#he's only in charge when nikto lets him

[morthern]

[cerosin-bis]

Cerosin, adored, feel the free-est to ignore this question if it’s dumb or you’ve answered it before… If Ghost (09/22) got along with anyone among Nikto/Krueger/Golem (if there’s a timeline issue let’s ignore it) who would it be?… How would they bond…

Dearest Valiants, thank you so much for this question which was very fun 🖤 mw19 boys doodle for the occasion 😌

I feel like Ghost and Nikto would harbour sort of a... silent, mutual respect towards each other. A "yeah alright this guy's been through some serious shit" type of acknowledging one another. I think if they keep each other at arm's length, they could get along without getting on each other's nerves, but it's a delicate balance as they both have strong tempers. I would imagine them to share the same humour.

Krueger... He would be unfazed by Another Massive Guy Who Is Very Serious About His Mask tbh. I don't think he'd spare him any thought. Ghost, on the other hand, would surely be very wary of Krueger because Ghost is a guy with trust issues and this Krueger guy is (looks at notes) uh. uhm. Lived under a false ID to evade murder charges long enough for him to join a foreign military and make his way into the special forces under said false ID. Only to be suspected of actual war crimes and evading custody. so. yeah.

Funnily enough I feel like Golem would in particular clash with 09 ghost because he seems really stubborn. golem's #1 pet peeve (because he's a nice guy and people tend to naturally listen to him so he doesn't LIKE when people defy him.)

[lizzy019]

НИКТО Personality Analysis

-> Information Given

Some form of dissociation disorder

Tortured by Zakhaev, leaving heavy scarring and forcing him to wear a mask to avoid ridicule, fear from others, and shunning by society

Age is in the range of late 20s to mid 30s, not confirmed yet

-> Theories

Nikto says "us" a lot in his voicelines, and in his description it only says he has ACUTE DISSOCIATIVE DISORDER, which is when you zone out and fall into a heavy state of haziness and confusion for a short period of time before regaining focus. However, DISSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDER is all about dissociating for however long, the range is limitless, and another identity will take over while you're spaced out. Therefore, this is why I believe Nikto had DID and not ADD.

Nikto has this animation where he's supposedly showing that he'll slit your throat in a very oddly realistic manner. What pressure to use and how he'd end off your head. I believe he's witnessed and first handedly experienced this when Zakhaev tortured him, and he began doing it while in the military. Why? Nikto has a very gruff, harsh tone, but it's only when he's yelling and putting too much pressure to his vocal cords. I believe he has a scar on his neck, maybe a bit too close to his esophagus and lower chin that didn't heal properly and affected how he projected his voice.

Now, Nikto has one voice line that goes, "I hear enough voices, I don't need another!" Referring back to my first theory, I believe Nikto also has very short patience and all of his alters do as well. His whole personality is built off of acting fast, doing as instructed, and constantly going. You never see Nikto stop. I believe this voiceline is a very strong giveaway to a part of Nikto's personality on how he functions. It also shows how his temper is kind of wonky.

-> Personality Scan-over

Nikto is presumed as a very harsh Russian man, brutalized by his captor Zakhaev and taken advantage of when he was at his absolute lowest. This has caused major issues with trust, abandonment, and self-love. Nikto struggles with expressing himself, often resulting in violence and anger as heard in his voicelines.

He typically doesn't like speaking to people, only his fellow military personnel, but even then it isn't guaranteed. Nikto is a very self-sufficient person, he's head-on about lots of things and isn't scared to take charge when need be. His main frustration is when people don't listen to him, he already lacks control mentally with all his alters.

Nikto is the type of person who struggles with letting people into his life, or into his head in general. He's reserved, too reserved. He doesn't like letting people in, and who could blame him with all that he's suffered?

But if you do manage to break down his barriers, expect tough love and lots of strange surprises. He'll become more protective of you in a physical sense, not caring too much about you emotionally. If you've brought him comfort in any way, shape or form, he will tell himself how much he cannot lose that solace you bring him.

Nikto is cold, and typically isn't good in relationships. In his voicelines, he's very aggressive and doesn't show any sympathy, much less many manners. The occasional "spasibo" (thanks in Russian) and that's all. It'd be hard to be dependent on him when he's just more independent than you'd expect.

-> Background Theories

True Name: Igor "Nikto" Vasilyevich Yurievich

Age: 33 or 34

Born in: Siberia, Russia

Family: No mother, no siblings

-> Summary

Nikto is a Russian soldier who fights in the private military dubbed "KorTac", an elite group of military personnel who fight alongside other military units to achieve a shared goal.

Nikto is a torture victim survivor, captured my Viktor Zakhaev and ending up with some severe scarring to his lower face and neck. This is why he hides his face with a mask, and also covers his whole body in dark clothing.

Nikto is an individual who struggles with a dissociative disorder, causing some of his work to be a bit half-done, not purposefully however. His lack of control due to his disorder brings him only disadvantages, making him stop mid-fight and inevitably making him an easy target.

Regardless of this, Nikto has proved himself to be a worthy soldier on the battlefield, exceeding many expectations and climbing the ranks cleanly and efficiently. His character is the embodiment of determination and dedication despite everything going wrong much to his dismay.

[wantonlywindswept]

forgotten fox ficbit 2

one here

i recognize the poll results and i am ignoring the poll results =D

I realized there are things i want to happen before fox's batch gets involved (more slow building realization stuff) and that would be Cheating and skipping to the end, so thus you get poll winner #2: Stressing Out Hound ft Grizzer and Commander Vertex

---

Despite what most natborns thought--or screamed, loudly and obnoxiously--Grizzer was not some poorly-trained mutt.

She wasn't as disciplined as the massifs Hound had trained with on Kamino, but those massifs were older than he was. Grizzer had been given to him as a pup just two years before Geonosis, a squirmy bundle of scales with spines barely the length of his thumb; she and Hound had the same amount of active duty experience. 

(She was also, to Hound's bitter regret, not able to be spoiled with the organic aged bantha chew treats that Trainer Jallo had used. Trainer Jallo said that the quality of the rewards didn't matter, but she'd also never had to feed her massifs the slop that Kamino used for animal feed, which honestly was probably only the tiniest step below what they fed to the clones.)

Grizzer was highly competent at her job: she answered all of Hound's commands promptly, hunted down suspects with the same focus and determination as a clone soldier, and knew not to take orders from anyone other than the Guard's commanders or ARF troopers.

"Hound, have you finished the intake form for--oh, hey Grizzer. Down, girl."

Grizzer, who had been in the midst of going for an affectionate full-body tackle (which she only did when she really liked someone, what the fuck), skidded to an abrupt halt at Commander Vertex's feet, plopping her butt down on the ground right next to his boots and staring up at him adoringly.

Commander Vertex, who had only been with the Guard for two weeks. Commander Vertex, who had made it to the kennels maybe once in that entire time.

Commander Vertex, who reached down to pat Grizzer on the head, who instead of getting a warning mouthful of teeth, received a dopey grin and a happy wiggle from Hound's highly-trained massif. 

What the fuck.

With a final pat, Vertex left Grizzer sitting obediently by the door to make his way further into the kennels, occupied by his ever-present datapad. When he reached Hound--still kneeling dumbfounded on the floor trying to fix one of the cleaning droids--he finally seemed to realize what just happened.

"Ah," he said.

"What," said Hound, "The fuck."

Vertex just shrugged, as if getting by a highly territorial massif who tolerated a total of maybe four people was just something that normal people did, and not an act of extremely impossible betrayal.

"I worked with massifs while with Spec Ops. They always seemed to like me."

Hound didn't even know the Spec Ops Brigade had ARF troops.

And that still didn't explain why Grizzer would--

"You shouldn't be down like that," Vertex said, head tilting to one side. "You're going to aggravate your knee. Anyway, isn't Jogan supposed to be in charge of cleaning today?"

"There was a big drug smuggling bust in the Uscru district," Hound replied blankly as Vertex tugged him to his feet. "Bruiser needs the practice."

"So does Jogan," Vertex muttered.

Hound usually stood up for his men, but the commander wasn't wrong. 

Vertex frowned as Hound staggered a little before righting; his left knee was feeling tetchy about whether or not it wanted to support his weight. He held on until Hound was steady before letting go, attention dropping back to his datapad with a grimace.

"Stone needs the intake form on that Nikto you brought in last night," Vertex said, flicking his fingers across the screen. Hound heard the depressingly telltale ping! of a message hitting his comm. "If you get it to him by midmeal, it should be fine. But have Patches take a look at your knee first."

"Yessir," Hound replied automatically. 

Vertex nodded at him approvingly, which definitely wasn't pleasing or anything, and headed back out of the kennels. He paused to pat Grizzer on the head again before disappearing out the door.

In the ensuing silence, Hound stared at Grizzer.

Grizzer stared back.

"Traitor," he hissed.

His extremely poorly-trained massif's tongue lolled out in an unrepentant doggy grin.

And then Hound remembered--

His knee injury wasn't in his file. It happened on Kamino, and would have been an instant decommission if the clone medics hadn't smuggled him in for emergency surgery after training hours. He'd told the Guard CMO about it after being assigned to Coruscant, but Defib had decided to keep the injury off the books as well, just in case any natborns got nosey.

Commander Vertex shouldn't even know about it.

What the fuck.

[nrdmssgs]

The dropouts (part 2)

Masterlist

Part 1 I you are here I Part 3 I Part 4 I Part 5 I Part 6

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, action, slow burn.

Pairing: Olga 'Zhar' Samoilova (OC) x Nikto

Summary: Nikto tries to remember, why couldn’t he kill his competitor on a battlefield. And when he fails to recall - he asks her personally.

TWs: This whole series will be revolving around a person living with an acute dissociative disorder. Depiction of an act of self harming.

“Cmon, commander, I know, you can make it happen.”

There are very few people out there, who manage to stay unbothered by Niktos intence piercing gaze. König is one of them.

“I can make many things happen.” Colonels voice is cold and calm. “Doesn’t mean, i am actually going to.”

“Kak znal, blya,”* mutters Nikto, and then takes a step forward. “I fucked up. Big time. I admit, König.”

Now this is rare. So rare to hear Niktos apologies, that Colonel stops roaming through the reports on his desk and finally looks back at him. To Königs disappointment, his subordinate shuts up at the very same moment.

“You think, it’s a punishment?”

“That you can make one phone call and let me meet that soldier for a talk, but you specifically choose to not? Looks pretty much like a sanction to me.”

“And what were you going to talk about?”

Nikto clenches his teeth to not let the “that’s not of your business” out, so König continues.

“KorTac has no beef with Chimera and that’s how I plan to keep things between us. Sending you to whatever you mean under ‘the talk’ you want to have with their second in command, doesn’t sound like a winning strategy here.”

Second in command? Nikto could easily strangle that soldier with his bare hands and they put her in charge? He smirks under the mask to the thought of how easily the notorious Nikolais PMC could get beheaded.

“Only you couldn’t even touch her.” A too familiar voice awakes deep inside Niktos skull. He ignores it, not wanting to show König how unwell is he right now. But it seems like his boss has nothing more to tell him, so Nikto leaves his office.

“She was so ridiculously tiny next to us. Standing there, calling for us, begging to be broken. And you failed.”

“Shut up.” Nikto mutters in a low voice, so that nobody around notices.

Every long hallway looks just like a previous one. He turns left twice, then right. The voices don’t like this part of the base: usually they feel lost here, they beg him to stop going in circles and lead them out to the fresh air. They try to convince him, it’s an endless maze, but Nikto knows the way out. He learned it by heart. Left, left, right, down, left, up, up, right. No matter how loud they cry for help, how convinced they are, that they all are doomed - Nikto follows the path. Usually the voices forget everything, they were talking about previously, when they are dragged here. Usually. But not today.

“Could have drowned her in a puddle of mud. Could have broken every limb: nice and slow. Could have fed her our knife and stomped on her face. But you failed. Surrendered.”

“Shut up.” He hisses, dragging a long exhale through the clenched teeth.

“Failure. Bet, she’s laughing at you right now.”

“Zavali ebalo, mraz`!”* His voice echoes in an empty hall, but Nikto doesn’t care anymore. With one swift motion he takes out his knife and pins his own palm against the wall, pushing the blade into the heavily scarred skin. The voices switch to the pain, Nikto is causing to himself. The invisible choir screams around him, but Nikto only pushes the blade deeper. Dark red strains run down his arm and color his uniform sleeve in crimson.

***

Nikto didn’t abandon his plans to meet the Chimera soldier. She owed him an explanation, but even more - she owed him a story. Because he couldn’t remember anything after the gun shot fired right over his face. Luckily he hasn’t exhausted all avenues to meet her yet. KorTac employees were quite free to take any mission as private contractors as long as it wasn’t at cross-purposes with the company plans.

Nikto searched and took any contract that promised crossing paths with Chimeras: from small courier missions to large operations bordering with heists. For two months this kept making his bank account prettier, but that wasn’t what he craved. Nikto kept searching, hunting for that soldier restlessly, until one day they met.

***

It feels like one of the most boring private contracts, he ever took: he’s a bodyguard for some shady piece of shit, who tries to start a business with the Chimera. His employee asked Nikto, if he’s ready to be left trapped with a half of an enemy army. Niktos answer was plain.

“It wont be me trapped with them, it will be them trapped with me.”

Nikto checks the private room in a rowdy club, where his clients meeting is planned, and walks outside.

“You’re clear to enter, i will be right behind the door. Anything goes wrong, or at least seems to go wrong - you call me. Just don’t make sudden moves.” He instructs the employee and leans against the wall, waiting for the other party to arrive.

They enter the hall at the very last minute before the official meeting time. First comes a tall man, his face is hidden behind a dark green tactical net. His eyes scan the hall and stop, meeting Niktos gaze.

“Zhar, they brought a fancy door stopper.” He sounds amused and relieved, as if he too was too bored with the upcoming meeting.

“Stop scoffing Krueger,” Nikto recalls this voice immediately, his body tenses, a cold hard knot forms somewhere deep in his throat. “They can bring whoever they-“

She falls silent as soon as her partner walks past Nikto revealing them to each other. Her gaze is the same as it was back when they first met. Grey irises with a slightly brighter green flame dancing around her pupils. Eyes of a bird of prey, looking at him with such an intensity, that he feels as if she sees right through his mask, maybe even right through his skin. She doesn’t say a word to him, only commands her soldier to wait for her and disappears behind the door.

A loud club music is muffled by many doors separating this place from the main hall. Krueger looks around in a search of anything to keep himself busy, but there is nothing out there. So he gives in and turns to Nikto.

“How much do they pay you?”

Nikto doesn’t realize, the guy is talking to him, until he repeats his question.

“Not enough.” Nikto smirks. “And you? Does this Zhar pay you extra for the curtain to stay on?”

“You’re so not ready for this talk, mister Aliexpress Voorhees.”

They both stay silent for a few long minutes and then Nikto lets out a very short chuckle. It is a rare occasion, a stranger breaks the ice in a first talk with him. Krueger laughs back, more relaxed and openly, and then adds.

“Zhar didn’t like you for some reason. But if you don’t do anything stupid - we should be good.”

Nikto knows exactly, why this woman didn’t appreciate meeting him. But that is not his story to share with any Chimera other than her. He looks at the door, behind which his client has a meeting and thinks, what will he say to Zhar once he has a chance. He stands still, but his heart rushes so fast as if he was running after someone for hours already.

The door opens and his client marches out with a mixed expression on his face. Nikto starts following him as soon as the man walks past him.

“Avoid having business with the Russians at any costs. Zhar, her boss Nikolai - both greedy as fuck, will push you for every penny.”

Nikto remains silent, wondering if his Slavic accent wasn’t obvious enough for the client to notice, that he himself hired a Russian. They walk through the corridors and halls of the club, Nikto scans the surroundings in a search of any external danger, but everything seems fine.

When his client is finally back in the car - Nikto turns back to the club almost immediately, as his contract ends right here. He rushes through the dancing crowd back to the door to private rooms. On his way out, he didn’t pay much attention to these people, just made sure, they don’t stand in his clients way. But now he grows more irritated with every next body not moving away fast enough. He’s in a hurry - Zhar can leave any minute now, if she hasn’t already left through some back door. He pushes obstacles away, not carrying for their frustrated yells, that are cut off only, when people around him see, what a massive beast is striding from an entrance to a VIP zone.

Nikto catches them in the hall: Zhar stops in her tracks, watching the tremendous soldier marching right to her. When there are no more than four meters left between them - Krueger points his pistol Nikto in the face. His friendly demeanor is gone in a second, but Nikto remembers the rules.

“Not planning anything stupid,” Nikto slowly raises hands. “Just need to talk. Privately.”

“Dream on,” growls Krueger, but Zhar cuts him off with a silent gesture.

She looks up Nikto in the eyes, as if she can read something there. Her gaze awakes an uncanny feeling deep in his guts - he feels paralyzed, helpless once again. Just when she put a knife to his throat back on the battlefield. It feels like forever, but after a few moments she finally nods.

“Your weapons stay outside the room. The door stays open. I have…” She hesitates, glancing at Krueger.

“Ten minutes top, commander. Your transport is coming soon.”

“Ten minutes, soldier,” the woman repeats after Krueger and nod to the entrance, “Come in, let’s make it quick and easy.”

They spend the first minute in silence: Nikto is tapping an erratic rhythm on the table top and Zhar just leans against the back of a comfy sofa, using every minute to rest before further work. Usually Nikto is absolutely calm about the tight timing on missions. It adds challenge, makes his work more or less entertaining. But now every second puts more pressure on him. He had plenty of time to plan this talk, he replayed it on and on for two months, while he was chasing her, he had the right words for every possible reaction of hers. But right now all the plans, all the variations of his lines mix together, clash and transform into some nonsense.

She takes a deep breath in and Nikto notices, that she looks worn out.

“Tough meeting?” He doesn’t know, where did this question come for: he didn’t come here to feel for her.

“You sure you want to spend next nine minutes discussing my work?” She squints her eyes and massages her temples. And that is when Nikto finally recalls one of the lines he prepared for the start of their talk.

“Callsign is Nikto, I work for-“

“Who you are is nothing, big guy.” Niktos fingers run cold after she says that. Is it because of his callsign? She just mocks him for being called ‘nobody’?* To his relief, she continues talking after a short pause. “What you are is everything. And what exactly are you right now? A message? A weapon? A threat?”

He clenches his jaw. Something deep inside him is begging to snap back at her with a harsh reaction, but he holds back.

“A man with a question.”

“Shoot,” Zhar finally opens her eyes and moves closer to the desk, closer to him.

“Back there. Why didn’t you kill me?”

“You think, I should have?” An unkind smile starts spreading on her face like an ugly scar. A smile, Nikto wishes to put away from her face right there for good.

“Na vopros otvechai!”* His voice grows angry, low rumbling resembling predatory growl. He wasn’t sure, she would understand his mother tongue: nowadays one doesn’t even have to be born in Russia to get called ‘a greedy Russian’. But a sudden change of her face expression signalizes, that she understood him just right.

Zhar moves to the very edge of the sofa and reaches out to him. Her hand freezes in mere centimeters from his chest, or to be more precise - from the empty Velcro slot.

“There was something right there. A KorTac patch. Pretty little thing.” Ugly grimace gradually fades from her face with every next word as she seems so relax, telling Nikto her story. “I was out of ammo, any radio turned useless after traders turned on their jammers, and I couldn’t run forever from this soldier, with his questionable arms choices. When I saw this patch on you - it dawned on me: you were my ticket out of there. My people find me - I come back with a reason, another PMC owes us a big one, your people find me - I have a hostage, that costs getting my ass out of there. The third party finds me-“

“You serve them my ass as an offering.” Nikto finishes the line for her. “Smart. So, who found you first?”

“You got out of there alive.” She leans back and crosses arms on her chest. “That’s what matters, Niktó.”

It doesn’t escape his ear, that the woman uses a heavy Slavic pronouncement for his callsign, stressing the last vowel. He feels, that their talk grows useless: both sides are still too frustrated by everything that happened between them. They don’t want to share anything too personal with each other, sensing that it might get used against them. But at the same time Nikto wants to get her talking. He needs to remember the full scene to understand, what happened to him. The only thing that stops him - he wouldn’t want to admit he has this choir of voices that sometimes take the wheel, leaving him no memories of what they have done.

“Maybe I have a soft spot for those who know, how to choose the right instrument for any occasion. And maybe I want to know if I’ve proven a fitting instrument for your needs back then?”

“You weren’t an instrument, you were a man trying to kill me.” Zhar abruptly stands up hinting him that this conversation is about to end. “Now how about we both admit that it all ended well and leave each other alone, no hard feelings?”

Nikto smirks, but quickly realizes, his mask hides his face expression. So he rises from his seat, takes off his glove and reaches out for a handshake. When Zhar squeezes his palm, he is about to say good buy, but instead of that he almost automatically tights his grip around her wrist and asks if they will ever meet again.

“We don’t need to. You do your job, I stick to mine. And Nikto…” Suddenly there is heavy fatigue clearly audible in her voice. Zhar falls silent for a moment, as if trying to find the right words. “The room is booked by Chimera until much later. It’s yours if you want, drinks on me. For… for not doing whatever you planned back there.”

She pulls her hand away and Nikto reluctantly gives up on holding it. He wouldn’t admit it, but the only condition, on which he would really agree to stay here: if she could stay as well. He wouldn’t even want to talk: just close the damn door to kill the last muffled booming music sounds and let her nap here for a bit. There is something deeply wrong with her professional demeanor cracking every few minutes under the pressure of a weariness. It seems like she’s running on fumes.

It seems like he cares.

* “Kak znal, blya,” - “I fucking knew it.”

* “Zavali ebalo, mraz!” - “Shut the fuck up, scum!”

* Nikto can be roughly translated to Russian as nobody no one.

* “Na vopros otvechai!”* - “Answer the question!”

[burnwater13]

Boba Fett speaking with Fennec Shand. Image from The Book of Boba Fett, Season 1, Episode 4, The Gathering Storm. Calendar by DateWorks.

Grogu had been faced with that question many times over the course of his life. Did he trust his masters at the Jedi Temple? Did he trust the other younglings? Did he trust his best friend Ian? Did he trust the people who hid him after the temple and Jedi order fell? Did he trust the Mandalorian? 

He had no problem with his answers to those questions. They had been: Maybe, maybe, yes, maybe, and yes. And he agreed with the Daimyo’s reply to the question, when Fennec asked it, “I trust them to work in their own self-interest.” That applied to all the ‘maybe’s, as well as the two ‘yes’s. 

When that analysis was applied to the question, he even trusted the Imps he’d met over time, as well as the pirates, the gangs, and the other bounty hunters. He trusted that most sentient beings cared about their own interests first and foremost and if he could align himself with those interests, even for a short period of time, he could depend on them to leave him alone or at least not actively harm him. 

Even Moff Gideon had done that. More or less. Of course the Moff had failed to realize that the things that he was interested in long term could never be realized without causing Grogu permanent harm and that the Mandalorian was never going to let that happen. Honestly, Grogu wasn’t going to let that happen either. 

Certainly Grogu had enjoyed playing the ‘bounce the stormtrooper off the wall’ game and he knew that the Moff wanted him to be tired out. But that was what Grogu wanted the Moff to think. That he was tired and couldn’t defend himself adequately. It was in Grogu’s self-interest to fool the Imp and since Moff Gideon thought he was the one in charge, he never questioned whether or not he could trust Grogu. 

Grogu had found that people who depended on tricking other people depended on a version of trust that was one way. You were tricked into trusting them. That was it. He’d learned from Ian that trust was never that simple and people should always be aware of how strong their own ability to trust or not trust really was. 

For example, Ian said that Grogu could trust the head librarian to always want to pinch Grogu’s cheeks. She did it every time she saw him. Then he explained that she misplaced that trust and thought that she could do the same thing to Ian. But Ian wasn’t Grogu. He wasn’t going to just stand there and let that happen. So the first time she did it was the last time she did it. After all were you really going to pinch someone’s cheeks if they immediately sneezed in your face? 

Grogu had argued that Ian had a huge advantage over him when that happened. Ian argued that he had no advantage until the librarian decided that she didn’t want to chance being sneezed on again. Then he used that advantage by making sure that every time he saw her he sneezed loudly. She trusted that sneeze, but she shouldn’t have. Ian only did it to keep her from touching his face. 

Grogu didn’t trust that he could get away with the same thing, but since Ian had been successful when he tried it, he knew how much trust he could put into his response. A lot. 

It annoyed Grogu at the time, but over the years they had been separated, Grogu had learned the wisdom of his friend’s analysis. It had worked with a lot of shop keepers. It had also worked very well with the Nikto gang on Arvala-7. Eventually he had tried it out on the Mandalorian and several other people and discovered that he didn’t like tricking Din Djarin. 

The Mandalorian was very ‘what you see is what you get’. He took a lot of things at face value and while Grogu appreciated that, he worried that Din Djarin was just the sort of person to put his trust in the wrong folks. Look at what happened with that wretched Calican and the Mandalorian’s old friend Ran. Grogu didn’t trust either of them as far as he could throw them and that was with the sure knowledge that he could throw them really far. 

Unfortunately for them they had betrayed the Mandalorian’s trust and if they hadn’t been such cheaters they might have realized that when you break trust with the Mandalorian the only thing you could expect was to be brought in cold. Very, permanently cold. Grogu was pretty sure that wasn’t actually in their own self-interest.

“Now kid, don’t go getting any ideas. We trust you to eat, sleep, and chase frogs. Don’t start adding to your repertoire.”

Fennec was right there, shaking her head. He still did not know how she managed to be there one moment and gone the next. 

“That’s right. No one understands it and I like it that way. Your friend Ian, who you’re always blabbing about, sounds like just the sort of person I should know. If you ever bump into him, tell him that Fennec Shand wants to talk to him.”

Uh oh. That couldn’t be good. Grogu had no idea where Ian was and at that moment he was pretty happy about it. The thought of having Ian and Fennec together in the same room sharing their experiences and comparing notes was kind of scary. 

He looked up to ask her why she why she really wanted to meet his friend, but good to her word, she was already gone. Grogu sighed. Now that was something he could put his trust in, even if he didn’t want to.  Dank Farrik.

[mesu-senshi]

"Sweetheart and the Shadow"

Part 9.

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Nikto (COD) x Reader Theme: Comedy, Romance, Fluff Trope: Bodyguard for the Rich Softy

______________________________________________________________

Nearly three years had passed since Nikto was first assigned to be [Y/N]’s bodyguard. In those years, his world had been turned upside down—not by the threats he’d warded off or the enemies he’d neutralized, but by her.

She was unlike anyone he had ever known. Sweet, innocent, and endlessly affectionate, [Y/N] was the kind of person who could brighten even the darkest corners of a life like his. Nikto had come to her world as a shield, prepared to be nothing more than a protector. Yet here he was now, her protector, her shadow, and utterly, irrevocably hers.

And she didn’t even know how deeply she had saved him.

______________________________________________________________

It had been an ordinary evening, filled with the familiar warmth of her home. Lucky had curled up at the foot of her chair as [Y/N] read her favorite book in the cozy corner. Nikto sat nearby, his mask set aside, his watchful gaze softening as he let himself enjoy the serenity she created around her.

The moments between them were quiet yet charged. Each stolen glance, each small touch—these had become their unspoken confessions. But the weight of his feelings had grown too heavy to keep silent.

______________________________________________________________

Later that evening, as she set her book down and stretched with a content sigh, [Y/N] noticed Nikto watching her. His expression was softer than usual, his scarred features bathed in the gentle glow of the dimmed lights.

“Nikto?” she asked, tilting her head, her voice laced with curiosity.

“Yes, [Y/N]?” he replied, his voice rough but laced with a tenderness only she could bring out of him.

She walked toward him, her bare feet quiet on the plush carpet. “Is something wrong? You seem... distant.”

He shook his head but didn’t look away. His blue eyes met hers, and for once, he didn’t hide. “Not distant,” he murmured. “Just... thinking.”

“About what?” she asked, stepping closer, her hands instinctively reaching out to cup his face.

Her touch was his undoing. The way her thumbs traced the scars on his cheek, the way her gaze held no pity—only affection. He exhaled shakily, his large hands gently covering hers.

“You,” he admitted, his voice low, almost reverent. “Always you.”

Her lips parted in surprise, her cheeks flushing as her heartbeat quickened. “Nikto…”

“I thought I could keep this... inside,” he continued, his words tumbling out like a dam breaking. “But I can’t. You’ve changed everything. You’ve made me... want more than this life, more than being a shadow.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but her smile was radiant. “Nikto, I—”

Before she could finish, he closed the distance between them, capturing her lips in a kiss that was both passionate and tender. It was a kiss that spoke of years of longing and unspoken words, a kiss that sealed a truth they had both known but never said aloud.

When they pulled apart, she looked up at him, her hands still cradling his face. “I love you, Nikto,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the tears slipping down her cheeks. “I’ve loved you for so long.”

He rested his forehead against hers, his own eyes glistening with emotion. “You’re my everything, [Y/N]. I’ll protect you, love you, for as long as I live.”

______________________________________________________________

The passion that followed was inevitable, their love too powerful to contain any longer.

Nikto lifted her effortlessly into his arms, holding her close as she wrapped her arms around his neck. Their lips met again, deeper this time, as he carried her through the hallways toward her bedroom. The soft glow of the moonlight spilled through the windows, illuminating their path as if the universe itself approved of this moment.

Setting her gently on the bed, Nikto paused, his hands trembling slightly as he cupped her face. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

She nodded, her smile soft and reassuring. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

And then, together, they unraveled in the most intimate way.

Their love was a language spoken through tender touches and whispered words. Nikto’s usually calloused hands moved with surprising gentleness, tracing her curves as if memorizing every part of her. In turn, she explored the strength beneath his scars, her touch worshipful as she showed him that he was seen, that he was loved exactly as he was.

Time seemed to stop as they became one, their hearts beating in unison. The world outside faded into nothingness; there was only them, tangled together in a perfect moment of love and trust.

______________________________________________________________

As dawn broke, Nikto lay awake, watching her sleep peacefully in his arms. Her hair spilled across the pillows like waves of silk, her lips curved into a soft smile even in slumber. Lucky snored quietly at the foot of the bed, oblivious to the new chapter that had just begun.

Nikto pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his heart full in a way he had never thought possible. She was his light, his salvation. And he would spend the rest of his days ensuring she knew just how deeply she was loved.

He wasn’t just her shadow anymore. He was her everything—and she was his.

[kanerallels]

May I request a Jyn and Cassian ficlet with the prompts 'princess carry' and 'pain'? *Grinning like a child asking Santa for a puppy for Christmas*

*grins back in evil author*

Pairing: Jyn Erso x Cassian Andor

Word Count: 2,525

Tags/Warnings: T rated (for too much angst for one precious boy. Kidding. It's for blood and angst)

Cassian had been working undercover missions for years now. He found them relatively easy-- slipping into another person’s skin, wearing their identity, acting like someone else. Some days, it was easier than being who he really was.

Things were different now, though. He’d usually been alone, before Jedha and the Death Star. Before he found his crew. Before Jyn.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he glanced at his companion. Jyn strolled at his side, occasionally moving away to examine a stall or two, and was dressed in simple but warm clothing. The two of them were masquerading as a couple shopping on Hays Minor as they made their way to where their contact was waiting. Although it wasn’t as if it was all part of the mission.

Cassian didn’t know for sure how Jyn felt about him. He knew they were close. He knew that he told her things that he was barely able to admit to himself, and that he was the only one she would ever break down in front of (with the possible exception of Chirrut. But everyone could be honest with Chirrut). But they’d never really talked about anything. Barely even done anything, other than one kiss a few months before. But it had been in the name of not blowing their cover, which barely counted.

The fact was, they were both so busy. Running, hiding, fighting the Empire, collecting intelligence against them-- all of it consumed their days. It was hard to find a restful moment, and those were usually spent on sleep.

Maybe we should talk, Cassian thought as Jyn paused at a stall, pretending to admire the wares. Eventually. If we ever get the time.

But now is definitely not the time. Pushing aside the thoughts, he moved to Jyn’s side and offered her his arm. “Ready for something warm to drink?” he asked.

Flashing a wide smile that Cassian knew was fake, Jyn looped her arm through his. “I thought you’d never ask,” she said.

They made their way down the street together. As soon as they were out of earshot of the stall, Cassian said in a low voice, “Fulcrum’s agent is just down that street. She should have the intel we’re looking for.”

Jyn nodded, her expression returning to its usual focus. “Let’s get this done. I really need some rest.”

“Didn’t sleep last night again?” Cassian asked, pausing by a stall of hand-woven textiles to let an Imperial patrol go by.

Picking up a scarf, Jyn pretended to admire it as she said, “As if you did.”

She had a point there.

“Nightmares?” Jyn guessed, and a small sigh escaped Cassian’s lips.

“Always. Scarif this time.”

“Mine were on Lah’mu.”

The planet she and her family had lived on for years, before Krennic had found them. Which meant it had been a bad one. Catching sight of a stall selling hot drinks, Cassian moved over to it and pulled out a few credits, handing them to the Nikto behind it. He received two disposable cups of some kind of caf in return, and presented one to Jyn. “Best cure for it I know,” he told her.

Jyn gave him a smile, one of her real ones that he saw so rarely-- and treasured when he did. “Thanks,” she said, taking a sip. Tucking her arm around his again, she asked, “Where to next?”

“This way,” Cassian told her, moving towards an alleyway. With any luck, it would come out just in front of their contact’s house.

And it did. They stepped out of the alley and into a neighborhood of shabby houses huddled next to each other like they, too, were trying to keep warm. At the third one in the row, a squad of stormtroopers were standing, the door had been knocked off of its hinges, and Cassian froze as he saw them dragging out a Twi’lek woman.

“Tell me that’s not our contact,” Jyn said, but her voice made it clear she knew what the truth was.

Four more stormtroopers came out of the house, each dragging a victim. The first was a Twi’lek man, who looked furious and scared like his wife. But the third was a little girl, and Cassian saw the female Twi’lek lurch towards her as she was shoved to the ground and a blaster was trained on her head. Oh, no.

That was all he had time to think before Jyn was pulling away from him, her cup of caf hitting the ground and splashing everywhere.

“Jyn, wait--” Cassian cut himself off with a low curse. Pulling his blaster with one hand, he pulled the emergency beacon out of his pocket with the other and thumbed it on. They were about to need all the help they could get.

Already several steps ahead of him, Jyn didn’t hesitate. Whipping out her blaster, she shot the two troopers holding the little girl. Thankfully, they were caught off guard, and didn’t expect her to shoot two more, both of the ones holding back the Twi’lek girl’s mother. And then they reacted, lifting their blasters and pointing at Jyn.But then Cassian was there, blaster rifle blazing as he took out four of the troopers, grabbed Jyn by the arm and tugged her out of harm’s way, behind one of the other houses. Pulling away from him, Jyn hissed, “We have to get them out of there.”

“I know. One thing at a time,” Cassian said, jerking back as a blaster bolt zipped past his face. “I called in back up--”

“We don’t have time to wait for them,” Jyn said.

“I figured you’d say that,” Cassian muttered. “Fine. I’ll cover you, you go for the girl. Ready?”

Jyn pulled out her baton, opening it with a flick of her wrist as she said, “Let’s go.”

Cassian moved out from behind the house in one smooth step, lifting his blaster and firing rapidly. In the same moment, Jyn dove out of cover and charged towards the Twi’lek girl. As she ran, Cassian heard a familiar humming-- the sound of their ship’s engine. Relief swept through him as the ship zipped into view and started to move downwards, the rear hatch opening. Two figures stood there-- one wearing blue and red robes and holding a lightbow, the other wearing red armor and holding a huge repeating blaster.

But even as they moved closer, one of the stormtroopers lifted their blaster, pointing it at the little girl. Before Cassian could move, he fired-- and a blur swept past Cassian, knocking the little girl out of the way.

For a moment, Cassian had no idea what had happened. All he could see was Jyn, standing over the little girl, a hand pressed against her abdomen, looking shocked. And then blood started seeping between her fingers, and Jyn crumpled to the ground next to the girl, and it hit him. She’d taken the shot meant for the Twi’lek girl. And then Cassian was running towards her, barely even noticing the blaster fire flying past him as Baze and Chirrut took out the troopers facing them.

He crashed to his knees next to Jyn, heart pounding. Please, no. Cassian found his hands were shaking as he wrapped his hand around her arm and pulled her upright and into his arms.

Jyn’s torso was soaked in blood-- far too much blood. Her eyes were closed, and her face incredibly pale. “Come on,” Cassian muttered, yanking off his jacket and pressing it over the blaster wound. “Jyn, wake up. Wake up!”

To his relief, she stirred slightly. “Cassian?” she mumbled, and Cassian had never heard such a beautiful sound in his life.

“I’m here. I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Cassian promised. “Hang on, Jyn.”

“The… the little girl.”

Looking up, Cassian saw Baze ushering the Twi’lek family onto the ship, with K2 and Chirrut watching his back. “She’s okay,” he promised. “I’m gonna pick you up, okay? This is gonna hurt.”

Sliding one arm beneath her legs and the other behind her shoulders, Cassian lifted her up with a grunt. A small cry slipped from between Jyn’s lips, and her fingers knotted themselves in his shirt. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Cassian murmured, settling her against his chest so her head rested on his shoulder, trying to keep his voice steady. “Stay with me. You’re gonna be okay. Just a little longer.”

The only reply was a small moan as Cassian started towards the ship. Chirrut met him halfway, a frown knitting his forehead. “What happened to her?” he demanded.

“One of the troopers shot her in the gut,” Cassian said, and how his voice didn’t break he had no idea. “Tell Baze to get his medkit.”

“He’s already there,” Chirrut told him as they boarded. The hatch hissed shut behind them, and Cassian felt the ship taking off as Chirrut led him to one of the rooms in the back of the ship, where Baze was setting up his medical supplies.

“Put her down here,” he directed without looking up, his expression grim. “Chirrut, pass me the needle and thread. Andor, get out.”

Cassian looked up from settling Jyn on the bunk. “I can’t leave her--”

“Out. You’ll only be in the way.”

“She’ll be fine,” Chirrut promised as he propelled him out of the room. “Baze and I will take good care of her. Make sure our guests are alright.”

Before Cassian could protest, the door hissed shut behind him, leaving him standing in the hallway, blood covering his hands and the front of his shirt. Jyn’s blood.

Stumbling back, Cassian’s back slammed against the wall, and he sank to the ground, burying his face in his hands. All he could see, all he could think of, over and over again, was Jyn crumpling to the ground, her pale face and stillness as she lay there.

She could have died. She could have died right there, and Cassian wouldn’t have been able to do a thing about it. Worse, she could have died before they’d talked, before he told her how he felt. It had always been true, but now it felt… real. Raw with the possibility.

My fault. I should have stopped the trooper, should have stopped Jyn, shouldn’t have taken this kriffing mission, shouldn’t have taken on a crew in the first place. Thoughts tumbled over themselves in his head, and Cassian took a shaky breath, trying to calm himself down. The smell of blood filled his nose, and he thought he might be sick.

A hand touched his shoulder, and Chirrut’s voice penetrated his haze. “Captain. She will be fine.”“How would you know?” Cassian knew he was being harsh, but the panic, the shame bubbling up inside him, was too much to handle.

“She did not die on Scarif. And you will not lose her now,” Chirrut told him with utter certainty. “The Force wills it so.”

“If I lose her--” Cassian choked on his own words, on the smell of blood filling his nose and mouth. “I can’t. I haven’t-- I shouldn’t have--”

“Sit up, and breathe, Captain,” Chirrut ordered him, his voice abnormally stern. Reluctantly, Cassian did so, facing the blind monk.

“It’s not your fault,” Chirrut said, and Cassian’s chest tightened. “It isn’t. She doesn’t need you to blame yourself. Focus on your mission. One thing at a time.”

Nodding, Cassian inhaled deeply. “Okay. I’m going to go talk to our contact. Let me know the minute anything happens, you got it?”

Chirrut nodded. “I will. Oh-- don’t forget to wash your face.”

Cassian lifted a hand to his face, realizing that he’d smeared the blood on his hands across his forehead and cheeks. “Right,” he muttered, heading for the refresher.

The next few hours seemed to drag by in a stilted blur. Cassian talked to their contact, collected the data Fulcrum needed, and started working on setting up a new place for the small family to stay. He fielded questions about Jyn, mostly by sending whoever was asking-- usually Bodhi or the Twi’lek family, who were incredibly grateful-- to Chirrut. Part of him couldn’t look at their contacts without remembering how still Jyn had been, the far too dark bloodstain on her coat.

He had no idea how he made it through that time. But finally, finally, when he was in the galley getting his fifth cup of caf that night, Chirrut reappeared. “She’s awake,” he told Cassian.

Dropping his mug, Cassian bolted out of the galley and towards the room where Jyn had been. As he arrived, the door hissed open, and Baze stepped out. Giving Cassian a nod, he said, “She’s doing fine. Just needs some rest, and according to Chirrut, some of that horrible tea.”

“Thank you,” Cassian said, not bothering to hide the desperate, grateful edge in his voice, and Baze nodded.

“Anything for her.”

Without another word, the older man headed towards the galley, and Cassian ducked into the room.

Jyn was propped up on about ten different pillows-- Cassian had no idea where they’d come from. Probably either Chirrut or Bodhi. She looked at him as he came in. “We got them out, right?” she asked.

For a minute, Cassian had no idea what she was talking about. He was so glad to see her alive and well and still breathing. There were so many things he hadn’t said that he should have, and he’d almost lost the chance. “What?”

“The family,” Jyn prompted him. “We got them out?”

“Oh-- yeah. They’re all safe,” Cassian said, moving to her side.

Exhaling in relief, Jyn said, “Good. I didn’t want to get shot for nothing.”

“Hey. Don’t joke about that,” Cassian told her. “I thought-- for a minute there--” he faltered, the memory flickering past his eyes again.

Jyn’s hand catching hold of his knocked him out of the memory, and he looked at her with surprise. “I’m safe,” she said. “You’re safe. We’re both okay.”

Nodding, Cassian said, “I know. Just… don’t do that to me again. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” Jyn said, her gaze holding his for a long moment before she let out a cavernous yawn. “Baze gave me some kind of sedative, I think,” she mumbled, her eyelids drooping.

“Then you’d better get some sleep,” Cassian told her, starting to move towards the door reluctantly. But Jyn tightened her grasp on his hand.

“Don’t leave?” she whispered, her voice suddenly surprisingly vulnerable. “I… I’m worried about the nightmares.”

There was a good chance part of her honesty was because of the sedatives in her system. But if he didn’t have to, there was no way Cassian would leave her side. “I’ll watch over you,” he promised, settling next to her bed. “You’ll be safe with me.”

A smile crossed Jyn’s face as her eyes drifted shut. “I know,” she murmured.

Cassian watched her for a moment, then on instinct, lifted her hand and pressed a gentle kiss against the knuckles. She was home and safe. That was what mattered for now.

Tomorrow? Tomorrow was a different story entirely.

[sandzlib]

Bounty hunting is a complicated profession

Din Djarin/Reader | Mature | F/M | Sneak peek | Chapter 1, part 2

TW: implied/referenced.rape; mention of physical abuse; mention of torture

Read the complete work on AO3

You stopped counting the days after a week, when you realised there was no point in it.

Alexshel (for that was the name of the man who bought you) had given you clean clothes, let you take a bath, and fed you.

At first you thought that, although he obviously wasn’t a good person, he might not be the worst. You had even hoped he took that thing off from your neck — if you could use your abilities again you would be out of this place in minutes. However, you were soon shown how wrong your assumptions were.

He was far from being a decent human being, in fact, he was heinous and had a wicked mind. He not only didn't take the collar off, but he liked you wearing it. It turned him on. He liked the feeling of control it gave him and how submissive it made you look, and he mostly liked how easy it made it for him to choke you with it.

For he liked inflicting you pain more than anything — sometimes he got off just from making you hurt — and he mostly loved choking you. More than once you had thought he was going to kill you as you passed out from the lack of oxygen.

After the first week, you could barely move around from the beating, and talking was almost impossible as your throat hurt continuously. Eating or drinking was painful — not that he fed you properly either, he gave you just enough food for you to stand the next beating, but not so much so you could fight him — and your voice was extremely hoarse.

As time went by, you noticed that you could not talk at all. No sound came out of your throat even if you tried and, when you forced it, you only managed to hurt yourself even more.

Days passed and the abuse you received didn't decrease one bit. The only thing that helped you hang on was the thought that it could be worse, for instance, he had not shared you with the Nikto. Yet.

One afternoon, just before he was going to have his way with you — although he had already given you quite a beating — he was interrupted by the sound of shouts and blasters.

"What the pfassk is going on? Put this on, I'm not finished with you" he said, throwing his jacket to you.

He opened the door to ask the guards what was happening. It seemed someone was attacking the encampment. He came back into the room, grabbed you by the hair and threw you to the floor, handcuffed you, and chained you to the wall.

"If you want a job well done…" he said while leaving the room.

You were trying to pull yourself out of your chains when you heard the cannon blaster shooting. You pitied the poor bastard that had attacked for he was, with no doubt, already dead. Lately there had been numerous attacks to the encampment, none had managed much, and all the attackers had been killed. Alexshel seemed to be surprised by this fact but you suspected he had more enemies than he hinted. Why else would he be on this planet in the middle of nowhere, rarely leaving the building?

You started to feel uneasy when the cannon kept shooting. By this time, they had usually killed the attacker and Alexshel was back… not that you wanted him back, in fact, you couldn't really be bothered if he never came back. What worried you was that whoever replaced him could be even worse.

Suddenly, the blaster sounds came to a halt and there was only silence. You fought your chains harder but only managed to hurt yourself even more — stupid device, if only you could take it off —. Then you heard a loud "thump" and steps coming your way. Again, you couldn't stop yourself to hope for the New Republic, as unlikely as you knew it was.

The steps were getting closer to the door and you also heard a beeping sound going faster and faster — an explosive charge?

The door opened and you were surprised to see an IG unit and a mandalorian. Of course, you had heard the legends about the mandalorians but it was hard to process that just one of them alongside a droid had managed to wipe out the whole encampment.

They approached and looked down on you. At that moment you were stupidly glad you were wearing Alexshel's jacket. It was three times your size and it fell all the way down to your knees, but at least you weren't completely naked while chained to a wall.

Then, the IG unit raised its blaster and pointed it at your face.

You couldn't believe this was it. After your whole life running, hiding, being alone, and suffering, it couldn't end like this. You were going to die alone, half-naked, and chained to a wall, with no-one to miss you or mourn you… You didn't deserve this ending.

The mandalorian said something to the droid but you weren't listening. This was the end, and it wasn't a fair one.

You closed your eyes.

[unmotivated-exhausted-author]

Master List

Archive of Our Own

Tags: Violence? Play fighting with children?

Chapter 1 - The Market

Today was supposed to be a peaceful day full of shopping, stink eyeing thieves and awkwardly explaining to miffed parents that yes; she is indeed not a stall holder and no, she doesn't know when the next shipment of that one particular fruit would be coming in. Instead it started with a group of Nikto speed bikers “casually” looking at the grocer’s stand. Luckily for her, the water monger was at the entrance of the market.

“Patches! Over here! I have that water you ordered” the round Klatooinian bellowed. A jovial smile stretched across his round face as he waves his arms above his head. Patches swiftly made their way through the crowd over to him, her nerves hidden by the mask and goggles covering her face.

“Got some new faces around town today?” She queried keeping an eye on the scattered group, the darkened goggles hiding the nervousness in her eyes.

“Oh plenty, unfortunately they don't seem to be in the mood to buy anything, they’ve been around for a while now. It seems like they’re waiting for someone.” the usually jolly alien warned, his voice only just loud enough for her to hear. “Patches, you should take the water and get out of here quick smart this time” he begged, passing three medium sized jugs over the table.

“I’ll try Bagarr” Patches mumbled, attaching one of the jugs to her back and carrying the other two in her hands.

“That's all I ask for, I’ll see you next time.” Bagarr looked relieved as she left, the Nikto gang had been frequenting the markets lately, and the Sand dweller began to suspect they're after her.

She trudged through the crowd, hoping to lose the gang before she left the market, weaving through parents and children, heading towards her bike. She modified her speeder throughout the years. It was her own little pride and joy. On her speeder she could outrun most people on this planet with its modified accelerator and cooling system. She knelt next to her bike and began attaching her water jugs one by one. She had hoped that the gang would just leave her alone, but by the sound of heavy footsteps it seemed like they wouldn’t. With a sigh she stands and fiddles with the handles of her speeder as the crunchy steps get closer and closer until she grips the modified handle and, with a solid yank, detaches it and extends it into an Electrostaff, letting it pass under her armpit and straight into the approaching Nikto’s face with a loud crackle, rendering him unconscious before turning around. “Oh good, it was actually a Nikto this time” she sighed in relief. Last time it was a guy covered in mismatched armour, she believed was a Mandalorian. Many whispers had made their way through the markets during her shopping trips telling inspiring tales about mercenaries that wore incredible metal that could deflect the harshest of blows. Unfortunately this mercenary wasn't covered head to toe in that beautiful metal, but was mostly covered in worn patchy leather. His helmet would have blinded her if not for her goggles. It was well taken care of. No dings or nicks were spotted as far as she could see, while she waved her hands around apologetically. He was lucky she missed though, metal is a great conductor and would've been a nasty shock to his system. ‘I nearly died at the smouldering look he gave me… such emotion radiated from him with one tilt of his helmet, despite the rest of his lacklustre appearance.’ She's pulled back into the moment as one of the Nikto sprints full tilt towards her, aiming a knife for her face. Setting her staff to full power, she spun it in a quick figure 8, then launching herself into a spin swinging one end of the staff out wide, knocking the feet out from underneath the charging man. With nimble speed, she pins the man down with a foot to his chest, gripping her buzzing staff tightly before slamming it into his chest. “Kark off, druk stains!” she bellows. Everyone in the area escaped, except for the Nikto who pulled out their blasters. “Ah diddle time to go” she blurted, retracting her Electrostaff and sprinting back to her speeder, ducking as blaster bolts pierce the sand by her head. Swinging her leg over her speeder swiftly, she re-attaches the staff and rams the handles into a forward position. Launching the speeder into action off in the direction of the dune sea, leaving a large cloud of sand behind her, effectively losing the Nikto gang as they fumble to their bikes while she disappears into the blinding gaze of one of Tatooine's suns.

Patches began to slow her speeder down gradually until she could safely drive into camp, by the time she arrived the second sun was dipping below the horizon. She felt a hidden grin creep across her face when she spotted a small group of children waiting impatiently for her to stop. Patches pulled her handles into the default position and yelled out a happy greeting when the children approached, she quickly pulled the jugs off her bike and handed it to the closest Tuskens before greeting the children with wide arms and a bellowing shout signalling to the children to come play. The children come charging with eager barks and playful war cries, tackling her to the ground. Rolling to the ground she lets out dramatic wounded barks as they pretend to beat her to death like they would a predator. Patches felt a cheeky grin spread across her face as a thought crossed her mind, she rushed forward pretending to attack, the children defending themselves with their mighty weapons before she dropped her weight on top of the rowdy children. Whining barks signal their surrender and she rolls off them with a laugh. A firm bark from behind them makes the children scatter. The Chief is here. He’d been watching her play with the Uli'ah from his tent, she looked over to him and acknowledges his summons with a bow of her head. It must be important if he called to her directly, with a shake of her cloth covered face she headed back to her speeder and guides it amongst the tents, parking it between her tent and the storage tent. After tossing some unimportant equipment into her tent she jogged to the chief’s tent, passing the two unfortunate prisoners tied to posts. One was unconscious and covered in burn marks. 'Those look painful' she grimaced. Her clan must have found him somewhere in the desert while she was gone, before looking over to the Rodian. “Bantha druk” she spat, giving him a good kick in the stomach before walking away. The Rodian was the whole reason she was out at the markets. That moron snuck into camp and broke their largest water tank. It's not very big, maybe the size of the clan's smallest child, but it was still a lot of water. What's worse is that the moron just left it empty out onto the sand with no care in the world. Patches took a deep breath before entering the Chief's tent. 'Wouldn't wanna be him when the old man decides on a punishment’ she thought, a smirk gracing her lips under the mask.

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

Chapter 1 is finally done and Chapter 2 is close on its heels! Please review and let me know how you liked it!

Until next time!

[raiseyourcups]

A Girl with No Name

Chapter One

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader Warnings: panic attack, canon-typical violence Word Count: 1.3k Also on AO3 Masterlist

Summary: It had been a normal day for you and the Child and then you were taken from the mercenary compound by a Mandalorian. Little did any of you know what you would go through together. 

Note: A new series! Yay! But it probably won’t update as fast as Cabur which will keep it’s schedule until I finish Season 1. I’ll try to keep this updated at least once a week but I cannot commit to a specific day. I’m sorry about that.

You never knew where you came from or who your parents were. You didn’t remember what had happened or what planet you had been taken from. Someone had taken you to Takodana where you stayed for a while, Maz Kanata somehow not able to find your chain code at all according to her. Even as a child, you knew she was lying. The people that took you there told you your name was Y/N now and who were you to disagree? You didn’t know any different so you became Y/N.

After that you bounced from place to place, taking as many small jobs as you could. It was mostly you offering to help load ship cargo in exchange for passage to the next planet. The whole time wondering who you were, only the quickest of flashes coming to you before fading away. The only thing your hidden memories gave you was a crippling fear of the sound of blasters and nightmares that you never remembered. And a lullaby that you didn’t know the words to anymore. 

Now you were on a tiny desert planet, stuck in a single room with a tiny green child that you had been charged with caring for. Not that you had much of a choice. The mercenaries wouldn’t let you leave the room except for a solar hour every day for some sun and they watched you with hands on their blasters. You had learned to hide your trembles at the sight of them but it had taken a long time. 

At the moment you were cradling the Child in your arms, swaying and humming a song you had no memory of learning as you tried to ease him to sleep. You had worked out a schedule for him in order to keep your sanity and track of time. Breakfast as the sun rose, a short nap before lunch, an hour outside after lunch, another short nap before dinner, then finally sleep after dinner. The hour outside had been taken away recently, more and more bounty hunters trying to get into the compound for some reason.

You weren’t sure why bounty hunters were trying to get in, neither you nor the Child were of importance. The Nikto mercenaries had made quick work of the previous attempts although their numbers were dwindling with each one. 

But you didn’t know that today would finally throw everything off-kilter. You had just placed the Child back into his cradle when the first blasters went off. 

“No!” You brought your hands up to cover your head despite there being no immediate danger. You brought your hands back down, trying to still your now racing heart. The Child made a scared noise and looked at you with his wide eyes. 

“I’m sorry, everything’s gonna be okay. Those guys will take care of it again,” you whispered, tucking the Child’s blanket around him. Something told you that you were wrong though and as the blasters kept going off, you feared you were right. You heard the front doors shut, the sound echoing throughout the room and then there was a quiet that fell over the room. 

It was broken by the loud alarm going off, mercenaries shouting as they ran through the compound and you flinched at the noises but there were no more blaster shots. No one would come in to tell you what was happening anyway. All you could do was hope they could hold off the intruders. 

There was another rush of blaster fire and you couldn’t stop yourself from dropping to the floor and covering your ears again. You rocked yourself back and forth, the sound too much for you and flashes of memories you couldn’t decipher came forward. When you heard the laser cannon go off your breath started coming out quicker. 

Your chest felt tight and you were sure that you were going to pass out but you needed to protect the Child. You clenched your hands into fists and forced yourself to hold your breath for ten counts before releasing it, repeating until you could think again. By the time you had the laser cannon had stopped firing and you didn’t think the mercs had been on the winning side. 

You grabbed netting from nearby and went to the Child’s side. “You need to stay quiet, please,” you whispered before shutting the cradle and tossing the netting over it. Then you hid behind the far doorway and you held your breath. 

There were a few more timed blasts from the cannon followed by the front gate slamming to the ground was your answer. A merc that you hadn’t seen popped out from around the corner but was immediately shot down.  

“Anyone else?” A voice called out, it sounded like it was voice modulated. But you didn’t have time to think about that anymore when a droid spoke and you cursed. You couldn’t hide from a droid. 

“My sensors indicate that there are two life forms present.”

“Whoever’s there, come out and I promise to let you leave alive.”

Well you didn’t really have a choice,  did you? You brought your hands up and slowly walked out of the doorway. “Please don’t hurt me.”

You were taken aback to see it was a Mandalorian, you had only read about them. You hoped that this one was as honorable as the HoloNet said they were. The droid was an IG unit and that put you on edge. 

“Female human, age unknown, matches the tracking fob.” The IG unit said, turning it’s head to look at the Mandalorian. 

He looked at her, helmet tilted slightly before he spoke. “Where’s the other one?”

You shook your head a little before asking a very important question. “Do you promise not to hurt us?”

“Yes.” The Mandalorian answered immediately and even with the voice modulator you found yourself trusting him. You nodded your head towards the Child’s cradle and watched as they walked over to it. The Mandalorian pressed the button to open it and stared down at the Child. 

“They said it was 50 years old.”

“He is,” you said from where you were. “I don't know what species he is but they age differently.”

“She is correct, this one could live for centuries.” The droid said before starting to lift his blaster. “Sadly we’ll never know.”

“No!” You shouted at the same time the Mandalorian stopped the droid. 

“We’ll bring it in alive, both of them.”

“The commission was quite specific, the assets were both to be terminated.” The droid lifted a second blaster and aimed it at you as well as the Child. You squeezed your eyes shut as a blaster went off but when you didn’t feel a burning pain, you opened your eyes again. The droid was on the ground, a smoking hole through its head. 

You watched as the Mandalorian held a finger out towards the Child who took a hold of it. His big brown eyes stared up the helmet-clad man in wonder before he glanced over at you and cooed. 

“Can I move now?” You asked quietly.

“Yes but don’t run.” There was barely a threat in his voice and you wondered if he had meant to do it. 

You looked at him with a small smile, “You said you wouldn’t hurt us, I trust you.” You don’t know what made you say that, he was a bounty hunter, paid to find you and take you to whoever wanted you. But there was something familiar about him, about the armor, that made you trust him despite not knowing who he was. 

The Mandalorian stared at you as you walked over to the Child and looked him over. He was fine since the Mandalorian had stopped the droid from shooting even the cradle. A silence fell over the three of you as you wondered what happened now.

[himbodjarin]

LUNAR

18+  Content: Eventual descriptions of gore and smut. Third person POV. Chapter Word Count: 2203 Pairing: Din Djarin/F!Reader  - no usage of “y/n”

The Mandalorian is a driven warrior — traversing the galaxy in search of the ancient Jedi — but everyone has their weaknesses, and he’s no different. The Bounty Hunter possessed three in fact. One he’s discovered—The Child. The remaining two, though, he wasn’t aware of their existence. At least, not until he meets a valorous Sharpshooter underneath a moonless night sky; then he’s plummeting down a dark mission of self-discovery, questioning his morals and his Creed while the moon taunts him, the phases of the satellite corresponding to his personal revelations. However, the Girl has a dark past that may come to inflict hardships on the Mandalorian and the Child; it's up to the Bounty Hunter to decide her fate.

Read on AO3 / Series Masterlist

CHAPTER ONE: ARVALA-7

The Razor Crest is the closest thing to The Mandalorian’s home, there wasn’t a situation the spacecraft hadn’t emerged triumphant albeit attaining minimal scathes of blaster fire. She’s an old vessel commissioned sometime before the Galactic Empire’s formation, the Mandalorian is grateful he’s privileged to possess such a durable warship, it compliments his style perfectly.

Although, as the craft whines at Mando’s persistent thumbing of controls, he was beginning to resent the body of duralloy surrounding him. The walls shake violently against the atmospheric changes and the left engine slows to a stop, crashing against a stray object within the propellers. He fights against the increasing velocity, eager on not crashing into the all-too-familiar dusty planet nearing closer.

He hopes Kuiil is accepting of a visitor.

Mando surveys the gunship before him, a piece of exterior panelling collapses to the ground underneath the resting Crest and the whirs of a slowing engine clash against the whistling wind, and he sighs. It’s not an easy fix, not this time. The Guild is increasing the numbers against him and with it, the blaster fire directed towards him has improved; pilots are becoming gallant, stupid, credit-hungry.

At least he’s a good pilot, a skill he feels pride for possessing.

Even so, the Crest is a bulky hull and his skills can’t avoid the few unfortunate circumstances that come with it. The spacecraft is in bad shape, worst it’s ever been in and he fears even the Ugnaught cannot assist with this, but he can’t waste time - can’t stay in one location for too long. If his short time on Sorgan taught him anything, it’s to not allow himself attachments nor liabilities.

Arvala-7 hasn’t changed — hasn’t improved — since he was last here, collecting the asset for a hefty reward that now encases his body. The asset — The Child, remained in the sleeping berth, undeterred by the convulsions. Mando contemplates not to wake him and visit Kuiil for assistance, but he’s reminded of Peli Motto’s stern words— You can’t just leave a child all alone like that!

Regardless of the fact the planet is a deserted wasteland, he knows she’s right.

Besides, if the Jawa’s were to ransack the Crest again, they might use the Child as a bargaining chip.

Substrate crunches underneath Mando’s weighted boots as he nears the boarding ramp to collect the Child. The tips of his toes reach the incline but he stops, pauses, thinks. There’s a shift in the wind before it settles flatly, dissipating as though it never existed. It’s silent, dead, until it wasn’t. There’s a sharp hiss echoing through the valleys, one he’s heard too many times and he promptly turns to catch a streak of burning red an inch away from his visor and nestling a hole into the battered ship.

Mando scans the bouldered landscape and concurrently keys at his vambrace, activating his thermal vision to assist in his hunt for the perpetrator; thankful for the night sky enhancing the opportunity. He stops short, visor targeting a glimmer of warm orange heat on the rocky peaks. Mando’s hand instinctively hovers over his holstered blaster, but they’re too far, too high for him to manage a decent shot. With the rifle locked in the Crest, he’s practically defenceless albeit for the flash charges and flamethrower in his vambrace.

Resorting to flash charges in this circumstance is futile. There aren’t sufficient charges to obstruct their vision long enough for him to reach their positioning. Of course, the flamethrower is even worse; he’d consider himself lucky if it extended a mere two metres ahead of him. He’s easy pickings — too vulnerable, and it intimidates him.  

He’s never felt so insignificant...so...powerless.

Leather toggles at his vambrace and the visor magnifies its vision before his eyes. Mando observes the figure, analyses it, and follows the direction of the barrel’s aim. It’s actively locked onto him, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t show submission before them.

It’s assertive and so stupid.

It’s, in all probability, a Guild member here to lay claim to two rewards—Mando, for his betrayals, and the Child, for high compensations. Although the reward for the Child alone outweighs the Mandalorian’s. They could end him right here and now, steal the Child and be back on Nevarro within a few days; they should for it they don’t, he will put up a fight.

The sharpshooter readjusts their positioning, the barrel of the rifle tilting down an inch and another blast of crimson slashes through the air, wisps of wind trailing behind the high-velocity beam. It kicks up dirt upon its impact between his boots, dust and pebbles flicking into his lower beskar.

They’re not aiming for him at all, Mando realises. It’s possible that they’re a poor marksman, but was it plausible? Their posture is riddled with years of experience and discovered confidence; they’re no amateur. Mando is sure of it.

Which means they’re attempting to threaten him, frighten him enough for him to evacuate the lands. He doesn’t submit that easily. Perhaps they were hiding something — there’s no point in empty threats among land that possesses no treasures — and maybe it was valuable, or, Mando hums in thought, maybe something sinister he shouldn’t involve himself in.

Arvala-7 isn’t a planet of overly aggressive inhabitants, although the last he was here he did wipe out an entire Nikto encampment; there had to be others of their kind parading the planet in search of him.

Even with the assistance of his magnified vision, the figure was blurred and unreadable. Mando couldn’t even see a speck of skin underneath all the body armour and their face was obstructed by hard tan rock formations.

Mando thinks of the tan-pink face of the Ugnaught, the white whiskers lining his jowls, the weathered brown goggle cap, and how he failed to mention an overly territorial sharpshooter inhabiting the lands.

Blast! Kriffing Ugnaught!

Isn’t that something a tourist should be made aware of upon entering unknown terrain?

Mando gazes through his visor and observes the prone figure. If this was any other ordinary blaster fight, he’d have won by now; would’ve simply pulled for his Amban phase-pulse rifle and disintegrated the threat until there was nothing left but their dust kicking in the wind. He would have already been heading to Kuiil’s moisture farm and complained about his lack of notice of the ambush.

It wasn’t any normal fight, though. Mando can sense something from them and he doesn’t like it; not what he senses but why he senses it.

He’s a practical man.

He works with his hands and his mind, and doesn't tap into intuitions unless necessary. Even when he feels a job is too hard, too promising, he embraces it. Green skin and long bat-wing ears flicker in his peripherals—The Child. He’s awoken. At an unfortunate time, no less. He often did that.

Mando rushes to the Child and swoops him in his arms, ignoring the confused coos muffling into his beskar and returning to the Crest before the incoming fire. It doesn’t come, not even after he peers his helm from the duralloy walls. He inspects the valley formations for a tinge of orange heat, a speck of lens flare, but it’s gone.

It’s a good thing —he has to remind himself — but his suspicions are wedging into the deep crevices of his mind and tingling against his brain, provoking sparks of apprehension. It’s only a matter of time before they inevitably return and who’s to say they won’t return with reinforcements, optimistic of removing him from their lands.

The Child is restless in his arms, whiny piercing noises emitting from his little mouth. “Okay, okay,” Mando grumbles, content of the long-gone presence, and sets the Child down. “Don’t go outside.”

He thumbs his vambrace and the weapons unit doors commence their opening with creaky hinges, yet another thing Mando will have to secure at a later date. The Amban rifle feels comforting in his hand, the shiny barrel glimmering in the Crest’s light. It’s secured to his back and the thick strap fastens across his breastplate vertically, reassuringly.

Leathered digits grab at three canisters of rifle ammunition and situate them in their placements surrounding his boot, refilling the empty’s he’d used prior to the pathetic spacecraft malfunctioning.

Mando gives himself a once-over, guaranteeing he contained all the essentials on his possession if the sharpshooter were to return. When he’s pleased with the maintenance of his blasters and positioning of ammunition canisters, he retreats the Crest and closes the hatch. “I told you not to go outside.”

The Child coos blithely and wanders to his guardian with an extended three-tipped claw.

Mando sighs and picks up the little alien child. The beskar helmet twists towards the mountain-top and his eyes narrow underneath the visor, his lips pressed tightly against his teeth in thought.

“Come on, let’s go see Kuiil. Might even have some pestering frogs you can take off his hands.”

And maybe he can answer some urgent questions, The Mandalorian thinks.

The Ugnaught proves to be useful yet again, going so far as to tend to the Child’s hunger needs—and offering unwanted advice in the meantime. The Mandalorian and Kuiil stand ahead of the Blurrg enclosure, his former mount jeering the beskar-clad bounty hunter. “She’s not fond of you.”

“Feelings mutual.” Mando jabs and sighs, realising his vehemence towards a non-sentient beast. The Child is beside him, shoving a cobalt-blue frog through his tight-lipped mouth. Frantic legs kick at the Child’s chin but it only encourages his appetite, green claws pushing the amphibians limbs into his enclosed mouth. Mando cringes beneath the helmet.

“I recognise you’re not here for tea.” Kuiil draws the Mandalorian’s attention back. “Why are you here?”

“The Crest has taken significant damage. I fear I cannot fix it.”

“Get a new spacecraft, a reliable one.”

Mando sighs, “I don’t need a new one.”

“I have spoken.”

The Ugnaught extends an overflowing hand of mushy grub for the blurrgs, the beasts absorb the entirety of his fist in its mouth but pulls away leaving a wet shine of slobber on Kuiil’s hand. The Mandalorian is grateful for the thin wire restraining them to their confines. Although, they were definitely capable of overpowering the loose cables with their brute strength; he’s pleased he will be needing the reptilian assistance no longer.

It’s easier to depend on mechanics, they’re manipulatable and live beasts were not.

“There’s a marksman in those valleys,” Mando explains.

“I am aware.”

So he did know—and didn’t warn him. “Do you know them?”

“They are one of your kind.”

This piques his interest, curiosity apparent in his fixed posture; head tilted and shoulders stiffly raised. “Mandalorian?”

“No. Independent, private.”

Mando sighs and turns away from the Ugnaught, a pair of hands landing on his hips in frustration. Helmet adjusts upwards, reaching high in the night sky, where he browses the vastness of black and speckled white. Space seems so far away without his Crest, so unreachable. Underneath the visor, his eyes collect the clusters of stars. The Mandalorian is a man of many skill sets and abilities; constellation knowledge was not one of them, yet he couldn’t tear his gaze away. He resolves to count the particles, managing to reach sixty-eight before the Child’s coos distract him.

He's resilient, persistent. Optimistic to obtain an answer to the number of stars soaring above him. Eighty-three, eighty-four— The sharpshooter crosses his mind and he scowls. There’s that sensation again, that uneasiness. Intuition, suspicion. Eighty…. Eighty-six?

The thoughts are evaded, not wanting to think about the potential danger he’s putting himself, the Child, and even Kuiil in by remaining on the desert planet—not that he had anywhere to go, but he feels as though the sharpshooter doesn’t care. They just want him gone, and it only makes the Mandalorian that much inquisitive.

Tan lower eyelids drag downwards as though they were crafted with gravity itself. He’s tired, exhausted, but he doesn’t succumb to his body’s pleads of leisure. It can wait until the Crest is soaring through space; then, and only then, with the Child dozing in his hammock he can relax, allow his muscles to recuperate, allow himself a moment's weakness.

Mando sucks in a breath through his helmet’s filter. Dry, warm, and grainy like the desert, but a refreshing change from the recycled oxygen inside the Razor Crest’s vessel.

Arvala-7’s moon is nowhere to be seen, the sky illuminated only by the dotted whites flaked through the sheet of black. It gives the sky an ominous appearance, threatening almost. Mando finds himself disorientated among the stars, a thick lump in his throat. It looked so…

Lifeless.

The Mandalorian forcibly retracts his attention from the sky, but his premonition remains intact and he dabbles with it. Fiddling the edges of a conscious thought and visualising it as a bounty puck, he pictures a bright hologram emerging from it’s centre, displaying a circulating outline of orange waves. It’s a bad idea, a stupid idea, but one he can’t reject, “Their camp. Where is their camp located?”

Kuiil shakes his head, “They’re not hostile, no need to provoke them.”

“I won’t shoot first.”

[clonewarslover55]

Memories AU  Verda Tal Rose in Triple Zero

Part one(1) out of five(5)

Part two  Part three  Part four  Part five

Summary: Random drabbles based off of parts in the Republic Commando book Triple Zero where Etain interacted with Walon Vau! @just-some-girl-92 wanted to know how Etain would react to Rose, so here’s a new series lol 

Notes: If you have no idea who Rose is check out Memories here! And her many many character notes on my masterlist!! Please do, I’m really proud of Rose and Memories!!

 This is the part where Etain meets Walon, adding Rose of course! 

The formatting, plot, dialogue, etc! Are not mine!!! This is all from Republic Commando: Triple Zero, chapter nine. Written by Karen Traviss. So none of this is mine but the Rose parts! 

If you haven’t read Triple Zero or Memories then I suggest you don’t read this until you do!! 

Warnings: Canon violence, Rose is a bitch ngl, Walon Vau is polite, Rose is not, 

+Safe house, Brewery zone, Coruscant Quadrant J-47, 1000 hours, 371 days after Geonosis+

Vau, sitting at the table, looked tired. He still seemed like a professor who wasn’t very happy with his class, but the physical effort showed in deeper lines from nose to mouth and the way he was drumming his fingers on the table in front of him. It was his trick for staying awake. 

A woman sat beside him. She was leaning back in her chair, an ankle propped on her knee. Her dark auburn red hair, which was greying, was in a messy braid, her emerald green eyes half lidded. She blinked slowly and glanced at Etain, a bemused expression on her beautiful face. The woman was around Walon’s age it seemed, her freckles and frown lines prominent. 

The man who had his head resting on the same table in front of him didn’t look awake at all. Vau leaned forward and lifted the man’s head by his hair, peered into his face, and set him down carefully again. The woman sighed, Vau glancing at her. Both were clearly exhausted and irritated. 

“You’re the relief watch, then, Jedi?” Vau got up and stretched extravagantly, joints clicking, and indicated the empty chair. “All yours.” The woman sat there a little longer, looking Etain up and down. She clearly did not like Jedi it seemed.  When she stood Etain noticed she was tall, a few inches taller than Skirata but still shorter than Vau.

Etain looked surprised. Skirata had expected her to register horror at the blood spatter on the otherwise pristine cream walls, but she just looked at Vau like she was expecting to see someone else. 

She looked back at the fellow redhead. “I thought I was only meeting-” The woman cut her off, she was very rude. “I’m Verda Tal Rose, which means Warrior Blood Rose. You may call me Rose, I’m Walon’s wife. I help him with these kinds of jobs.” Kal sighed, “She wasn’t supposed to be here.” The woman, Rose, rolled her eyes. “I don’t need your fucking permission Skirata. You know I can keep my mouth shut.” She spat the words, Kal glaring back at her. 

Etain was even more shocked. How Skirata described Vau he didn’t seem like the man to take a wife. Let alone one who was incredibly rude. Kal quickly cut the tension by directing his attention to Walon.

“Where are the other two?” Skirata asked.

“Nikto number one is M’truli, and he’s secured in the small bedroom.” Vau was perfectly polite: this was just business after all, and even Skirata felt too centered on the task at hand to resume their feud where it had left off. His wife on the other hand, was not. Rose despised Kal more than her husband did, but not because of the feud between the two men. “Nikto number two is Gysk, and he’s in the study.” Rose spoke this time, irritation in her voice. 

“Your tunics could use a wash.” 

“It’s the little horns. You can’t punch a Nikto. Had to use something else.” Rose nodded in agreement with her husband, a little smirk coming across her face. Etain looked at her and swallowed thickly. Rose seemed quite unhinged, and she had just met her. 

Etain sat down in Vau’s seat and placed her hands flat on the table, still looking puzzled. Skirata leaned against the wall. Vau wandered into the ‘fresher: water tinkled into the basin. Rose stood near the table, watching Etain with an eyebrow raised. 

“You want to tell me what you know,” Etain said soothingly. “You want to give me the names of the people you operate with.” 

Orjul twitched. He raised his head from the table with some difficulty and stared into her face for a second. 

Then he spat in it. Rose pulled a dagger from her boot and snarled. Kal grabbed her shoulder and held her back, “She can handle this Verda.” He whispered,  Rose only sneered and yanked from his touch. She was wound up, Orjul must have spat on her a few times already as well. Rose was easy to piss off though….So Kal was scared to guess what he had said so far.

Etain jerked back, visibly shocked, and wiped the pink-stained spittle with one hand. Then she composed herself again. 

“Keep your stinking mind tricks to yourself, Jedi,” Orjul hissed. Rose glared at him, the man not looking at her out of fear. Rose dropped the blade back into her boot, crossing her arms. 

Skirata didn’t expect her to break at that point. And she didn’t: she simply sat there, although he knew it wasn’t blank inactivity. She had been trained from childhood just like the clone army, except the first weapon she seized would be her control of the Force and her ability to read it like clamoring comlink signals. 

Darman had told him. “She could tell us apart right away by how we felt and thought, Sarge. Wouldn’t that be a handy trick to have?” 

“Can I see the Nikto?” She asked suddenly. Etain looked at Rose who just gave a half shrug letting Etain know she wasn’t in charge. 

Vau came out of the ‘fresher, wiping his face with a fluffy white towel. “Help yourself.” He gave Skirata a “you-know-best” look and unlocked the doors for her.  “They’re securly trussed. You know we keep them from talking to each other, don’t you?” Rose spoke, walking to her husband. 

“I worked that out,” Etain said.  

Rose gave her a tired smile, it was the smile of someone who had been up for hours. It nearly looked like a mothers smile, and for some reason it made Etain’s heart ache. There was just something in Rose’s smile and force signature. Odd. 

She looked back at her husband, “You missed a spot.” She mumbled, taking the towel from him to wipe some blood from his neck. Walon glared at her like an embarrassed child. Rose only pecked his cheek, a loving smile on her face. Vau sighed, looking like he hated the attention. Only a blind man would miss the love and admiration in his golden eyes though. 

Etain laughed to herself at their antics, she couldn’t wait to have that with Darman. The small cute moments in the future. She shook the thought away and disappeared into one room for a minute and then came out and went into the other. When she emerged again, she walked up to the three Mandalorians and lowered her head. 

“I’m pretty sure those Nikto have no information, and know they don’t have it,” she said quietly. 

“People have useful information all the time and don’t know it,” Skirata said. “We piece together apparently useless stuff together and come up with connections.” Verda Tal Rose snorted loudly, “We??” Vau elbowed her, he was too tired to listen to her and Kal argue. Rose glared at her husband, Walon looking at Etain to avoid his wife’s murderous gaze. 

They had clearly been married for quite a while. 

“What I mean is that they have this distinct sense that they’re just afraid of dying.” 

Vau shrugged. “So much for Nikto grit, eh?”

“Every creature avoids death. The difference is that Orjul is afraid of breaking. It feels different to me. It’s not animal dread. It’s not as deep in the Force.” Etain had her fingers meshed in that Jedi way that made her look as if she were wringing her hands. “I might as well concentrate on him. He has information he’s afraid to reveal.” 

They watched her walk the few meters back to the main room and settle down at the table opposite Orjul again and stare at him. 

Vau shrugged and put an arm around Rose’s waist. “Oh well. At least we can have a nap while she’s minding the shop. Then I can get back to work with more tangible methods.” Rose smirked at him and chuckled. She pulled away, nodding at Skirata before walking into the bedroom, leaving the two men alone. 

There was a sharp gasp from Orjul and Vau looked around. Whatever Etain was doing, she wasn’t even touching him. Just staring.

“Kal, those people scare me more than Orjul does,” Vau said. “Even more than your wife?” Walon snorted in that royal way of his, “I have yet to find something scarier than my Blood Rose.” Kal could agree with that. 

“I’m just going to get my head down for a couple of hours. Wake me if she gets anywhere….Or kills him, of course.” Kal nodded and waved his old friend off. Vau’s golden eyes stayed locked with his blue ones for a moment before he left the room. 

~Some Jedi interrogation and Orjul having a mental breakdown later!!~

Skirata grabbed Vau’s shoulder and shook him awake. “Get in there. She’s broken him down enough for you to finish the job.” Rose sat up and rubbed her eyes, unbraiding her chaotic hair. Vau stayed down for a moment, he was clearly exhausted. 

Verda suddenly grabbed Kal’s hand that was still on her husband's shoulder, yanking it towards her so she could see his chrono. “Not bad.” She spoke, her voice still groggy. Walon looked at Kal once Rose dropped his arm. 

“What’s up? Don’t want to let her face the real consequences?” Vau spoke. 

“Just do it, will you?” 

Vau swung his legs off the bed and stalked into the main room to usher Etain from the chair and steer her and Skirata towards the doors. “Go and have some fizzade, Jedi.” He turned to Orjul, who was staring after Etain with wide-set eyes. “She’s just stepping out for some refreshment. She’ll be back later.” 

Walon spoke like a teacher, his accented voice helping him sound even more regal and in control. Rose walked out of the bedroom, twirling a dagger between her fingers with skill. Etain blinked, Rose’s hair was now in a perfect braid instead of a messy one. She’d have to ask her secrets for controlling crazy red hair later. 

Skirata led Etain out by her elbow. He sat her down on a little bench at the back of the landing platform and took out his comlink to call for transport. 

“No, I'm going back in,” said Etain. 

“Only if Vau calls us back.”

“Kal….”

“Only if he really needs you. Okay?”

They were still waiting for Ordo to collect them when Etain flinched and then looked back at the lobby doors. 

They opened and Vau wandered out, rubbing his eyes. There was a distinctive tang of ozone clinging to him, like a discharged blaster. 

“Retail zone, Quadrant B-Eighty-five,” said Vau simply. He held out his datapad with the coordinates. “But he hasn’t given me a date, if he knows one. He was supposed to drop the explosives off in the warehouse, and someone would be along to collect it. He never knew who. 

Skirata sniffed the ozonic scent again and switched to Mando’a, although he was sure Etain had flinched because she had sensed what had happened. Rose walked out just as the men began to argue, quick to distract Etain. 

“Gar ru kyramu kaysh, di’kut: tion’meh kaysh ru jehaati?” 

Translation: “You killed him, you moron: what if he was lying?”

Vau made an irritated pfft sound “Ni ru kyarmu Niktose. Meh Orjul jehaati, kaysh kar’tayli me’ni ven kyramu kaysh.” 

Translation: “I killed the Nikto. If Orjul’s lying, he knows I'll kill him. Orjul would be dead sooner or later anyway.” 

No prisoners: not on this run. It was amazing how many people overlooked the inevitable while hoping for a way out. 

Kal knew Etain couldn’t speak fluent Mando’a, but he was still happy Rose was there to distract Etain from picking up any of the words in the conversation that she might know. “Seriously it works wonders Etain.” Rose spoke, smiling a little at Etain. She’d definitely listen to her hair advice. 

“Darling.” Walon spoke, motioning to the doors. Rose winked at Etain and walked to her husband, walking back inside with him. 

Etain looked at Kal, “She’s a rude one…..but I think she likes me?” Kal chuckled, “Yeah, which means you’re lucky.” Etain frowned at that, “They’re an odd pair, but they somehow work. Just wait until you see them in action….or arguing.” Etain wasn’t sure if she wanted to see any of that. 

Etain almost bolted to the speeder when Ordo settled it on the platform. 

~Back inside~

Walon hugged Rose from behind, both procrastinating moving the corpse. “That girl is smart but naive. She’s too reliant on Skirata, which is never good.” Rose suddenly spoke. Vau sighed, he agreed with her.

Tags: @the-arctic-violet @crimson-dxwn @cherry-cokes-world @thealluringsink @seafoamandlilliesinthesea @leias-left-hair-bun @catsnkooks @royalhandmaidens @simping-for-fives @valkyrieofthehighfae @mxndalorians @colorfulloverbatturkey @peacefulwizardfox @ahsokatano-thetogruta @hounding-around @julyzaa @feathersforclones @chr0nicbackpain @fyrepen33 @ct7567329 @mistflyer1102

[molluskwritesfic]

Where the Roses Grow: Chapter One

The compound on Arvala-7 didn’t house one bounty, but two. Elsi Nokk is an enslaved nanny with more than a few tricks up her sleeve. She’ll do anything to protect her charge, even if it means standing against - and then with - a certain Mandalorian. Rated M.

This story can be found on Ao3 and fanfiction.net.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Mild violence, electrocution, reference to sexual assault, mild language, slavery and associated themes.

This Chapter - Next Chapter

Chapter One

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.” 

The thin metallic voice echoed faintly through the stone halls, but after a lifetime of eavesdropping she heard it loud and clear. Without missing a beat, she scooped up the tiny green creature that had been playing by her feet. To the baby, with his massive bat-like ears, the not-so-distant blaster fire must’ve been frighteningly loud. His dark eyes blinked up at her worriedly, ears held flat to his shoulders. 

She pressed a kiss to his wrinkled forehead. With the child cradled protectively to her chest, she hurried across the room, neatly side-stepping piles of supplies and junk. The baby’s bassinet sat among the wall, small and unassuming among the scattered bits of droid and speeder parts the Nikto mercenaries had scavenged from raiding bounty hunters. 

With practiced ease, she balanced the baby in one arm while opening the bassinet with the other. The quick press of a few buttons revealed the baby’s sleeping space. Small and dark, but made homey by several small blankets and a patchwork cloth frog, all lovingly made in the bright colors. Her fingers ached with the memory of each tiny stitch.  She deposited the baby in its bassinet, tucking in the blanket corners gently. 

He curled his little claws into the top blanket - the red one. His favorite. She smiled down at him sadly, wishing there was something she could do to stop the never-ending noise and violence; to stop him from being afraid. He was unlike any other child that had fallen into her care over the years. If he were, perhaps she could offer more comfort. But he always seemed shockingly aware of the galaxy around him.

He knew there were people dying outside. He knew they were coming for him.

She pressed a finger over her lips. It was something they’d practiced extensively. He copied the gesture, pressing one of his three fingers over his mouth with a self-pleased grin. 

She could distract him, at least. 

Despite the severity of the situation, she couldn’t help but return the smile. She leaned down to press a last quick kiss to the baby’s brow before pulling away and closing the bassinet’s shutters. 

“Subparagraph 16 of the Bondsman Guild Protocol Waiver compels you to immediately produce said asset.”

A few armed Niktos swarmed through the narrow space, causing her to flatten herself against the wall to let them pass. She was of little interest or value to them. An extra piece of furniture that they had to feed. They sidestepped her with the same regard they gave to the half-forgotten piles of junk they housed her and her charge among. Her safety was the absolute last thing on their minds. 

She was far too used to it to be offended. The heavy metal collar around her neck caused others to set her apart and then aside. It had once bit into her skin and drawn blood, but over the years the skin underneath had scarred and calloused. 

Now it only itched.

Knowing that it was up to her to keep herself alive, she tossed a ragged tarp over the bassinet and piled a couple of other odds and ends on top in hopes that if anyone did make it through, they wouldn’t realize it contained what they sought. At least not immediately. Just long enough for her to get a bearing on the newcomers’ intentions. Specifically, whether or not they intended to harm the baby. 

She had no love for the Nikto gang. They were just the most recent in the rather long line of hands the child had fallen into over the past two years - and those were just the ones she knew about. But as brutish as the group of mercenaries could be, they generally left her and the child to their own devices - so long as they weren’t in the way. 

She’d had far worse masters.

But, should the newcomers be successful, She didn’t want to be seen as one of the mercenaries. That was a very easy way to get a bolt through the head. Nor did she want to show any support for the attackers. Should they lose, the Nikto would be sure to express their displeasure. 

She slipped behind a few crates to wait, well out of sight but with a clear view of where the baby hid. Passive defense had served her well in the past, and she saw no reason to alter tactics now.

The battle outside was louder than ever, the usual blaster fire underscoring heavy artillery that made the air vibrate. She waited with bated breath, listening intently despite wanting to clamp her hands over her ears to defend against the volume.

Silence fell. 

She waited. 

There was movement outside. Footsteps. Two, at a guess, but there was no way to tell which side they were on. She stayed hidden.

She was startled by the sound of someone running. Someone close, too close. Before she had a chance to work out who they were and why they’d been able to get so close without her noticing, they were crashing into the barrels she had hidden herself behind and locking a hand around her throat just above the collar.

She wheezed as the grip tightened. They slung her around violently so that she faced them. It was Grod, the leader of the mercenary band. There was nothing particularly special about him - besides him being a little bigger than the rest... and the fact that he currently had the control fob to her collar. 

Grod hissed something at her in Nikto, squeezing her throat tighter for emphasis.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, eyes wide and pleading. “I don’t know Nikto.”

It was a lie, of course. But the tide had turned against Grod and she had no intention of assisting him in whatever he had planned - which probably included running. A bad idea in the middle of the desert. Especially while being hunted.

Grod snarled, perhaps having caught the lie. He fished in the rugged leather of his jacket and revealed the fob. It was small - just the right size to fit in the palm of the hand - metallic and black. A dial sat in the center of the object, along with a few buttons. 

She was painfully aware of its function. Cold fear washed over her, but she didn’t back down. 

Grod turned the dial and pressed the button. The collar around her neck seared into her skin. Her vision went white. She crumpled to the ground, mouth open in a silent cry as her limbs jerked and twitched with electricity. 

She wasn’t entirely aware of what happened next, but through the pain she saw Grod turn with his blaster only to fall at her side an instant later. 

Someone loomed over her, no more than a pale shadow in her pain-washed vision. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, unable to get enough air to cry out. Her teeth gnashed and rattled in their sockets. She heard voices, but couldn’t make out the words through the ringing in her ears.

The electricity stopped, but the pain didn’t. She gasped like a fish, trying to force her lungs to draw in enough air to breathe through the pain. Her muscles twitched by their own volition, trying to work out which electrical signals they were supposed to obey now that the horrible surge had come and gone. 

Darkness ate at the corners of her vision. She sank away into dizzying blackness.

. ~0~0~0~

“Nan!” Hetta’s shrill voice sliced through the air, shattering what had been an otherwise peaceful evening.

Elsi Nokk heaved a great sigh, trying to convince herself to be content with listening to her charge’s whiny shouts, so long as it bought her a few more minutes of solitude. She bent over her needlework with redoubled effort, so that when the child finally found her, it would seem that she’d been too preoccupied to notice.

“Nan Elsi!”

Nan, of course, was short for Nanny, as a slave could never hope to be awarded the title of Governess. It was a comparatively small insult, and one she was all too used to. 

She didn’t like being called Nan. It made her feel old, which she wasn’t. Her wavy blond hair had yet to start greying, even if it did look a little mousy tucked away in the low braided bun she always wore. The weathered places lining the corners of her soft grey eyes placed her in her late thirties, though her true age was anyone’s guess. A stressful life had the tendency to age a creature beyond their years, and she was no exception.

Elsi had no guilt at leaving Hetta to search for her. At twelve years of age, the child was spoiled, bratty, and had the wit of a bantha. Each day, Elsi would take her sewing to the riverbank while Hetta took her mid-afternoon nap. She always sat in the same spot, underneath the same tree that acted as a protective screen sheltering her from both weather and prying eyes.

Despite having found her nanny in the same spot a fair number of times, Hetta couldn’t seem to come to the logical conclusion as to where Elsi could have possibly disappeared to.

It only took another thirty odd seconds for Elsi to give up the charade. Hetta was loud and shrill, which wasn’t good for the headache that had already been building behind Elsi’s eyes. She heaved a great sigh and tucked her sewing back into her bag, folding everything neatly and ensuring that the needle wasn’t going anywhere. 

She stood and brushed away the low hanging leaves, parting them and striding out into the sunlight. “Here, Hetta.”

Hetta bounded across the short lawn and stopped in front of her nanny, where she stood bouncing on her toes. She was a blonde-haired bundle of sickeningly sweet pink and lace, a dress that Elsi had slaved over for weeks. Elsi’s keen eyes picked out the dirt smudged across the fabric covering her left knee and the slight tattering on the hem; two flaws that hadn’t been present when she dressed her that morning. 

Elsi tried not to be harsh about it. Hetta was only a child, and she was constantly reminding herself that children were SUPPOSED to play and get dirty. Had the universe been different, Elsi herself might’ve been exactly like Hetta as a child . But she’d learned early on to keep her smocks clean and pressed, as those that taught her weren’t quick to make allowances. 

She subconsciously tugged at the side of her simple blue dress to straighten the imaginary wrinkles. Lessons learned at the end of a whip didn’t fade with time.

Hetta didn’t seem to care that she behaved more like a common street urchin than the daughter of a nobleman. She had the same smug look on her face that she always wore when she knew something Elsi didn’t, which usually ended up being bad for the nanny. 

Elsi was usually quite good at predicting potential outcomes and preparing for them. But an unanticipated scenario meant she had no contingency plan for it, which exponentially increased her chances of being punished for negligence of duty.

Elsi crossed her arms over her chest, jutting out her hip and tapping her foot impatiently. Hetta’s father, Lord Burkisn, might be Elsi’s master, but Hetta certainly wasn’t.

Hetta’s expression faltered under Elsi’s piercing stare. Her internal debate flickered clearly across her face: to bask in powerful sensation of teasing, or to risk some kind of punishment later on. Lord Burkisn cared for his daughter, but since the death of her mother and despite his severity towards his slaves, Elsi had almost absolute power over Hetta’s upbringing. 

Elsi was not afraid to use what little power she had been allotted, and that’s what made her the best nanny an aloof widower Nobleman could possibly ask for.

“Father wants you,” Hetta explained, glancing sheepishly down at her nanny’s shoes. 

Elsi quirked an eyebrow, hiding her unease with a lifetime’s worth of practice. “What for?”

“Dunno,” she said, then quickly adding, “But he wants you to hurry.”

Elsi doubted the child’s ignorance. Despite the threat of being reprimanded for a lack of punctuality, she fixed her charge with her best ‘no nonsense’ look that could cause plants to wilt and waited for her to offer a more acceptable explanation. It was better to be prepared than to walk into any situation blind.

Hetta loathed that look. While she loved to cause trouble, she couldn’t stand being IN trouble. The death-glare was one of the most effective weapons in Elsi’s child-rearing arsenal, and she saved it for special occasions. Although being called to her master seemed arbitrary, having been sent for by Hetta sounded alarm bells for Elsi; it meant everyone else was otherwise preoccupied, and Elsi hadn’t been aware of anything out of the ordinary. 

“We have visitors. Daddy’s special guests,” Hetta started sheepishly. “And there’s a sick baby.”

~0~0~0~ .

Elsi found her way back to consciousness slowly; she had to coax it - her mind and body - away from the relief of dreamless sleep and into the light. It burned her inside and out. 

She groaned softly and forced her eyes open. The dull sandstone ceiling twisted dizzyingly overhead. Nausea coiled in her gut like a serpent. She rolled over on her stomach and retched, but there was very little to vomit up. 

The collar had been on a high setting, higher than the usual level used to punish a slave. Anything above 75% for more than a minute or two, and you ran the risk of causing permanent injury to the slave - brain damage, heart conditions. In other words, property damage - something no slave trader or master wanted. 

If she had to guess, she would say that the collar had been set to somewhere around 90%.

Grod had probably only intended to give her a brief shock, a few seconds of electricity strong enough to break her into compliance. She imagined that he hadn’t expected to be distracted by the blaster bolts cutting down the thick Quadanium door. The Nikto had drawn his blaster, no longer caring about the woman writhing in uncontrollable agony at his feet. 

Movement flashed in the corner of her eye. Elsi wiped her mouth and gathered what little strength she still had in order to lift her head. She found herself looking into the smoking cranium of the IG unit, presumably the same one that she’d heard earlier. 

Panic filtered through her foggy mind. The hunter was dead. Had one of the Nikto killed it? Did she still belong to them?

Oh, how she hated not knowing what to expect. She’d survived this long by knowing how to play her cards; and though they were often shitty, she won by playing the other person.

Not knowing the other players could be fatal.

Instinctively, her head snapped to where she’d stashed the crib. To her dismay, the debris she’d hidden it behind had been tossed carelessly to the side. From her place on the floor, she could see that the shutters were open and the baby peeking out curiously at the man that stood between him and Elsi.

A Mandalorian.

She hadn’t met one before, but the trademark T visor was hard to miss. She’d heard the stories, and she wasn’t sure whether or not she wanted them to be true. They were supposed to be warriors, noble soldiers in shining armor that were indomitable on the battlefield. The best warriors in the galaxy.

Elsi couldn’t speak as to the rest, but this particular Mandalorian seemed to have seen better days. The only parts of his armor that could even begin to be described as shining were his helmet and right pauldron, and those were coated with a fine layer of dust and sand. The rest of it was mismatched, a hodgepodge of dented metal that he wore like scales, painted with rust red or a shade of tan paint that was faded and scratched. 

If he gave a shit about his appearance, he certainly didn't show it. He stood nonchalantly with one finger extended to the baby, who was reaching for it with interested little coos. Although the baby seemed to be at the center of his attention, she could infer from the tilt of his helmet that he was keeping her in his periphery. He didn’t seem to feel at all threatened by her, though. But why should he? From what she could see, he had at least one blaster at his hip and a fearsome rifle strapped over his shoulder. 

More than that, Elsi spied her slave-fob clipped to his belt. 

Feigning another bout of nausea, Elsi grit her teeth. She hadn’t met a Mandalorian before, but from what she’d heard, they could be brutal… and tricky. Some lived by what most species would call honor, others lived by how their own personal code defined it. 

He hadn’t killed her yet, so that was something. But there were much worse things that could be done to a female slave, a bitter lesson that she’d learned very young.

Slowly, Elsi worked her way up to stand on shaking legs. Once up, she kept her hands folded in front of her and her head bowed submissively. The T of the Mandalorian’s visor turned to fix her with an empty stare. 

“What is it?” 

Despite knowing exactly what he was asking, she played ignorant. “He is a child.”

“Yes.” The indignation only just caught on his vocoder. “I was told the target was 50.”

“I can’t speak to his age,” Elsi offered, “but he has been in my care for two years, and he looks the same as he first did.”

The Mandalorian grunted and dropped his hand, which went to his hip. Elsi stiffened, bracing for pain, but instead of her fob, he came away with a canteen. He held it out to her. 

Wary, Elsi accepted it. She uncorked it and subtly sniffed the contents. Water. She took a few meager sips to help wash away the taste of sick, but didn’t dare drink outright. Water was precious in the desert. She wasn’t. 

The last thing she needed now was to outspend her own worth.

She returned the canteen. While he clipped it back to his belt, he asked, “You good to walk?”

Elsi wasn’t optimistic about how far her legs would carry her. She was already exhausted, drained by her collar and subsequent illness. And if that weren’t enough, months of being confined in a compound hadn’t done her any favors by the way of exercise. But, the way she saw it, there were only a handful of responses she could expect from telling a new master that she was too weak to walk and thus work. The Mandalorian had yet to be cruel, and might be willing to allow her to rest a little longer before setting out.

But she couldn’t rule out the other options just yet. The baby was the valuable one. Elsi severely doubted any bounty he intended to collect would be for her own delivery. He could just simply kill her to save himself both time and trouble. Or he could leave her behind.

For the baby’s sake, Elsi couldn’t afford to risk either.

“I can walk,” she said. “But first, may I collect his things?”

The Mandalorian’s helmet adopted a thoughtful tilt, as if he hadn’t considered that the child should need things other than a bassinet. 

He nodded curtly. “Be quick.”

Elsi dipped her head obediently and shuffled off to the abandoned corner she and the child usually occupied. 

Her limbs were still wobbly and ached dully from the collar, but she ignored them and quickly packed the few meager possessions they had between them into a worn russack sack; several of the child’s robes, an extra dress for Elsi, a few days worth of rations and a large canteen of water, as well as a few other odds and ends. 

Last but not least, Elsi’s special needle in its ornate casing was tucked away into one of the hidden pockets she’d sewn into her dress. The casing was made of rosy bronze metal, embossed with finger-worn roses and an image of a needle and thread. It was the only thing of worth she possessed, having inherited it from another slave. Although its contents had long since dried beyond use, she kept it close, waiting for the opportunity to fill it again. 

She finished quickly and padded back to where the Mandalorian stood waiting. Her heart clenched when she saw him holding the little cloth frog she’d made for the baby. He held it up to his visor, turning it back and forth. Elsi held her breath, half expecting him to toss it to the side. 

He didn’t. When he saw Elsi approaching, he returned the doll back to the child’s outstretched hands. The baby squeaked happily.

The Mandalorian held his hand out for the bag. Elsi gave it to him without question and watched with subdued frustration as he rooted through it and upset all of her carefully folded and packed items. 

She picked idly at the bracelet snaked around her wrist. It was the only ornamentation she’d been allowed to keep over the last ten years or so. It was nothing special, just a long braid of twisted leather with little burgundy beads that wrapped around her wrist seven or eight times. It was cheap and looked it. But wearing it made her feel safe, and so wear it she did. 

Satisfied that she wasn’t hiding any weapons from him, the Mandalorian stuffed everything half-hazardly into the bag before thrusting it back in her direction. She shouldered it without comment, hiding her displeasure at how lumpy and awkward it now was. 

Unbothered, the Mandalorian tapped idly at one of his vambraces. The bassinet beeped in confirmation. 

When he led the way out into the compound, the bassinet trailed after him obediently, its passenger giggling excitedly to his nanny, who forced a smile and nodded along to his babbling. Elsi, already dreading the journey, brought up the rear. 

~0~0~0~ .

[crayonwriting]

The Mandalorian (1/4) (Din Djarin x Reader)

It’s finally here! My first ever Mando and Star Wars fic! I hope y’all like it. I have four parts planned for this, but that is if you guys would want those 3 parts. You basically replace Kuiil here (bless his soul). Spoilers for those who haven’t watched the series yet. So, enjoy!

Summary: You’re the good soul that helps the Mandalorian retrieve, save and protect the Child.

 // next >>

The Mandalorian struggled against the huge creature as it had its mouth wrapped around his whole arm. The creature pulled and tugged at him as if he were some rag doll. He punched the creature in the eyes, resulting to it letting him go. He barely had time to get back on his feet when it charged at him again, this time seizing his other arm. He was once again dragged across the ground.

All of a sudden, the creature screamed in agony before falling down on the ground, dragging him with it. He pulled at his arm, trying to break free. A loud screech was heard and he turned to the sound to see another one charging at him. Before it got near, it groaned loudly before skidding to a stop at his feet. He saw the prominent red-tailed dart sticking out of its back.

"Hell yeah!"

He looked to where the dart came from and approaching him was another one of those creatures—exactly how many of them were in this planet?—but someone was riding on it. He noticed the gun you held and he assumed that you were the one who shot down the creature. You stopped and looked straight at him. He tugged at his arm, that was still inside the first creature’s mouth.

He looked up at you and mumbled a soft, “Thank you.” You stared at him with knit eyebrows. You looked him up and down before lifting your gun up and resting it against your shoulder.

“You’re a bounty hunter?” You asked even though you already knew the answer. His appearance alone told you of his origin—he’s a Mandalorian. Mandalorians are only known for one thing in the whole galaxy and you’ve gotta be dumb to not know.

“Yes.” He answered directly. He pulled his arm free, twisting his wrist lightly to ease the pain. He felt your gaze still trained on him. He turned his helmet-clad head towards you. You just looked at him contemplating your thoughts.

“Hm.” You grunted. You slung your gun across your back and held on tight to the restraints of your ride. “Guess I’ll be helping you.”

He didn’t respond right away. A stranger helping a Mandalorian? Either you wanted part of the reward or you had some other motive, he wasn’t sure. You stared him down one last time before motioning to the side.

“C’mon.” You made a clicking sound and maneuvered the creature the other way.

The Mandalorian took it as a hint to follow you. And he did.

—

He sat in your hut, as straight as a stick, just looking at you tinkering about. You were actually fixing yourself a drink. You thought of getting him one but… Mandalorians aren't supposed to take off their helmets right? It's against their culture if you remember it correctly.

"A lot of people have come and gone to this planet." You started. You gave him a side glance as you poured sweetwater into a glass. You turned to him and leaned against the counter. Taking a sip, you said, "Always looking for the same thing. And I believe that's what you're looking for as well."

He turned his head to your direction and with a slight tilt, he asked, "Did you help them?"

"I did." You nodded. "They all died." You pursed your lips and shrugged. The Mandalorian stood a little bit straighter.

"Well, then I don’t know if I want your help." He stated.

"Oh, trust me. You do." You moved to sit in front of him. "I can show you to the encampment." He was silent for a moment. It was obvious you wanted something out of this and he's not gonna beat around the bush to know.

"What’s your cut?"

"I want half."

"Half the bounty to guide? Seems steep."

"No. Not the bounty." You leaned on your knees. You pointed your thumb just outside your hut. "I want half of the blurrg you helped capture."

"The blurrg?" He sounded shocked behind his helmet. "You can keep them both." He almost scoffed.

"No, you'll need the other one. To ride." You couldn't see his face but you know—you could feel—that his eyebrow was raised in question. "The way is impossible to pass without a blurrg mount.”

He looked at the entrance of the hut where, from a distance, he could see the blurggs by the pen area. They were walking around in circles. He turned his attention back to you.

"I don’t know how to ride a blurrg."

***

“Might wanna take off the helmet, y’know. Might help you see better huh?”

“ I think he remembers I tried to roast him.” He recalled torching the creature earlier that day when it ‘attacked.’

“That’s a girl, you know. The males are eaten during mating.” You stifled a laugh as the Mandalorian—you decided to call him ‘Mando’ in your thoughts—fell down for the fifth time already after going head to head with one of the blurrgs. You stood outside of the pen, leaning on the wooden face.

Mando grunted loudly in frustration. When he glanced at you with that smirk plastered on your face, he couldn’t take it anymore. He angrily stood up and stomped towards you.

“I don’t have time for this.” Oh, boy. Did he sound pissed. “Do you have a landspeeder or a speeder bike that I could hire?” You shook your head at him.

“No. Like I said, the only way to get there is by riding that blurrg.” He just looked at you, contemplating on just walking out right then and there. You weren’t helping at all. When he just stood there looking at you, the smile on your face vanished.

“Oh, come on.” You rolled your eyes at him. You slapped his chest plate with the back of your hand and said, “You’re a Mandalorian, for kriff’s sake! Your ancestors rode the great Mythosaur. Surely you can ride this small thing.”

He just stared at you for a few moments and when you gave him the look, as if to say ‘hurry up’, he sighed loudly and turned to face the blurrg who was already facing him, ready to charge. Mando took cautious steps towards it, his hands in front of him.

“Hey, easy. Easy…,” he said softly. The blurrg growled lowly, waiting. Mando took a step closer. “Settle down. Settle.” The blurrg growled again, but this time a little louder. “Hey, calm down. Settle. Settle.”

The blurrg let out a low grumble as the Mandalorian set his hands on top of her head warily. He brushed his hands softly against the creature before it leaned onto his gloved palm. When he felt that the creature was calm, he slowly mounted it.

You couldn’t help but smirk to yourself and got your own blurrg ready.

***

It took almost an hour for you and the Mandalorian to ride through sandy dunes and knobs under the scorching heat of the sun before arriving at the encampment. You were still far enough to not be seen by them.

You and Mando sat silently looking around the bustling camp, Nikto guards scattered around the area. You grip the saddle of your blurrg tightly. You couldn't help but remember all the destruction their arrival has caused to your land.

"I can only go this far." You said, not looking at him. You lifted your arm and pointed to the warehouse within the camp. "That's where you’ll find your quarry."

The Mandalorian went through one of his pockets and brought out a small, leather pouch. He offered it to you. You glanced at the pouch, then to the Mandalorian before you shook your head and pushed his hand back.

“Please. You deserve this.” He said, extending his hand back to you. You gave him a small smile. You shook your head again. You stared at the encampment and sighed.

“Since these ones arrived,” your brows furrowed, “This territory has been an endless stream of mercenaries seeking reward and bringing destruction.” You glanced at him. He was looking down at the guards that were roaming around.

“Then why did you guide me?” He asked.

“They don’t belong here.” You stated. “You know, those that live here come to seek peace. No more violence, no more armies. Just pure calm. To enjoy the remainder of our lives.” You sighed deeply. “There will be no peace until they’re gone.” He turned his head towards your direction.

“Then why do you help?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle slightly. You gave him a small smirk. “I’ve never met a Mandalorian.” He kept his gaze to you so you continued. “I’ve only heard the stories.” You sat quietly for a while, reminiscing all the tales about his people. Besides being bounty hunters, they were known for being warriors—saviors, even. You once hoped to be rescued by one before when you were still a slave. The Mandalorian noticed you were deep in thought and wondered whether the stories you were told were good or not.

“Well, if they are true, you’ll be outta here in no time.” You shrugged and pulled on the bridle of your blurg. “Then we will finally have peace again.” He looked at you as you directed the blurg to the direction of your hut. You glanced back at Mando and gave him a court nod and a two-finger salute.

—

permanent tag: @awkwardfangirl2014​

[velociraptors-dont-lie]

My Way (3)

Summary: Anita’s adventure truly starts.

Warnings: blood? fighting? More swearing? More bad writing and OOcness?

A/N: I. still.hate.this. But imma continue writing it because im not a quitter.

Part one Here, Part Two here

Chapter Three

''We'll rest here for the night''

Anita groaned in relief and dropped to the floor, still cuffed hands going to her red and sore feet. Scamp cooed sadly from his pod and his ears dropped when Anita looked at him. ''I'm okay, sweetheart, promise.''

It got dark in what seemed like no time at all, the sun just under the horizon, and All Anita could hear was the Mandalorian's pained noises. She might've offered to help if she wasn't still distrustful of him, it was only his arm after all and it didn't look too bad.

She'd fed Scamp, gave him a drink and he seemed bored, unable to run about like he was used to doing with his mother. He looked at Anita as she chewed on something she'd stolen from the encampment before looking to the metal man who seemed in pain, deciding to do something about it, Scamp started to fidget.

She saw him moving out of the corner of her eye, saw him drop from out of the pod, and head towards the Mandalorian. Intrigued, she watched Scamp raise his arm and squint his eyes only fearing once the Mandalorian took Scamp's hand and picked him up.

Only to be surprised at his gentle drop into the pod, leaving the child there. So perhaps he wasn't as course and harsh as she first thought him to be, something about Scamp had already wormed its way into his armor, it was only a matter of a time before it reached his heart.

Scamp's second attempt to help yielded the same result, It also had Anita laughing quietly to herself when the man shut the pod with Scamp inside. At least now the little bugger had to sleep.

''I can help with that if you take these off.'' She lifted her hands to show the cuffs ''They're starting to hurt and I promise I won't jump on you again.''

''It's fine''

''It's not fine. It won't get better like that, at least let me clean it.''

He looked at her for a few seconds, debating the options in his head. She hadn't done anything else since arriving out of nowhere except care for the baby. In the end, he relented and released her hands from the cuffs and watched as she took the last of her water and used it to clean his wound.

''You know, that whole situation when I found you was a complete fluke.'' she chuckled to herself mostly as she dabbed his wound dry gently. ''I can't fight at all but you were walking off with my child and I had to do something. Honestly, I didn't think I could take but I was gonna try.''

''You were smart. Avoiding the beskar.''

''Well, I didn't want to break my hand.'' Anita was grinning, checking over the wound for the last time. ''Cause you know I only have two and I need them.''

It was silent again, He didn't reply to her but she had a question on her mind.

''Whoever you're taking him to...'' He turned to face her, the only indication he was looking was that his helmet seemed to bore right into her soul. ''What will they do with me? I'm only on this planet by accident and then Nikto's found me and told me to care for him. I don't-I'm scared.''

Again he was silent, she assumed to try and find an answer that wouldn't make her panic but his silence was doing that already.

''You're his mother. I'm sure they'll keep you around him.''

''And then I need to find a way home!'' Anita looked away, her face scrunched as if trying not to cry. Shuffling away from him. ''But I don't want to leave him but I have to go home, I have godchildren, my friends, my house. I can't stay and I can't take him with me because he's green.''

He was sure Anita would have had a full breakdown if the child hadn't started to cry from within the pod. Anita's ramblings stopped as did the appearance of tears in her eyes when her attention diverted to him Immediately.

She opened the pod and shushed the child, hands either side of the pod and gently rocking it side to side. He stilled in his bed, looking up at her with sad eyes and the beginnings of his own crying fit; The Mandalorian prepared for the loud screams but instead, Anita started to sing.

La la lu, La la lu. Oh, my little star sweeper. I'll sweep the stardust for you. La la lu, La la lu.

She was a good person. He could see that and some part of him didn't want to hand her over to the likes of the client. He saw the love she had for the child, the love the child had for her and he knew she would be devastated when they were separated.

His lie would be found out, she'll hate him but it was a job he had to do. For now, he enjoyed the sound of her soft singing as much as the child.

Little soft fluffy sleeper. Here comes a pink cloud for you. La la lu, La la lu.Little wandering angel Fold up your wings close your eyes

The child had calmed, his eyes drooping down as the familiar song she sung set him off to sleep. The Mandalorian had never heard it but the soft tones that followed on the words were enough to know he'd go the same way as the child did if he wasn't focused on his armor.

La la lu, La la lu And may love be your keeper La la lu, La la lu, La la lu

She closed the pod the instant she finished to protect Scamp from the noises of the Mandalorians fixings. Anita's own eyes dropping closed, the exhaustion of the day reaping the seeds it had sown and there she herself drifted to sleep; forehead pressed against the metal of the pod.

He had gone through her bag while she slept, heavier than he expected to lift. Inside were some familiar items, food packets, water but some were not so familiar. Two rectangles, black on one side and pink and blue on the other.

Wires, one white and the other black. A weird stick, pop off the lid and it smelt...strange and he couldn't place it. Small tubes he assumed was makeup, it did say the words 'Eye' and 'lip' on them.

He kept pulling things out, it wasn't that large of a bag but yet seemed like a black hole of just ...stuff. deciding none of what was inside could be used as a weapon, The Mandalorian placed everything back inside and put the bag back with its owner.

He almost hated to wake her up, to force her closer to the separation she'll experience when they get to Nevarro. She was groggy, her backed ached and her shoulders clicked as she stretched out her arms.

He noticed her feet a long time ago, the way she tried to take small steps and yet keep up with him at the same time while also trying to feed the kid. Walking along the hot floor seemed to hurt her and yet she kept on going, he tried to think if he had any shoes somewhere on the ship for her.

Not that his ship was all that useful at the moment. After walking for a while, Anita stopped behind him as he took the rifle looking weapon from his back, kneeling and pointing it down the ridge at a ship, where some ...small beings were doing something.

''what are they?'' Anita asked as he fired his rifle, disintegrating one of them. ''The small one is your...spaceship?''  

''Jawas'' The Mandalorian fired another shot after reloading, Anita noted the rifle seemed to only use one charge at a time. ''And yes.''

''Manny, your ship looks wrecked.''

After the third kill, the Mandalorian took off running down the small ridge and towards the big fortress the Jawas had retreated into. Anita sighed but ran after him and the pod that followed whether she liked it or not, her feet burning with pain and yet she didn't want to leave Scamp with him.

''You want me to hold your gun, Manny?'' She watched him fire another shot at the moving fortress before he carelessly threw the weapon her way and continued to run after his ship parts.

For a moment, Anita was stood still and struck dumb by how fast he actually gave her the weapon. She assumed his ship was more important than her imaginary mutiny he knew she wouldn't commit.

''Oh he's-okay.''' She ran after the pod, noticing it got too far away and witnessed her only source of life on the planet was trying to climb a moving vehicle. He narrowly missed being throw off by a close wall, and the Jawas started to throw random metal stuff down at him.

Anita continued to keep pace by the pod, the empty gun in her hand. Normally, Anita didn't have trouble running, she was quite fit and enjoyed a run in the mornings; yet her now bleeding feet slowed her down, caused her to bounce each step she took and she was finding it hard to breathe.

Huffing out in relief as the Mandalorian reached the top of the fortress, hoping she didn't have to jump over any more Jawa bodies. Though the relief was short-lived as his visage seemed to glow with blue light before he dropped backward, hitting the ground below with a hard thunk.

Anita cringed as he hit the ground, the pod stopping nearby but she kept going to drop by the man's side, the rifle was forgotten on the floor under the pod. She touched the chest plate of his armor, pulling her hand back as her fingers were zapped by lingering electricity.

Hissing with surprise rather than the pain she shoved her hand under his helmet, pulling down the fabric around his neck and pressing two fingers hard just under his jaw; checking for a pulse he still had.

Scamp made a noise from the side and she looked over to give him a smile. ''He's alright. He just got a bit of a jolt.'' Anita herself got a jolt when he suddenly moved, awake and in pain. ''You good, Manny?''

He said nothing. Only sat up, looked around, and made sure his helmet was still on.  Groaning as he stood up with her following, he walked back into the direction they came from and she assumed it was to return to his ship.

The hull had a few holes in it from where the Jawas had stripped it of its metal. The Mandalorian made a few frustrated sounds and slammed some doors, understandably mad that his ship was wrecked.

She followed him to what she assumed was the cockpit, he sat down in the middle seat and pushed buttons, flicked levers. There was sputtering, the ship wasnt able to take off and he gave up, disappearing back down the ladder.

''Dude, they got you good. This place is a mess.'' Anita jumped from the cockpit, forgoing using the ladder. The Mandalorian had Scamp in his arms, moving to leave the ship and go somewhere else with them since his mode of transportation was unusable.

''We gotta get your shit back man. I hate this planet.''

''Are your feet okay?''

''No, they're fucked.'' Anita laughed, though, to him, it sounded more like a pained whine. ''But if what you're actually asking is ''can I walk'' then the answer is yes. You are not carrying me.''  

''I wasn't going to.''

Anita made a face at him from behind, still following to whenever the next destination was set. The sun was setting and was near fully got when they arrived at a camp, someone of yet another race was fixing a tall, metal pole.

''I thought you were dead.''

''He almost was.'' Anita giggled to herself. ''My name is Anita. It's ...nice to meet you.'' Though confused and still afraid.

''I am Kuiil'' he replied, starting to climb down from the pole. He was small like a child and yet his face wasn't child-like at all. when he was finally on the ground and in front of her, he noticed her feet immediately.  ''You are injured.''

''Hm? oh yeh, just a little.''

''Sit. I will bring you supplies.''

''Oh no its-''

''I have spoken.'' Anita opened and closed her mouth dumbly, looking to Manny to help her but it just continued to stand there, silent as the grave. Kuiil hadn't said it rudely, it seemed more like a mannerism of his speech more than a rude demand that he was going to help.

Scamp had crawled down from inside his pod, playing with the small froglike creatures that hopped around while Anita tended to her feet with the supplies Kuiil had brought her.  

''This is what was causing all the fuss?''

''I thinks it's a child.''

''He is a child.'' Anita butted in, wiping the blood clean from her sore feet. ''his fifty years must be at least...8? maybe younger judging by the interest in slimy friends.''

''It is best to deliver it alive then.''

''him''

''My ship has been destroyed. I'm trapped here.'' The Mandalorian ignored her correction.   Anita rolled her eyes, bandaging up her feet while the two men talked. She wasn['t looking forward to yet another journey across the planet for his ship parts.

But where Scamp went, so did she.

''Hey, spit that out.''

Anita smiled at Scamp, who had caught his frog finally and shoved it face-first into his mouth. Leaning back his head, he swallowed it alive and looked to his mother with pride on his face.

Anita giggled, clapping as she was indeed proud of her little alien son. Though it was very gross, she couldn't help but find it incredibly cute.

The child was too cute.