ones do not have any inherent boy-attracting abilities. Milkshakes, however, do.
Blanche: All else being equal, the boys would proceed to the milkshake yard. While it is possible to announce the presence of cold ones in the hope of attracting some boys, the pull of the milkshake is much more powerful by comparison.
Spark: ...
Candela: ...
Altair: ...
Sakuya: ...
Blanche: Mind you, all of this nonsense hinges on whether or not the boys are back in town.
____
Arlo: I want to kiss you.
Asher, not paying attention: What?
Arlo: I said if you die, I wont miss you.
____
Gabrielle: I'm gonna need a human skull but you can't ask why.
Altair: Only if you also don't ask why.
Altair: *pulls four pristine human skulls out of their bag*
Gabrielle: ...
Gabrielle, grabbing a skull: This one will do.
____
Arlo: You have friends and I envy that.
Yarrow: You're welcome to share my friends.
Arlo: *looks at Sakuya and Gabrielle*
Arlo: I don't want those.
____
Blanche: Iâve been dropping them the most insanely obvious hints for like a year now. No response.
Aaron: Wow. They sound stupid.
Blanche: But theyâre not. Theyâre really smart actually. Just incredibly dense.
Aaron: Maybe you need to be more obvious? Like, I donât know⊠âHey! I love you!â
Blanche: I guess youâre right. Hey Aaron, I love you.
Aaron: See! Just say that!
Blanche: Holy fucking shit.
Aaron: If that flies over their head then, sorry Blanche, but they're too dumb for you.
Blanche: Aaron.
____
Spark: We might have gotten into a bar room brawl back in the city.
Blanche: Well, that was entirely predictable.
Spark: One of them punched a gang member.
Blanche: Asher?
Spark: Candela, actually.
Blanche: Oh, that was going to be my second guess.
____
Blanche: *speaking Kantonese*
Spark: I know, I know.
Gou: You speak Kantonese?
Sparm: No. I just know the phrase, 'this is all your fault' in every language Blanche speaks.
____
Mace, talking about Candela: Is this a friend of yours, Spark?
Spark: Kind of? Not really. They're in my life and there's nothing I can do about it.
____
Aaron: What happened?!
Spark: Do you want the long version or the short version?
Aaron: Sh-short?
Spark: Shit's fucked.
Aaron: Okay, long.
Spark: Shit's very fucked.
____
Laurent: I need to dye my hair.
Aaron: ...
Laurent: Or get another tattoo.
Aaron: ...
Laurent: Or a new piercing.
Aaron: ...Why?
Laurent: To, you know, appease the mental breakdown gods.
____
Laurent: Fight me!
Aaron, standing behind them and holding a knife: *mouths* Do not.
____
Aaron: I donât think the therapist is supposed to say âwowâ that many times during their first session with a client, but here we are.
____
Gou: If itâs any consolation, they got me here on a very misleading text message.
Laurent: Technically, you are about to be screwed in the biology room.
____
Gou: So, what are we doing?
Sakuya: Wasting our lives.
Gou: I meant for lunch...
____
Gou: Would never stab anyone.
Yarrow: Would stab someone in retaliation.
Sakuya: Yells "I won't hesitate, bitch!" first.
Asher: Would stab without warning.
Gabrielle: Would stab as a warning.
____
Candela: Okay, if we can't do it by sheer force, we'll do it my way.
Gou: But your way is sheer force!
____
Police: Youâre under arrest for trying to carry three people on a single motorcycle.
Sakuya, with Gabrielle and Asher behind them: Wait, what do you mean THREE?!
Police: YesâŠthree.
Sakuya: Oh, my Godâ What the fuck!?
Police: Wha-
Sakuya: Yarrow FUCKING FELL OFF!
____
Akio: It was difficult, so youâve just given up. You might fail, so why bother trying?
Kaye: Exactly.
Kaye, to Maxine: I told you theyâd understand.
____
Xerxes: Uptown Funk would've made it into the Shrek Soundtrack.
Bernard: That's the truest statement I've ever heard.
____
Gabrielle: *raises eyebrows*
Akio: Put those back down!
____
Dietrich: I should've left you on that street corner where you were standing.
Sorrel: But ya' didn't!
----
Hawthorne: Thank you for not saying "I told you so."
Lucilia: When youâre as right as I am, you donât have to say it.
----
Cliff: I can't believe you've done this.....
Charlotte: I'm sorry I didn't know-!
Cliff, on the verge of tears: YOU CAN'T JUST BUY ME A GIFT OUT OF NOWHERE NOW I FEEL LIKE A HUGE ASSHOLE!
----
0 notes