#his little freckles his braids ❤️

[sapphire-writes]

Girl In The Bar (modern hospital AU)

Do No Harm part 1 || masterlist || next part

pairing: doctor!Aemond Targaryen x doctor!Reader

summary: Your internship begins at Citadel General Hospital. But your first day does not go according to plan as a familiar face appears.

word count: 4.3k

note: here we go! my little celebration piece, the beginning of a new AU/mini-series! thank you so so much for all the love and support ❤️

warnings below the cut!

warnings: medical terminology, stitches/sutures, mentions of blood, concussions, nausea, referencing spicy times but nothing explicit in this chapter

disclaimer: yall, I am not a doctor, I am simply a Grey's Anatomy stan. If something is off or incorrect please just suspend your disbelief! I am trying my best to make it as accurate as possible but its just for fun!!

dividers by the lovely @firefly-graphics

You’d been preparing for this. That’s what you keep telling yourself as you stand outside the doors of Citadel General Hospital. Four grueling years of med school weren’t for nothing. Your heart beats steadily, only slightly quicker than usual as you take a deep breath to steady yourself. 

You can’t help but stare up at the large building in front of you, watching the sunlight reflect off of the many windows, obscuring the view of the occupants inside.

“Are you going in?” a girl says sliding up beside you, curly brown hair flowing freely around her face. She gives you a crooked smile, tilting her chin to signal you inside. There’s a faded scar across the bridge of her nose along with a dusting of freckles. 

“Can’t believe it’s the first day,” she sighs as the doors open and you follow her inside, “We met at the intern mixer briefly.”

The mixer was held a few weeks ago. You'd met most of the other medical interns and gotten a tour of the hospital. CGH is massive; it’ll take time to learn the lay of the land. You follow her down the hall towards the intern locker rooms. Scrubs wait for you and you hurriedly begin to change into them. Nettles scoops her hair into a large bun on top of her head, wrapping a scrunchie around the mess of curls. 

“Right,” you say, nodding as you remember her, “It’s Annette, right?”

“Nettles,” she corrects, “Family nickname. Though from what I’ve heard, they barely refer to us by our first names.”

“That’s correct,” a guy says, throwing on his scrub top, “Be prepared to change your name to whatever your last name is.”

The guy glances at you, cheeks flushing. He rubs his dark curls out of his eyes, adjusting his light blue scrub top before extending his hand for you to shake.

“Jace Velaryon,” he introduces, squeezing your hand, “Or just Velaryon I guess.”

“Do you know who your resident is yet?” you ask, just as a woman in dark blue scrubs enters the room. Her red hair is held behind a scrub cap decorated with silver eagles. She holds a clipboard tightly in her hands, tapping a pen against the metal.

“Velaryon, Waters, Martell, Snow, and…” she pauses, before reading your last name, “You five. Baratheon will meet you at the nurses' station. Three minutes.” 

You hurriedly lace your sneakers as a locker from across the room slams shut. A woman with long ink-black hair elegantly plaited down her back hurries forward. 

“Thank you Dr. Arryn,” she calls, as the woman leaves the room.

Another young woman hurries from around the corner of lockers, struggling to pull her thick brown hair into a ponytail, “She didn’t say Baratheon, did she?” she asks, as her hair tie snaps. 

You reach into the pocket of your scrubs, holding out the spare you have. She smiles gratefully as she accepts it.

“Sara Snow,” she introduces, “We’re sure she said Baratheon?”

“Sure did,” the girl with the braid says, her dark eyes wide, “Cory Martell. Nice to meet you all for whatever time we have left.”

Jace chuckles nervously as Cory fiddles with her braid, taking a sudden interest in the ends of her hair.  

“What’s that mean?” Jace asks, looking at you all as you don’t respond, “Hello?”

“Ballbuster Baratheon,” Sara says with barely an audible whisper.

“Ah shit,” Nettles says, tilting her head back as she groans.

“Am I the only one who is lost?” Jace asks, “He can’t be so bad.”

Nettles only shrugs but gives you a wink before pushing forward out the door. You hurry after her, the rest of your cohort stumbling not far behind. The nurses’ station is bustling with people; the phones ringing continuously. 

Cory stands up straighter, flipping her braid over her shoulder. 

“Do you see him?” Jace asks, looking down the hallway.

“See who?” a doctor comments, eyeing Jace carefully. 

She’s wearing similar blue scrubs and holding a clipboard, black hair cut bluntly at her chin. 

“Dr. Baratheon,” Jace comments, still looking off in the distance, “Heard he’s a hard ass.”

The doctor raises an eyebrow at him, fire in her cobalt blue eyes. She wets her lips, before folding her arms in front of her, holding her clipboard against her stomach. 

“Very interesting Dr. Velaryon, assuming the scary resident is a man,” the doctor comments, flipping through her charts.

Jace’s face turns beet red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Sara glances at him, a pitying look on her face whilst Nettles attempts to hide her snicker with a cough. You elbow her slightly in the ribs and her eyes widen in feigned shock. 

“I didn’t—” Jace begins to ramble before being cut off.

“I didn’t ask,” Dr. Baratheon says, waving him off, “I’m Dr. Maris Baratheon, you may call me Dr. Baratheon. Not Maris, not Mari, not Baratheon. Is that understood?”

You all nod eagerly, mumbling your agreement, Jace looking rather pained.

“You’re interns,” Maris says, deep blue eyes scanning over you, “Runts—bottom of the food chain. Extensions of me-but don’t get in my way. When I move, you move. You will observe, you will listen and you will learn.”

She lets her gaze fall on each of you as she speaks, her tone not very friendly.

“You are my interns. My responsibility. You fuck up, it falls back on me,” she says, pointing her finger at each of you, “Do you think I like fucking up?”

“No ma’am,” Jace says, shaking his head back and forth. 

“Correct,” Dr. Baratheon says. 

The pager strapped to her waist beeps frantically and she glances down, before nodding; more to herself than to all of you. 

“Let’s move people,” she says, moving down the hallway.

You all begin shuffling behind her, quickening your pace to match the urgency of her walk. 

“I’m an idiot,” Jace says miserably, “She’s going to hate me forever.”

“Probably,” Nettles says with a snicker.

“She won’t hate you, she’ll understand you’re learning,” Sara insists.

“Oh yeah, she seems super understanding,” Cory agrees, but one glance at her reveals her sarcasm. 

Dr. Baratheon stops outside a room before turning back to the lot of you. You all nearly collide with each other trying to stop in time; Jace slams into Sara’s back and she pushes him with her shoulder. Cory reaches into her pocket, pulling out a small notepad and pen. 

“Who has been prepping my charts?” Dr. Baratheon asks, rolling her eyes at your scrambling. Your hand shoots into the air along with the rest of your cohort, “Good, you’re not entirely useless.” 

Dr. Baratheon opens the door, walking inside the airy hospital room. The windows are large, letting in rays of sunlight along with a beautiful view of the Honeywine River. It’s a clear day today, the blue water ripples and sparkles as some boats make their way further down the mouth of the river. 

“Come on in,” Dr. Baratheon insists, “Someone tell me what’s been going on.”

A girl sits on the hospital bed, tubes, and wires twisting away from her, a stuffed lion held tightly in her small arms. Her golden hair lays flat against her head and though her skin is pale, she smiles when Dr. Baratheon enters the room. A woman you assume to be her mother sits beside her, looking tired as she holds a cup of ice. 

“Cerelle Lannister, nine-year-old female,” Nettles begins, lacing her hands behind her back and straightening her shoulders, “Admitted while complaining of fever and muscle spasms localized to the lower body.”

“Thank you, Dr. Waters,” Dr. Baratheon says, walking to check the chart at the foot of her bed, “How are we feeling this morning Cece?”

Dr. Baratheon’s voice changes as she talks to Cece; it takes on a more caring, comforting tone. Cece smiles nervously, turning her flushed face to her mother. 

“She’s okay,” her mother answers, “The spasms seem to be about the same. Nurses said her fever broke last night.” 

“I’ve eaten so much ice, my tongue is numb,” Cece says, sticking her tongue out, “See? I bet it's blue.”

Sara giggles at the action and you can’t help but smile too. You hate seeing such a young kid in the hospital, it makes your chest tighten. 

“No blue tongue. But I guess you’re not interested in ice cream for dessert later?” Dr. Baratheon teases. 

Cece’s eyes widen and she shakes her head vigorously.

“Let’s not talk crazy now,” she squeaks, “I am always interested in ice cream.”

“Just making sure,” Dr. Baratheon says, cracking her first smile of the day, “Dr. Snow, how would you proceed?”

Sara stiffens at the sound of her name, clearing her throat. 

“Muscle spasms can indicate an overuse of the muscle or perhaps an electrolyte imbalance,” Sara begins, as though reciting from a textbook, “I would make sure she’s getting enough fluids and rest, get some labs done to confirm.”

“And after that?”

“Potentially a CT scan and MRI to rule out any potential nerve damage that may be contributing to the spasms.”

“What about the fever?”

“Fever is an immune response that indicates potential infection,” Cory interrupts, “We want to rule out a viral or bacterial infection.”

“Which first?”

“Rule out the infection first,” you interject, causing Dr. Baratheon to turn to you, “More likely bacterial than viral. Ms. Lannister doesn’t have symptoms.”

“Alright, yes,” Dr. Baratheon agrees, “What should we do if we think it's bacterial?”

“Gather a culture,” you continue, “Skin, nose, saliva. Run labs for those as well to rule them out.”

“Well Cece,” Dr. Baratheon says, turning back to the child, “You’ve got a competent group of doctors caring for you. We’re going to do our best to get you better.”

Mrs. Lannister squeezes her daughter's hand. Cece smiles shyly, holding her stuffed lion closer to her chest. 

You stand in line for lunch in the bustling cafeteria. Quick lunch, and then off to run for labs for Cerelle Lannister. Different options are laid out in front of you as you drag your tray alongside Jace’s. He’s still moping-- has been all morning. Sara rolls her eyes at him as he drops a banana onto his plate.

“You need to chill,” she tells him, reaching for a turkey club. 

“How do I come back from this?” Jace asks, reaching for a cup. He moves to the soda machine, choosing to fill it with cherry coke, “She wants me dead.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you tell him, fighting a smile.

“I’m serious!” he says, eyes wide, “She could make or break my entire career based on this slip-up, put me in the pit for the year.”

You decide on a chicken Caesar wrap before scanning the cafeteria for a free table. You spot Nettles a few tables away, leaning back in her chair and munching on a bag of potato chips. She waves you over and you motion to your colleagues to follow. 

“So you’ll do the time, pay your dues, all that jazz,” you console Jace.

“Yeah, but--shit!” Jace yelps as you reach the table, his cup falling to the floor. Reddish brown liquid blooms on the white floor and Jace groans, “This day keeps getting worse.”

“C’mon, let’s get some paper towels,” Sara says, putting her tray down and grabbing Jace’s arm.

Nettles watches them walk away, unmoving from her spot as you take the seat beside her. 

“What a drama queen,” Nettles comments.

“I mean, if I pissed off Ballbuster Baratheon, I’d be pretty upset too,” you tell her, giving a sympathetic smile.

“You’re too smart to make that mistake,” Nettles comments, and a pleasant prideful feeling lodges in your chest. 

You smile at her.

“Thanks,” you tell Nettles and she shrugs.

“Just being truthful,” she says, “I briefed everyone before we started. You’re rather impressive.”

“You briefed everyone?”

“I like to know who I’ll be working with,” she says nonchalantly. 

You nod, impressed by her dedication. You take a bite of your wrap, wincing slightly at the soggy texture of the lettuce. It’s edible. You doubt you’ll have anything to complain about when the hospital is working you into the ground. Your eyes scan the cafeteria as you chew, taking in the other doctors in the cafeteria. 

Your eyes drift over to a pair of residents near the vending machine; a man and a woman both with strikingly platinum blonde hair. The taller of the two has it pulled away from his chiseled face and into a low bun. As he turns your heart drops into your stomach. 

“Shit,” you whisper, feeling the blood drain from your face. 

“What?” Nettles asks, examining her half-eaten sandwich, “I mean it's bad, but not that bad. They have hot dogs on Fridays.”

“Not the food,” you explain, “The doctor.” 

Nettles follows your gaze toward Aemond as he’s lost in conversation with the other resident. Her eyes flicker between you two, eyebrows raising to her hairline. 

“You know him?”

“Know who?” Cory asks as she arrives, sitting in the empty chair beside you, “This food looks nasty…”

“I need to go,” you tell them, standing with your tray, “I need to--” It’s too late when you realize you’d stepped right into the spilled soda, your feet going out from under you.

You drop onto your back with a loud thud, head smacking against the linoleum floor.

“Fuck! Are you okay?” Nettles asks, crouching beside you. You blink rapidly, stars in your vision from the impact, “Shit, Y/N you’re bleeding don’t move! Head injury, you could have internal bleeding-”

“I’m okay,” you insist, trying to sit up, “I’m just….woah.” A wave of nausea rolls through you and you lean back against the ground, “Maybe I do just need a moment.”

Your vision blurs but you can see his lean silhouette in the distance. Through your haze, you swear you see his body language change, his posture stiffen, and your lunch lurches in your stomach. 

“You’re concussed,” Jace insists crouching beside you, “Don’t move. You’ve cut your head too…”

“My head?” you ask, bringing a hand to your temple, feeling wetness on your palm, “Fucking hell.”

You’re staring blankly at the ceiling, mortification settling in your bones as your colleagues chatter around you. 

“What is going on?” Dr. Baratheon’s voice echoes through the cafeteria, “Y/L/N?”

“Yes Dr. B?” you mumble, earning a chuckle from Cory.

“I’m going to let that one slide because you’re likely concussed,” Dr. Baratheon says, “Velaryon, Waters, get her to a bed.” She grumbles, moving on with Cory and Nettles, “I’d like to keep my interns in one piece please.”

The night before the first day of your internship you couldn’t sleep. Call it nerves, call it excitement, one thing was for sure; there was no way you were finding sleep at a reasonable hour. So you decided to grab a drink. Something to calm your nerves. 

Just a few blocks from your studio apartment was a small hole-in-the-wall bar, the Dragon’s Den. One drink to calm your nerves, that’s all you needed. You’d sat at the bar alone for a while, sipping your wine and reading yet another smutty romance on your Kindle.

You’d noticed him come in, of course. It was hard not to notice him. 

He was truly beautiful; with striking platinum hair braided away from his face and down his back. Chiseled jawline, long straight nose, and those eyes. One violet, one blue, watching you from across the room. Your cheeks warmed as you buried your nose back into your book.

He’d caught you staring. 

He’d joined you at the bar; slightly awkward, but confident enough to strike up a conversation with you. Ask what you were drinking. He was so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body, and count the veins winding their way up the back of his hands.

“You’re a long way from Riverlands,” you’d commented as he’d told you where he was from.

“My sister dragged me out,” he’d told you, “I’ve just recently moved back here, to be closer to family.”

“I have a new job starting tomorrow,” you’d told him, causing him to raise an eyebrow at you.

“Congratulations,” he’d said, smiling as though he genuinely was happy for the stranger he met at the bar.

He’d bought you a drink, saddled up next to you. Listened intently as you spoke to him about your hobbies, your interests. Watching you the entire time with intense focus. 

“I don’t normally do this,” he’d insisted as you pulled him towards you outside the bar.

“Me either,” you agreed. It didn’t matter if it was true or not; it's what people say when they make reckless decisions. 

Fingers fisting into his button-down shirt, you’d pressed your lips eagerly against his. You hadn’t been kissed like this in forever. Hadn’t been touched like this, been fucked like this. 

You’d brought him home, walking the short distance hand in hand taking breaks in between for him to press you against the brick walls of the buildings you passed, let you wrap your legs around his waist as he kissed the life out of you. 

You’d stumbled into your apartment desperately peeling the clothes from your body and his. Greedy hands, greedy mouths, and lipstick smeared across his cheeks and chest. Fingers, tongue, a combination of the two, and then his cock splitting you in half, pounding you into the mattress. 

He’d made you cum five times. 

Five times, during a one-night stand. You could barely feel your legs as you drifted off to sleep. 

You’d woken early the following day, stumbling out of bed and into your small kitchenette as the lanky stranger gathered his things. 

“Aemond,” he’d told you, with a shy grin as he entered his number into your phone.

How anyone could be shy after that bedroom performance was beyond you. 

“I’ll text you,” you’d promised him, as he opened the door.

“Have a great first day.”

Somehow, Jace and Sara get you to a bed, secluded with some curtains. You can’t believe he’s here. He’s a resident. In every hospital possible, it had to be this one. By the looks of it, he wasn’t expecting to see you as well.

The curtain opens and an attending enters the small bedside area, flipping through the papers on his clipboard. Dark hair and eyes he glances up at you, a small smile on his lips. 

“Not every day an intern lands in a hospital bed,” he comments, ushering you forward. 

You sit up, groaning slightly at the throbbing in your head. 

“Didn’t do it on purpose,” you grumble, and he flashes you a grin. 

“Follow the light,” he softly commands, clicking his penlight and moving it in front of your face.

You blink, but obey; following the bright light. 

“Good,” he murmurs, “Now follow my finger.” He does the same motion with his finger, “Pupils look good, any pain?”

“Just where I hit,” you tell him, “Will I need stitches?”

“Just a few,” he says, bringing a gloved hand to move your hair, “A small split. Bleeds a lot more than it's worth.”

“Not my first rodeo,” you tell him, as he reaches for some gauze, “You’re the neuro attending?”

“One of them,” he comments, applying some dap gauze to your wound, cleaning it gently, “I’m Dr. Cole.” 

You tell him yours and he nods, a glimmer of recognition in his eye. 

“I read your resume,” he muses, discarding the bloodied gauze, “Your thesis was very interesting.”

“Thank you,” you told him, remembering your research, “I enjoy research a lot.”

“Plenty of opportunities here,” he says, removing his gloves, “I’ll have Dr. Targareyn come stitch you up.”

Your heart leaps into your throat, “Can’t I just use some butterfly bandages?”

He shakes his head, pursing his lips.

“Don’t want to scar up that pretty face,” he comments, “Targaryen doesn’t mind, he enjoys the practice.” 

You chew on your lip as Dr. Cole leaves the room. Several moments later the curtain opens and Aemond steps forward. He’s just as beautiful as last night and your pulse quickens remembering your time spent together. 

“Hey,” you manage as Aemond clears his throat. 

Aemond stands awkwardly stiff, before moving to the stool Dr. Cole previously occupied. He doesn’t speak, just uses his long legs to pull himself closer to you. He readies a tray, grabbing a suture kit and lidocaine. You watch his tense, calculated movements before he turns to you. 

“This may sting,” he murmurs, as the tip of the needle enters your skin causing you to wince. 

The lidocaine works fast, and the area begins to tingle with numbness. Carefully disposing of the needle, Aemond grabs the suture and begins his work. You can feel his hands on you, and watch his face as he stares at his handiwork. 

He won’t meet your eyes. 

“We didn’t know,” you tell him, feeling the tugging of the sutures, “Aemond-”

“No,” he answers, “You’re right of course. No harm, no foul. But this can’t happen again. I’m your superior.”

“Superior? It’s not like you’re an attending,” you tell him. 

“No but I’m in a position of power and authority over you,” he continues, “The implications of a workplace relationship between the two of us would be an uneven distribution of power.”

“Okay, we slept together once,” you tell him, “No one’s saying we’re in a relationship-”

“Then you agree,” he counters, “We shut this down before it really starts.”

That’s not exactly what you were thinking as you reminisce about the previous night. Staring into his eyes only makes your cheeks grow hotter, a nervous sweat begins to form on your brow. 

“Is that what you want?” you ask, your heartbeat suddenly noticeable; a gentle flutter against your ribcage.

“It’s not about want,” Aemond insists, avoiding your gaze and focusing solely on his suturing, “It’s about being dutiful, and doing what’s right. What’s expected of us.”

Goodbye guy in the bar, you think to yourself, heart sinking slightly at the thought.

“Yeah, sure,” you tell him as he cuts the final stitch, “I’m not going to say anything.”

“You’re all set,” he tells you, moving to stand, “Think you can take them out on your own in a week?”

“If not, I know where to find you,” you quip.

Aemond stands next to the tray of instruments, freezing as he awkwardly glances at you sideways. His posture is tense. You let out a nervous breath at his startled reaction. The sex god you met last night is nowhere to be found. He flexes his hand before shoving it into the pocket of his white coat. 

“That was a joke,” you tell him, earning a curt nod, “One week. Got it.”

You hear the sharp voice of Dr. Baratheon call your last name before the curtain is yanked back. Her eyes find Aemond immediately, lips forming a tight pout.

“Dr. Targareyn,” she says apprehensively, as though she’s watching him very carefully. 

Aemond nods acknowledging her before she turns to you.

“How are you feeling?” she asks.

“I’m fine,” you assure her, “I have to run those labs for Cerelle Lannister-”

“Martell is covering that,” Dr. Baratheon cuts you off, “You have a head injury. I want you home for the remainder of the day.”

“Dr. Baratheon-” you insist, but she holds up her hand.

“Come back tomorrow,” Dr. Baratheon tells you and reluctantly nods. 

You suppose going home isn’t the worst idea. 

“Let’s get you an Uber,” Dr. Baratheon says.

“I can drive her,” Aemond says suddenly. His eyes are wide before he casts his gaze to the floor as if he can’t believe the words left his mouth.

You watch him carefully.

“Okay,” you tell him. 

Aemond’s car is nice. Clean, like he just bought it. He very well might have, now that you think of it since he moved to the area so recently. The ride is silent besides the sound of the air coming through the vents. 

“Thank you,” you tell him, as he pulls up to your apartment complex.

“No drinking any alcohol,” Aemond says, still not meeting your eyes, “Make sure to get plenty of rest and monitor your symptoms. Do not feel any pressure to come back to work tomorrow if you’re not up for it.”

You nod and his gaze flickers to your face. He wets his lips, tongue darting out quickly. It might be the concussion, but you can remember how it felt. How he tasted. Fuck. 

“I got it,” you assure him, unbuckling your seatbelt.

He nods, unlocking the car doors before getting out. Aemond walks around the front of the car, opening the door for you.

“I’ll walk you up,” he insists, and you nod, taking the hand he offers. 

He remembers your unit. The entire elevator ride is full of tension as you wait to reach your floor. As you walk down the hallway. As you get to your door.

You turn to him, wanting to invite him inside if only for a cup of tea to thank him for being so kind. If only to keep him near your longer. 

But Aemond nods curtly as you unlock the door.

“Have a nice day, Dr. Y/L/N,” he says, turning on his heel and heading down the hallway. You watch him flex his fingers again, before shoving them into his pocket. 

“Goodbye Aemond,” you call, and he pauses, hand outstretched to press the elevator button.

His head dips for a brief moment before he straightens up as the elevator doors open and he disappears inside. Your heart hammers as he turns, giving you a nod once more, before the doors close obscuring him from your view. 

You exhale the breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Before tucking yourself into your bed, you lean against your window which gives a view down to the front of the apartment. Clouds have gathered and fat drops of rain begin to fall, splashing onto Aemond’s car still parked below. You watch as the lights come on, but he stays idling a moment more.

Your phone vibrates. 

Reaching for it you can’t help but smile as you see the message.

note: hope you liked it!! again, thank you thank you THANK YOU for all the love and support for my silly little stories, y'all are seriously the best for real 🥹

Series Taglist: @witches-of-discovery-a @mooncalvin @rwdkarla, @spinachtz, @arcielee, @castellomargot, @bellaisasleep, @wintrr13, @angel6776, @watercolorskyy @hogwarts1207, @gibbsgirl7, @high-on-darren-criss, @theshatteredideal, @elizarbell, @hiraethrhapsody, @helaenaluvr

[dangopango00]

YIIPEEE finished the rest of the brothers with my hcs 😮‍💨😮‍💨

Notes utc

Lucifer:

- Grey streaks from like stress or sth

- Tired eyes (Honestly ik i put his eyes should be straight before but i decided itd be soooo kewt if he had downturned eyes like belphie)

- Kept his eye color bc it shows how hes aggressive but not all the time like silent but deadly bc muted colors

- dilf

Mammon:

- Made his hair more greyish bc his and solomons hairstyles are so similar

- Was also sick and tired of the messy anime boy hair so i made his hair messy in a diff way; more clean since hes a model and all

- His ahoge is supposed to look like a little wing kinda

- A few black streaks (dyed) bc of how much he respects luci

- Remnants of freckles (light seasonal freckles)

- I hate the eyebrows and eyes going through the hair thing if its fully covered but i had to show that hes being mischievous

Levi:

- Im so sorry to everyone who loved him the way he was but I HAD TO GREMLINFY HIM its in character trust

- He blushes the most imo like i feel like his whole face and neck would turn red

- His hair would be super messy like he would NOTT brush that shit its a waste of time in his opinion

- Made his messy hair in the shape of a fish fin (top) and tail (right)

- Made his mouth widest bc hes a lizard

- Gave him slight snake eyes (ok but imagine if it intensified whenever he was envious like how cats do but opposite)

Satan:

- Angelic ahh beautiful man

- Hair grows fast so its always a lil long

- Always looks a lil mad RBF

- Same hair swoop thing as Asmo

- Single ahoge is supposed to represent a unicorn horn kinda

Asmo:

- Little rat braid that supposed to resemble scorpion tail

- fake mole (hes not one of us yall.) (we let it slide bc hes chill)

- Similar swoop to satan (purposeful. Asmo styles his hair since he was “young” and he just kept doing it that way)

- #softgirl vibe

Beel:

- Ik i said idk what to say for him but i got a bunch of random inspo bye

- Looks like he was raised by wolves. Ok well thats an exaggeration but his hair is very unkempt doesnt get haircuts until his hair is down to like his shoulders and def doesnt style it

- FRECKLS ❤️ mostly on his cheeks

- Lighter streaks of hair naturally n it matches belphie 🥺🥺

- ahoge is supposed to look like fly wings but he also looks like a bnnuy and thats so kewt

Belphie if u havent seen him!

All the hcs i made more in-depth than on here

[kneelingshadowsalome]

look I know that the Poly!AU is mainly for König to live his warriors harem fantasy but I adore the childhood friends sapphic yearning side of it (sorry if this isn't what you're interested in, I'm just a fem leaning bi who loves a slowburn that ends in an explosion lmao) so here are some random thoughtsTM.

imagine if Engel was being bullied and Bestie stepped in to help her out, hissing at them not to bother the poor girl (earning her the nickname Kitty). and Kitty also being into knives and guns having grew up in a hunting family and having the same morbid curiosities as Engel, cue late night sleep overs reading stephen king and R. L. James.

I love imagining Kitty as being even shorter than Engel (Engel is 5"5 and Kitty is 5"1 in my head). and having hella soft features like freckles, curly red hair, round face, etc. (König freaking out internally because where did his Engel find a Cherub?!) which makes her the more feisty one in social situations a lot more fun because hey someone needs to tell the waiter they ordered no pickles.

also I'm so weak for Engel having to translate southern phrases and words to König because she grew up with her. or if Kitty came back from a family get together and is extra southern they both have some question marks floating around their heads.

Kitty braiding Engel's hair and putting lil flowers in it, telling her how funny it is that her bf calls her angel because "I always said you were as pretty as one". Engel always twirling one of her curls around her finger.

also Kitty being a biter, loves leaving lil bite marks as a love language. doesn't matter on who or where , shoulder, face, boobs, neck, ass, its all getting bit.

DUDE I am so invested in this little bisexual southern gremlin it's not even funny 😭 I'm sorry for leaving an essay about what is essentially an NPC but I heard the word southern bestfriend and went feral a bit.

I've kept this ask safe inside my inbox and read it like it's the Bible for a few days because it's SOGOOOD (I want to kiss and squish you anon you're a genius 💋)

I wonder if Engel first developed a liking to knives and weapons while staying in her house, these two gals didn't have pillow fights they drank hot cocoa and stayed up late, Kitty reading IT and Misery to Engel... (Engel listening to her every word, mesmerized by the stories, wide-eyed and heart beating so so fast, when it's time to go to bed she's feeling too scared and Kitty has to calm her down and repeat it's only a book it's not real you silly little thing 🩷)

I also love how both König and southern bestie kind of just adore reader/Engel so much?! Braiding her hair and putting the flowers König brought home in there too??? She's so loved and taken care of, and of course in return, treats them with her specialty: salty caramel muffins and chocolate cookies and frosted cupcakes (König always eats at least half of them and isn't even that sorry 😠)

+ a moment of silence for König, having to go to work with Kitty's bite marks on his ass and neck & Engel's lipstick peppered on his cheeks ❤️

Southern gremlin sounds such a cool and adorable little menace! (I need her in my life 😭)

[welcomingdisaster]

A no-pressure prompt for you: something with Maedhros and Maglor, maybe post-Thangorodrim? this isn’t very specific hopefully it works ❤️

The body on the bed is not his brother’s. It cannot be.

The hair is not right. It is too drab, too brown, too thin. The face, cheekbones too sharp, the eyes so deeply sunken in, skin falling about them as loose folds of cloth. Nelyo had had thick eyelashes, copper and curling playfully upwards, and the body has none. The lips— the lips are thin and cracked, slashed over with two criss-crossing cuts, half-healed. 

The poor wretch. It is not him. It cannot be him. 

But Káno cannot blame them. Cannot blame Findekáno for bringing it back with him, cannot blame Ñolofinweë for calling him. They do not know Nelyo like he does, the body does resemble him. It is the shape of the head, the square jaw. The one ear that is not torn to shreds, the one that curls back, as Nelyo’s had. The body is unusually tall and broad-shouldered, though the arms are so thin they look insectoid, though the knees look swollen as twisted root. 

The left hand — the only hand— has a scar over the palm, thin and white. In Aman, when they were children, Nelyo had cut his hand helping mother pick up shards of broken pottery. It had healed just so, that same thin little curve, as a scythe or a question mark. The body bears a similar mark. 

The body bears the same mark.

The body— 

Káno backs away so sharply he sees not where he is going. He steps on Ñolofinwë’s foot, his back hitting his uncle’s chest. 

It is not him, he wants to say, you called me in error, Uncle, for I know my blood. 

But then the body moves. It has a jerky way of moving; one sharp movement to jam its elbows against its ribcage, then a sharp, shaky breath, one exhale broken down into several weak gusts of air, and it heaves its head, neck held stiffly, up. Turns to look at Káno with familiar silver-grey eyes. There are freckles on that white skin, buried between the wrinkles.  

Alive. Alive.  

It makes him think of when they had first seen orcs. Orcs whose limbs bent in ways limbs should not bend, whose jaws hung from their faces at strange, half-turned angles. Who radiated pain in each broken grunt and shout, the sort of pain that is sharp to the touch. They should not move, Káno had thought, they should not live. 

“Káno,” the body rasps, in his brother’s voice, “Káno, Káno, Káno.” 

The face lights up. The cuts on his lips bleed at the force of the smile, the skin folds in new and strange ways. He is missing teeth. One of his upper incisors, his left canine.

He is missing a hand. He is smiling, with such pure joy as Káno has not seen since the darkening, has not seen in this land. He is smiling, and he says Káno’s name. He is missing a hand. 

Káno falls to his knees, taking Nelyo’s remaining hand in his. Kisses the bruises knuckles, the broken, bleeding fingernails, the little twisting scar on the palm. The hand is clean. Someone has cleaned it, has washed blood and dirt off the fingers, has rubbed sweet-smelling lotion into the skin.  Someone has braided his hair. Someone has wrapped a deep blue blanket about his shoulders, tucking it into a silver clip. 

“Brother,” he says, and his voice sounds worse than Nelyo’s, a ragged, breaking thing, “Nelyo— Maitimo, Varda forgive me, Maitimo.” 

He should not cry. He has heard so, in the halls of healing, in the encampments they have set up in this new land. Cry not. Hide your fear, and your anguish, and show only your hope. Wounds of the flesh should not be allowed to become wounds of the spirit. 

He cries, feels his shoulders shaking with it, horrible sobs— loud, wailing things, sure to hurt his brother, to hurt this, and he cannot help it. He is ever aware of the breath in his lungs, the air he draws in and lets go as song. He had once amazed his cousins with how long he could hold his breaths under water.

There is not enough room in his chest, now. He sucks in air desperately, but he cannot hold it. 

Nelyo reaches for him with the stump of his hand, those same horrible, jerky movements. Sways. He cannot sit up right. Ñolofinwë steps delicately around them, his steps making no sound on the bare wooden floor, and comes to steady Nelyo, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

“I am here,” Nelyo says, the stump brushing awkwardly against Káno’s shoulder. He closes his hand around Káno’s fingers, his thumb brushing over Káno’s knuckles. There is no strength left in it. No strength left in him. “I am here, Káno.” 

Káno catches a breath and drags it into his lungs. Holds it there, even as it tries to run from him. 

“Forgive me,” he breathes, “Nelyo, forgive me. I thought— forgive me.” 

He can feel the shape of his brother’s words. Can hear the ghost of his voice, patient and measured. How often, these days, he hears his brother’s ghost. There is naught to forgive, the Nelyo in his head says, his voice warm as the treelight, I was not angry, Káno. 

Slowly, painfully, Nelyo pulls his hand away from him. Reaches to smooth Káno’s hair back from his face. A strand of it has stuck to his cheek, wet with tears and already crusting over. 

“You are forgiven,” he says, “I forgave you long since, Káno.” 

And it is right, the cadence; the way he says, the warmth that clings yet to his voice, the slight of deliberation between each word, as though he chooses them with the utmost care. But not the words themselves. 

Káno climbs into bed with him. His brother leans on him, absurdly light; Káno fears to bruise bone should he embrace him. For a little while they do not speak. Káno tries not to think of the blood, the scars, the drab, brownish hair. But is almost worse to see the freckles and the smile, to hear his brother’s voice. 

Findekáno slips into the room then, settling silently at his brother’s other side. The right side. The side with the stump and the bandages and the blood yet dotting the sheets. Káno spares him a glance. He is little changed in profile, though the ice has left him thinner and wearier, and, though new upon the land, he wears the familiar scars of orc blades his hand and his cheek. 

Struck with sudden feeling, Káno leans over Nelyo to grab him by the collar. 

“Káno—“ Findekáno starts, but he cuts him off. 

He kisses him, kisses him though some part of him hates him already. Their cheeks brush against each other, and his tears smudge his cousin’s golden face-paint. He does not think he could ever be more grateful than he is now, cannot imagine a greater debt. 

Findekáno stares at him as he pulls away, his eyes wide and owlish, lips still slightly open. Then he laughs, and that makes Nelyo laugh too, a strange, huffing sound that seems at risk of crumbling into coughs. 

“Cousin,” Findekáno says, laughing yet, “what a greeting that was!” 

“He has grown quite strange in this land,” Nelyo rasps, again taking Káno’s hand, “I almost did not know him when he came, so much he looked as some wise and noble king, hair of raven and crown of gold! Look, brother, how you have changed!” 

No, Kánafinwë thinks desperately, feeling the crown upon his head as he shakes it, no, no. I haven’t. 

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

thank you for the prompt!! <3 this was very fun & I really enjoyed trying to figure out Maglor's voice for the first time

[thelittlekinghelios]

Hihi, can you draw my stuffies and persons! It makes me so excited! I have two for now:

Moss (or Mulch) the frog! He is black with freckles, a big boy and a bit chonky with dark brown box braids with neon green at the ends. He also has a gap tooth! His pronouns are he/him! He is kind and shy, loves playing in the mud and making mud pies! He also loves his overalls! I imagine his age around 8 or 9.

Then I has Teddy- her pronouns are she/they. I’ve had her the longest since I was a baby! She’s white, a light skin color, with pink hair like her fur. She likes tie dye shirts and light up sketchers. and since she has scoliosis like me, has arm crutches with stickers! I imagine her age around 12. She is introverted but always helpful and listens to everyone. She loves to share and help her little siblings and to read. She might have glasses! Her body type is thin to medium, whatever you think would look best.

you have no idea how ecited I am! Thankies!

🐸 @little-bunny-in-space

🐻 Thank you for much for your patience on these, friend! I saw Moss and Teddy and all the details you sent for them, and I was so super excited to finish these ones up! I do apologize for how long this took, I've been busy so I kept running out of spoons for art!

🐸 For Moss, I tried to keep true to is body type and this was my first time trying to draw box braids! :D He was really fun to draw!

🐻For Teddy, I actually had to look up a couple of crutch references, but I did my best on those! I think it's really neat that you see her as having those crutches too, and I tried to make her hair the same texture as her fur!

❤️ I do apologize if anything with my drawings is super different from how you imagine them both, but I had a lot of fun drawing Moss and Teddy as people! :D I hope you like these!

❤️ Also! If you guys are artsy people, I definitely am okay with you using the designs for your plushies I draw for art or redesigning them as much as you need if you do use the designs! :D

[katsu28]

hi dear, congratulations on 1k! can i just say how much i adore the aesthetic of your sweetest celebration? adorable!!!

🍬 i'm female, 5'6"/167cm, i have long hair that is dyed in the narcissa malfoy style, blue eyes, very light skin & small freckles. i'm quite shy and tend to blush a lot, but go full out when i'm around people i feel comfortable with. also, i'm a sucker for romance and cuddles. as hobbies i play tennis, i dance and read a lot and i play video games (sims is my guilty pleasure). in general, i'd say i'm really creative ☺️ i'm studying to become a teacher and i love learning new languages! my pairing preference is with a male character from obx, stranger things, marvel or harry potter (golden era) 🥺 i never did this before so i hope i did it correctly 👉🏻👈🏻 can't wait to read your answer!! ❤️

thank u so much love u are an angel!! <3 i would ship you with steve harrington!

steve is your perfect match because like you, he's also a sucker for romance and cuddles! i can definitely see him pulling out all the stops on your dates because he just wants you to have the best, most perfect time possible. of course, he'll ask you about certain part of a date before planning it because he knows you're shy and that there might be things that aren't your cup of tea! i feel like he's a very attentive boyfriend in that way. and for cuddles, steve is definitely a cuddler. he seems like a very physical touch as his love language type person (probably because his parents were never that way, but that's a story for another time), so cuddles and hugs are a must.

he likes to play with your hair, twirling the blond parts around his fingers, maybe even attempting to braid your hair too if you let him. steve thinks your tendency to blush a lot is adorable, as well as the way you are around him versus someone you might not know well. he loves that you feel comfortable enough to be yourself around him, prides himself on being someone you can show your true self too.

steve would be your biggest fan at your tennis matches and dance competitions, and he'd definitely always bring you flowers and take you out for lunch or something special to celebrate a job well done afterwards. he would also practice with you if you asked him too, even if he isn't good at either. i feel like he'd be pretty average at both tbh, he's an athletic dude but maybe not the best dancer if anything! as for reading, he's not a huge reader but he likes to sit with you while you read just so he can spend time with you. he seems like the kind of guy who'd enjoy laying with his head in your lap while you read just so he can look up at you and admire you. i honestly think modern!steve would secretly love sims, even though he might not admit it. this might be something you could both do together! learning new languages is also something you could do together too.

studying to be a teacher is a lot of work, so steve would always make sure you're getting enough sleep, eating, drinking water, etc. while you're studying. he would also help you with anything he can in your schooling because he wants to see you succeed. and when you do become a teacher, he's always dropping by your school for a little lunch date <3

[tiptapricot]

I love the idea of the moon boys teaching each other things 🥺

Could you write one where Steven teaches Marc how to braid Layla’s hair? I tried to rack my brain for something Steven would know that Marc wouldn’t and that’s all I could come up with. Something else traditionally feminine would do too though ❤️

Marc loves Layla’s hair. He loves the feel of it, the way her curls twist through his fingers, soft against his skin, and make his nerves tingle. He loves the smell of it, of her, warm and gentle and tinged with coconut shampoo and amber. She grounds him, she completes him, and something about fiddling with her hair is just… nice. It gives him something to fidget with, something to calm his mind when it’s running too fast.

It’s embarrassing how often his hands find themselves tugging at it absentmindedly (gently always gently, he could never hurt her), but she doesn’t seem to mind. Instead she’ll push into his touch, curl closer, twist over to kiss him. Sometimes she even lets him brush it, or scrub soap into her scalp with slow, easy movements as her muscles unwind after a hard day.

“You can braid it, if you want,” she says one night when they’re curled up on the couch in Steven’s apartment, the TV turned low and the room dim. Marc’s fingers pause where they were playing with a stray curl by her ear, his brows furrowing.

He glances down at her, and an image runs through his mind of pulling her hair from her neck like some delicate treasure and weaving it through his fingers, dark and soft. He shivers. But…

“Can’t,” he says. “Dunno how.” It’s a simple admission, and yet somehow saying it out loud brings a mortifying warmth to his cheeks. Is he supposed to know? It never came up, but if she wants him to he could try. Does she want him to try?

Layla tips her head back to look at him, smiling. “It’s fine, Marc.” She scoots back further against his chest, turning over so her face is pressed into the crook of his neck. “Maybe I can teach you sometime.”

Marc nods, distracted, nuzzling into the crown of her head to press a kiss there. “Yeah, I’d like that baby.” He’d like it so much. He doesn’t deserve her.

Layla laughs quietly, little puffs of hot air hitting his collarbone, before they settle back into silence. Marc starts carding his fingers through her curls again, rhythmic, relaxing, and Layla hums, her heartbeat slowing against his ribs. Eventually her breaths smooth into the even lull of sleep, and Marc pulls her a little closer, tracing the shape of her skull each time his hand slides down.

These might be some of favorite moments, when he can just be close to her. He knows what it’s like not to have them now, not to have her, and he’ll never take them for granted again.

Marc’s never had a great track record with words (sometimes they’re just too hard, or his voice doesn’t work, or he finds he doesn’t have one at all), but he can always speak through actions. That’s what he likes so much about these moments. Layla will allow him into her space, like he was always meant to be there even if he wasn’t, even if he did so much to hurt her, and Marc will kiss her wrists or press against her back and hope she knows that it means everything.

There’s a certain shape to the corners of her eyes up close when she smiles, warmed with freckles and pinching tight with happy creases, and it always takes Marc’s breath away. Layla has so much to admire. He doesn’t think he’ll ever stop.

‘Marc?’ Steven’s voice rises quietly in their mind, like he’s trying not to intrude. He’s been there most of the evening, though, hovering close to the front.

“Mm…” Marc hums aloud. ‘What’s up?’

‘I could help, if you want. With the braiding. I’m pretty good myself.’

Marc pauses, thumb rubbing against Layla’s temple. ‘Yeah? Where’d you learn that? Unless I’m missing way more shit than I thought we didn’t go to a lot of summer camps.’

It’s lighthearted, and Steven laughs gently. Marc gets the impression of him shaking his head.

‘No, nothing like that. I helped Dad prepare for Shabbat every week, that’s all. We did it together ‘cause Mum was always… tired…’ He trails off for a moment, going quiet. A small realization of sadness and guilt washes through Marc for a moment, though he’s not sure if it’s coming from him or Steven. Steven clears his throat harshly. ‘Sorry,’ he continues. ‘Sorry, sorry, my point was, I got wicked good at braiding challah, and while it’s not quite the same with the, like… extra strand bits and all that, when Dad was teaching me I started out a real knob at it, so we just did it the easy way for a bit, with just three bits to braid instead of six and—sorry I’m rambling aren’t I?’

Marc huffs, smiling. ‘You’re fine, Steven.’

‘Well what I meant to say is even if we didn’t make it the simple way much, I have a good handle on this type of thing so I can… I can teach you, if you’d like. If that would help.’

The silence that follows carries expectation. Marc worries his nail over the hairs laying on his fingers, focusing on the way he can feel the bumps of each little piece. He wants to say yes. It would be easier to say yes if he was someone else, but he’s not. He’s never been good at easy.

Marc puffs out a little breath and glances up at the ceiling. His hands start moving over Layla’s head again, threading through the locks like a comb.

He should say yes. That’s all he needs to say, and Steven would help. He just needs to say yes.

He fists a small chunk of Layla’s hair, nervous and tight, his other hand coming up to get its own handful. He hopes she doesn’t wake up.

He’s not jealous, he’s not. He knows there was a reason he wasn’t there for the shit Steven was, because that was the whole point of how they worked, some of them weren’t meant to be certain places. But that doesn’t stop a little part of him from aching a bit. He hasn’t had challah in… too long. It’s been too long.

His hands loosen on the two fistfuls, pulling them away from Layla’s head delicately and laying them against her back. Marc looks at them, at the shape of his knuckles, the little scars on the back of his hand. Then they move of their own volition to lay one of the sections of hair over the center piece, before doing the same with the one from the other side.

Oh…

Marc watches in silence as Steven braids Layla’s hair, their elbow scooting up the back of the couch to get a better angle. It’s quiet in the flat. The movement is mesmerizing.

When Steven gets to the end, their hands pull back, hovering.

‘Sorry do you…? Do you have a hair tie on you?’ he asks.

Marc shakes his head, eyes fixed on the messy braid trailing down Layla’s back. It’s pretty on her. It’s really pretty. He reaches out to touch it, and it’s him moving this time, the pads of his fingers tracing over it quietly. She shifts a bit in her sleep, the braid lolling off to one side.

‘Hmm… it won’t stay in without a tie. Maybe we can redo it again later?’ Steven offers.

Marc thinks of Layla sitting in his lap, leaning forward, of a bright string of hair ties layered down his arm as he weaves each piece over, and over, and over… He thinks of her laughing.

“Yeah…” his voice is barely a whisper when he says it, his fingers sliding down in slow motion to push through the braid until it’s undone beneath his palm. He arranges Layla’s hair back over her shoulders carefully, smoothing it out, making it look natural, and then he leans back, arm draped over her delicately. Later… again… Maybe I can teach you sometime. “That sounds good.”

(Also now on ao3!)

[ceapa-mica]

GEHAT’IK BE ALIIT | Chapter 13

{cross-posted on ao3}   {masterlist}

← previous chapter   next chapter →

pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character

warnings: injury and blood

words: 7358

summary: Their job on Naboo throws Din and Elora into an event where they clearly don't fit in.

a/n: Welcome back!

Here it is! The final chapter of the Naboo arc.

In this chapter Naboo gets a trans queen. It's what a beautful planet like Naboo deserves. ❤️ Oh and what's GBA without the action and drama? There's plenty!

I hope you enjoy!

Elora woke up to an empty bed. The side Din had slept on was already cold. When she turned around, she flinched at the sight of Arfour by her bedside. "Good morning to you, too. Yes, you come along on our mission, of course." She patted the flat top of his dome and got up. She sensed Seshén coming up the stairs. Seconds later there was a knock on the door.

"Elora? Wake up, time to get ready!" Seshén came in, looking a little disappointed when she noticed the now wrinkled dress Elora was still wearing. "We'll have to hurry. It's already past 0900!"

"That's early… The ball's supposed to be in the evening, yes?"

"Sure, but it will take several hours alone to turn you into a lady who fits into high society. I'll take care of your looks while my husband takes care of your false identity." With her gray hair tied back in a messy bun and her usual working clothes consisting of a simple blouse, long skirt and an apron, Seshén didn’t exactly look like someone you would expect to know about modern Naboo fashion.

Walking down the stairs in those shoes without losing her balance was harder than she expected. Din waited downstairs, his armor polished, looking shinier than ever. Under the helmet he gaped at her beauty. The light blue gown was a beautiful contrast to her auburn hair. The fabric hugged her waist perfectly, and the crystals really looked just as shiny as his armor, if not even more so. He held out his arm for her to take. As she did, they walked outside together where a luxurious landspeeder waited for them.

Elora knew she never wanted to do a job like that ever again. As expected, the following hours made her very uncomfortable. She couldn't relax, no matter how warm the bath water, no matter how soothing the skin lotion and oils. This was not her. Seshén turned her auburn hair into a very elegant braid and helped her with the zipper of her light blue velvet gown which looked stunning on Elora. From her chest down to her abdomen the fabric was covered in shiny crystals, letting her sparkle like a star cluster, and the sleeves were puffy - typical for Naboo fashion. Elora knew it would catch many eyes, just like Din’s armor would. The pearl white high heels she had to wear with her gown were painful to walk in since her feet were only used to her flat sandproof shoes. Seshén placed a delicate looking silver necklace around Elora’s neck, the pendant was a silver silhouette of a bird she wasn’t familiar with. Silver bracelets with shining jewels graced her wrists shortly after. Bright red lipstick, eyeliner, decent eyeshadow - she was not used to the feeling of makeup on her skin, it even felt a little itchy at some point. Not to forget the powder to cover the galaxy of freckles on her face and the tops of her slender shoulders and defined collarbone that peaked above her dress. She indeed looked just like the women in the holodramas. When she looked into the mirror she sighed, the woman staring back at her did not look Elora Jihiiga anymore, but a stranger. Arfour looked her over with his sensor, making confused bleeping sounds when he noticed her sad expression.

Ghizma wore a black body glove, her curly fuchsia hair tied neatly into a ponytail. She leaned against a speeder bike, cleaning her sniper rifle with care.

"You'll be taking the landspeeder. Ghizma will be making her way on the speeder bike to get to the other side of the palace where her sniper nest will be. Here are your faux chain codes. Good luck!" Zaev announced. The three exchanged looks. Ghizma eyed Elora, biting her lip, as there was nothing to ridicule her for. She lost her bet - Seshén managed to make the filthy desert girl look like actual royalty.

"I'm Princess Edie Jotraas from a small planet named Ristea, and currently on Naboo for a diplomatic visit." Elora looked over the sheets of flimsi Zaev had given her. She had to get used to the role before the mission began. "And you're Jes Favars… my bodyguard and confidante. Looks like you don't have to adapt at all." She rolled her eyes and stuffed the flimsi in Mando's messenger bag. "Edie Jotraas… I have to get used to that name.."

"You better get used to it quickly. We can't afford to fail this mission." Ghizma reminded her and got on her speeder bike with her disassembled rifle on her back.

"How are they supposed to address me? Your highness? Your majesty? Shit…" 

"They will know how to call you. Relax. You gotta pretend you're supposed to be there." Zaev explained.

"And what about you?" she pointed at Ghizma.

"Me? I'll keep watch from a distance and shoot to distract everybody. They will be after me. That will give you a chance to get to Masuk's quarters."

Elora nodded. It was all settled. The landspeeder looked every bit luxurious, expensive enough to be a noble’s vehicle. A spark lit up in Elora's eyes at the idea of scrapping it for parts. Her fingers itched to take the vehicle apart, but she had to resist the temptation and get in the backseat.

This is already harder than I thought. Man, this speeder is so valuable. Maker help me…

Nervously bouncing her leg, she watched the historic buildings of Theed pass. She and Din remembered how they spent the day before exploring this beautiful city. At that moment they wished they weren’t here for a mission but for pleasure. He had learned so much about her just spending the entire previous day with her. With every new planet she visited, her curiosity grew. As Arfour steered the speeder through the streets she wished she could explore the entire city, visit all the little shops, talk to the friendly people, and ask them and Din thousands of questions about life, about the Galaxy. After a life in the desert all she wanted was to explore. Getting acquainted with new types of droids or speeders and learning how to take them apart and fix them. There were so many impressions on their drive to the palace, she couldn’t decide where to look. Her eyes eventually landed on an antique golden gate at which Arfour halted the landspeeder. Din and Elora exchanged looks. "You ready?" he asked and got out to help her out of the speeder like the gentleman he was. One minute they admired the city, the next the situation became uncomfortable to the both of them. They knew they didn't belong in a place like this. Too many people, too many protocols on how to behave - it was a nightmare, and nothing what Elora expected it to be. She recalled the holopic of Eron Masuk from her memory while they walked up the stairs to the palace. Focusing on the job at hand mattered, not what some dumb nobles thought of her. Elora may fit right in with her dress and overall appearance, but Din stuck out like a sore thumb. He didn’t look regal in any way. His armor, no matter how polished, couldn’t hide all his weapons and the regular clothing he wore underneath.

There was a rustle at the other end of the comm. “Ok, remember the etiquette. Do not speak to the queen unless she speaks to you and don’t act confused or shocked when she does. Remember, it’s a matter of respect!” Ghizma told them on their comm channel.

“Don’t worry, my cousin Erwa is trans. There’s no reason to treat someone differently because of their gender.” Elora said.

The guards stopped him at the gate. Din just looked way too intimidating, no matter how shiny his armor. "Sir, we must ask you to leave your weapons. And are you sure about… taking that droid with you?" Arfour didn’t look exactly like a droid a royal would own.

"Weapons are part of my religion."

"This man is my trusted bodyguard. I won't go anywhere without him, same goes for the astromech. You don't want to keep me from joining the festivities, do you?" Elora chimed in, showing them her faux chain code. Arfour’s flaking paint job was something she had to tend to once she was back on the Razor Crest with enough time on her hands. The guardsman apologized profusely and let them pass, obviously afraid to lose his job.

The Royal Palace exceeded Elora’s expectations. The large throne room was an enormous room with historic paintings on the walls, dark red curtains, shiny beige marble flooring and a buffet with more food on one table than she had ever seen. Most of the many guests were human. No matter their wealth, Din's beskar armor drew many eyes regardless. Several guests started whispering. Whether it was about the armor, her dress or Arfour’s paint job, Elora’s reply to all those voices around her was a forced smile on her lips. It took a lot for her to adapt to the way they moved. When she heard them speak, she noticed they used words in Basic she wasn't familiar with. Scanning the crowd, a middle aged man with brown locks and in a stylish suit surrounded by people - mostly by women who admired him - caught Din’s eye. This was most definitely the man they were looking for.

He's one of those guys. This couldn't be easier.

While looking at him, he scanned him with his helmet's sensors and noticed a small object in the pocket of his suit. "El- I mean, your highness… Do you see him? Masuk is right over there. He has the object in his pocket."

"Wait, it's supposed to be in his room." Ghizma told them through the comlink.

"Why would he leave something so valuable in a place where it was almost stolen before?" Elora voiced her thoughts.

"She's right. It makes sense he keeps the stick close. Those women could very well make a potential thief think he's easy to approach. This is most likely a trap."

Elora cocked her head. "The plan was to steal the datastick from his room. Now we need to improvise and-"

"My lady, may I ask for a dance?" A young man in a noble burgundy red suit and black slicked back hair had approached her from behind, interrupting her.

"I- I don't dance."

"Most princesses wouldn't turn down such a great opportunity." He flashed her the whitest smile Elora had ever seen.

Who does he think he is? Who the hell is this guy?

"You know who I am?" she asked, balling her hands to fists behind her back, trying not to make her tension obvious.

"Your royal highness Edie Jotraas of Risteria of course. You were announced when you joined the festivities." With a flirtatious wink the guy held out his arm for her to take. "Lord Charr from the noble house of Teral from Alderaan, my lady. I’m the last of my line." He took her hand and kissed the back of it. She wanted to vomit and Din made a grimace under his helmet at the gesture. He watched her following the guy's lead on the dancefloor. He knew Elora was clever, but nobody could learn how to dance in a matter of minutes. Despite an enthusiastic young lady asking him for a dance, he remained at his spot by one of the tall  white columns with Arfour and watched Elora’s attempt at dancing from afar. The noble from Aldreaan suffered - at least his feet did. She had looked over his shoulder several times to look out for Din and Eron Masuk. The latter was still surrounded by several women and even a few men. She knew she had to catch him alone in a less crowded environment to steal from him. This entire situation sucked. The initial plan had been for nothing. When Elora returned to Din's side, the queen's lackey approached them, looking way too honest to ask her for a dance.

"Your royal highness, Queen Dialé demands to speak with you." he told her in a formal accent.

"With me? May I ask why?”

“You will have to ask her yourself.” He led her and Din towards the throne where a tall beautiful woman was watching the festivities. Her makeup showed off her status as the elected monarch of Naboo, just like the dark royal robes and headdress she was wearing. She looked every bit majestic. Elora noticed this was nothing like the hierarchy of a Jawa tribe. A sudden feeling of nausea overcame her.

“Princess Edie Jotraas, we meet at last.”

At last? Does that mean my false identity is not some made up persona…?!

Elora curtsied, just like she had practiced the previous day.

“After declining each of my prior invitations I’m astounded you followed this one. I take it you’re enjoying yourself?”

“Yes, your majesty. Your palace is impressive, I must say.” She nervously kneaded her fingers, wishing for the moment to be over. Talking with the Queen turned her into the very center of attention in the throne room. She felt attention in the form of many eyes on her at the very moment.

“Curious, I’ve heard your palace lies on a mountain top over a sea of clouds, yet you think of mine as impressive? I’m truly flattered.” Queen Dialé’s eyes went to Din who stood behind Elora showing a relaxed posture Elora knew to be a facade. “Hm, Mandalorians have become a rare sight to behold nowadays. May I ask where you found this one?”

“He… he just crossed my path one day during my travels.”

“Oh? Well, he probably does an excellent job. I hope you enjoy your stay and let me know if you need anything.”

“I will. Thank you for your kind words, your majesty.” Elora curtsied again. Her initial tension fell off once she was out of the Queen’s sight. It confused her to say the least. Queen Dialé was not like a tribe’s chief like she imagined she would be. Instead of mingling with her guests she just sat on that throne and watched the festivity unfold. It didn’t look like she had any task to do apart from sitting there and looking stunning in her royal robes. It had taken a lot of restraint to refrain from asking the Queen if she would like to play a game of sabacc to brighten her mood. Elora had to focus on the task at hand, and that was to separate Eron Masuk from the crowd of admirers which had gathered around him. As if on cue the target stood up from the fancy sofa he sat on an appeasing smile across his face as he addressed his followers and excused himself. Din used his helmet’s sensors to determine exactly what he was saying.

“He’s going to the ‘freshers.” Din spoke to Ghizma over the comm. She recalled the palace’s layout and groaned in frustration.

“No chance. The ‘freshers are hidden from my point of view.”

“Don’t worry, that’s my chance to steal the datastick.” Elora followed the target subtly enough so nobody would become suspicious. The walls in the hallways were covered in art and more wine red curtains, while the marble floor was covered by a carpet in the same shade of red. Everything was so clean and looked more like a museum than an actual home to someone - ruler or not.

“Are you sure this is the right moment?” Din asked.

“I have to try.”

Ghizma rolled her eyes and lowered her rifle. “In case things go south I shoot up the buffet or scare some high ranking dipshit with a few shots.”

“Stay here.” Elora whispered when they reached the corner of the hallway where the ‘freshers were located.

“What’s your plan exactly? Do you wanna seduce him?” Ghizma asked.

Din tensed at the thought. Elora shook her head before realizing that Ghizma couldn’t see her. “I don’t know how to seduce someone. I’ll just act spontaneously.”

“We’re doomed.” Ghizma sighed.

 When Eron Masuk left the ‘fresher, he stumbled over a foot in an expensive looking high heel. The moment it took for him to regain his balance was enough for Elora to snatch the datastick from his pocket. She hid it under her breast band, pretending to scratch an itch on her collarbone.

“My apologies, are you alright?” she asked in the best fake concern she could muster.

“I am, thank you.” When he turned around he pulled a blaster from his jacket in the blink of an eye, holding Elora at gunpoint. “Y’know, it’s a shame a sweet thing like you wants to steal from me.”

“The true shame is guys like you exist.” she answered nonchalantly.

“You know nothing about me. Do you wanna risk your life? Your freedom? Is this worth it?”

Elora remained calm in the face of danger. “I know enough. And I’ve never been one to half-ass shenanigans.” Her facial expression was blank, it made him uneasy.

“Neither have I.” He attempted to shoot Elora with a stun ray, but she dodged it just as he  pulled the trigger.

Alarmed by the shot, Din stepped around the corner, pointing his blaster at Eron Masuk. His gaze suddenly locked onto something behind them a silver protocol droid was approaching them.

“Looks like you’re not the only one with reinforcements.”

“It’s a common protocol droid.” With her words Masuk’s blaster flew out of his hands and she caught it with ease.

“Fascinating.” He snorted. “I thought the Jedi were extinct. Certain people would consider your skillset as very valuable. And your Mandalorian companion - his armor is worth a fortune. I gotta say, I’d prefer you as my allies, but now that it seems impossible I’ll have no choice.” His words served as a distraction. He had pressed a button on his bracelet without Elora or Din noticing. The droid moved towards them, and suddenly it was getting taller and taller until it almost reached the ceiling.

“Give me back my datastick and I shall leave you and your companion unscathed. If you don’t comply you will join all the others of your kind. Don’t be stupid. The Jedi were peacekeepers, and is it really in your interest to die for such an insignificant cause, Mandalorian?”

“Killing someone who’s massively profiting from all the misery he brings over this Galaxy doesn’t seem insignificant to me. This is the way.”

“You think you know who we are, but you don’t.” Elora retorted. Din walked up behind her, intimidating as ever.

“This droid is programmed to eliminate anyone who dares to threaten me. A completely modified protocol droid. It’s your choice. Should you open fire, you won’t survive the counterattack.”

The strange technology allowed the droid to not just become three times its size but it showed off several weapons systems, including three powerful blaster cannons.

“Those could blow up the palace! Are you out of your mind?!”

“What’s going on in there?” Ghizma asked via comm.

“Just a giant ass droid with enough firepower to destroy this place. And for what? What’s on that stick you would blow up an entire palace for?!”

“You would like to know that, wouldn’t you? It contains a map with coordinates to worlds that have piqued my interest.”

“To help those slave traffickers you’re so friendly with?!” Din spat.

The smug look vanished from Masuk’s face, turning downright furious.

“This is your last chance. Give back the datastick and I will refrain from blowing this palace to bits. Naboo is useless to my efforts and has nothing profitable to offer anyway."

Elora knew stopping a droid this big was tricky, but it was a fucking droid. And if anyone had experience with droids, it was her. Masuk wasn’t the one who had built it - machines in a factory did. She had been fixing and building droids from scrap all her life. This one was just another one to be scrapped, she decided. When she reached out to destroy it with her powers… it hardly budged. Din swallowed under his helmet and released a swarm of whistling birds from his vambrace - to no avail. They didn't cause any damage at all. It dawned on Din what this droid was made out of. Eventually it shot at Elora, barely missing her. The noise must have caught the attention of everyone else inside the palace.

“The people must be evacuated! Ghizma, shoot!” Din called.

The Theelin grinned and shot up the buffet from her spot. Food and drinks splattered throughout the throne room paired with the hysterical screams of the guests and orders barked at the palace guards. She had to leave her position immediately if she wanted to remain anonymous.

A huge clanker? Haven’t shot one in ages… I should go check that out.

The bolts from the droids' laser cannons left holes in the marble floor.

"It's made out of beskar!" Din had recognized the Mandalorian metal the second the whistling birds had hit it with the signature sound of beskar colliding with beskar.

This makes the situation a lot more difficult.

Explosives and blaster bolts couldn't destroy pure beskar. Din knew he had to find a weak spot not covered in the valuable metal to shut off the droid. Finding shelter behind a column, he used the sensors in his helmet to figure out the droid's vulnerabilities. He discovered a patch of unprotected wiring on its neck and a plan formed in his head.

"I know what to do!"

Elora took that as a cue to stun Eron Masuk with his own blaster, while dodging another bolt from the droid's blaster cannon. Her ears were ringing at the loud noise as she joined Mando behind the column at the corner.

"Ghizma, we need you here. You must distract the droid for us. Elora, you got the stick?" he asked.

"Hidden in the safest place on my body."

"The droid must be destroyed, otherwise it will wreak havoc and destroy the entire palace. There's a weak spot at its neck - a patch not covered by beskar and, unfortunately, out of our reach, so the droid must fall -" As the heavy steps of the droid neared, a blaster bolt hit the marble floor next to Elora. They escaped to the end of the hallway behind one of the heavy curtains.

"The droid doesn't seem to be fast, we can use that to our advantage. Ghizma, do you copy?"

"Almost there!" she responded, sounding a little out of breath.

"Ok, Elora, in order to make it fall I'm gonna use my whipcord. That won't do much unless you use the Force to keep the droid's legs in place. It will fall. When it does, I'll jump on its back and tear through the wiring."

Elora sensed Ghizma before she arrived. The Theelin was out of breath, her black boots stained with unspeakable stains of food and liquids.

"The throne room looks like a fucking battle zone. So where's your- AH!" A blaster bolt almost hit her in the chest had Elora not force pulled her away from the spot in the matter of a second.

"I- I see… What do you need me to do?"

"Distract it! We need to get closer to it without getting shot."

"Stay here, I'll take care of it." With a determined spark in her deep brown eyes she started shooting while leaving her cover.

"Over here you piece of junk!" she yelled, luring the droid the other way, causing it to tear several paintings off the wall in the process. It aimed its weapons in her direction, turning its back to Din and Elora.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Din asked.

"I will do my best." Elora assured him, looking at Arfour who was trembling behind her. "Arfour? Not so much…"

Din nodded and walked up to the distracted droid, shooting his whipcord at its two legs.

"Now!"

She took a deep breath and reached out through the Force. Gritting her teeth, she kept the droid in place with the whipcord which Din had separated from his vambrace. The droid couldn’t move from the spot, yet it was programmed to move. First it swayed, then it crashed down with a deafening noise, tearing down several curtains and more paintings along with it. Din jumped on its back and tried to get to the exposed wiring.

“Watch out!” Elora yelled, trying with all her power to stop the droid’s beskar arm from hitting him, but she was only able to slow the blow a little. The impact was inevitable. With a sound only beskar colliding with beskar could make, Din was thrown off the droid’s back. Elora’s heart stopped for a moment at the sight.

“ARGH!” Ghizma screamed, focusing her fire at the droid’s face. Simultaneously Elora let go of her force grip the second Din had fallen off the droid. His armor hitting the ground had left cracks in the marble tiles beneath him - he didn’t move when she crouched next to him.

“Mando… D-Din! No no no! Get back up! We must-”

Instead of the Mandalorian it was the droid which was getting back up as it had managed to rip the whipcord apart. Desperately Elora pulled Din’s limp body out of harm's way around the corner.

“Hey redhead! You can stay with your cyare, I know what your plan was. Mando said it’s on its neck? How about you-” Ghizma dodged several deafening shots from the blaster cannons. “How about you throw me on top of that thing?”

Elora looked up while feeling for a pulse or signs of breath. She took a deep breath and swallowed her panic and anxiety.

“Arfour, watch over him, I’ll be back in a sec.” Elora sprinted around the corner. The second Ghizma saw her, she got into position.

“Do it!”

She felt the Force flow through her and reached out until it wrapped around Ghizma, catapulting her onto the droid’s shoulders. There she pulled a vibroblade out of her boot. With a furious scream she rammed it right through the exposed wiring. The droid stumbled several steps before falling. Ghizma jumped off before it hit the ground, approaching a still stunned Eron Masuk, clutching the vibroblade in her hand tighter than before.

“I love you, Din.” His mother kissed him one last time. The heavy steps and blaster shots from the seperatist droids filled the air, but all he could focus on was his mother’s loving face. “Come back to me.” Another voice spoke. It was familiar, so familiar. His parents put him into the hideout, shutting the doors. The explosion which took their lives rang in his ears like it did so many times before in his dreams. When the doors opened, and he expected the droid to aim its weapons at his helpless self, he was back.

The first thing he saw was the bright light of a chandelier, the second thing were strands of auburn hair. At first all he could hear was his rapid heartbeat, but when he saw her face, as she sat next to him, focused and with her eyes closed, it slowed down. Warmth flooded every fiber of his being. It was none other than the kind of warmth which signified safety. He knew it was her doing and watched her as he slowly came to. A pounding headache and pain in his chest, most likely a few broken ribs, made it hard for him to move like he wanted to. 

“What happened?” he groaned, trying to sit up. The pain in his chest worsened tenfold as he did so. Elora sighed in relief when she heard his raspy voice.

“Welcome back! For a second I thought… Nevermind. You, sir, need a bacta tank.”

“Did you remove my-”

“No! Din I would never do that, you hear me? Unless you were actually dying. But your life force was still there. So I wasn’t that worried.”

If he knew how scared I was… No, he’ll be fine. I hope those bacta tanks can be used with a helmet on.

Elora had never heard Din whimper before. That’s when she knew he was in a great deal of pain - pain she wished she could take away from him.

“Just let me take a breath.” He sat down, holding the rips on his right side.

“Let me know when you’re ready to walk back to the speeder.”

Arfour nudged Din gently, making a concerned noise. He patted the astromech's flat dome while focusing on his breathing. Meanwhile Elora dug through the heap of expensive scrap, looking for valuable parts that fit into her bags just like she did all her life. When she reached the droid’s center she found something she didn’t expect to find on this quest. This droid had been powered by none other than a  shiny diatium power cell, and in the correct size to fit into her unfinished lightsaber, too. She bit her lip to suppress a scream of joy as she didn’t want to alert Din.

“Oh this is great! Finally!”

Ghizma cleared her throat behind her. When Elora turned around, she flinched. Ghizma was covered head to toe in blood.

“Don’t worry, it’s not mine. Let’s help the old tin can back to your ship in one piece, shall we?” she said with a smirk on her face. Elora noticed Eron Masuk’s life force was gone. That explained the blood, especially the blood dripping out of Ghizma’s bag. When she noticed the uncomfortable look in Elora’s eyes she just shrugged. “You guys don’t take trophies?”

“None I would know of.”

They helped Din get up and walked slowly through the palace towards the exit, that was until the remaining palace guards spotted them - opening fire.

“Ugh great, just what we needed! Go! I’ll have your back!” Ghizma turned and shot at the guards while Elora and Arfour supported Din while fleeing through the entrance hall. Elora kicked her high heels off in the process, since she was not really able to run in them, especially not the stairs. Din was coughing, his breath went heavy. Yet he reached for his blaster. Their way out was blocked by an entire squad of palace guards.

“Freeze! You’re under arrest!” the captain of the guard yelled.

“The man responsible is dead, there is no one for you to arrest!” The guards didn’t back down, not leaving Elora much of a choice. “Sorry about this.”

A wave of the Force yeeted them several meters back. All of them survived, but it took a moment for them to get back to their feet - a moment Elora, Din, Ghizma and Arfour used to escape to the lot where their landspeeder was parked. It was way past midnight, so getting back to the inn in the dark wouldn’t be easy, and losing the guards who were hunting them down while driving though the brightly lit city would be quite a challenge.

“Get in!” Elora jumped into the driver’s seat. Arfour bleeped in protest. “No offense, but I’ve been driving through rough desert terrain for years. The city streets are like… like canyons, yes!” Arfour got into the astromech socket, audibly sulking. They heard the guards’ footsteps when Elora started the engine.

“Ghizma, you think you can stun them?”

“Sure thing!”

As Elora drove off the parking lot and joined the nightly traffic of Theed, the guards got into their military speeders.

“Take my ion blaster!” Elora threw the weapon at Ghizma. “I modified it several years ago.”

The modification made the blaster much stronger than the usual ion blaster. Strong enough to disable the electrical systems of the military vehicles. Elora hit the gas, zooming through the streets of Theed. People screamed, jumping aside, market stalls got knocked over, it was total chaos. The vehicle was faster than an average landspeeder. Eventually police droids were on their heels, coming from almost every direction.

“Dank farrik! You better hold on tight back there! Mando, how are you feeling?”

“I-I’m fine, just- just get us out of here!” He tried not to sound like he was in a great deal of pain, but Elora sensed it all too well. The way he sat on the backseat pressing a hand over the right side of his chest indicated just how much pain he was in. She steered the speeder through a few dark shortcuts, meanwhile Ghizma was constantly shooting those annoying droids off their funny little vehicles which was almost too easy for a markswoman of her skill. Elora could feel even the smallest obstacles approaching and every blastershot before they could hit the speeder. Apart from a few scratches the speeder still looked as good as new, despite being chased down.

“They just won’t give up!” Ghizma complained.

When they finally reached the city’s outskirts, and with them streets with less lighting, they had to think of a plan to return to Zaev’s inn without leading the law enforcement there.

“They’re after our speeder, we need to jump off and make our way to Zaev’s undetected!” Elora emphasized.

“There are several lakes three klicks north from here.” Ghizma suggested.

Lakes meant water. Elora bit her lip and gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. “There must be another way! The water- I don’t think Mando is capable of swimming at the moment.” She had to think of a quick plan. All she could think of was a thought she did not like at all - using the Force on Din who was already injured. There was no time.

“Ok, get ready. Remember to turn off your lights. We’ll have to jump. Mando, I’ll break your fall with my powers. I can’t promise it won’t hurt or will worsen your injuries-”

“Do it!” he spoke through gritted teeth.

Hills covered in soft grass would have to do. When the police droids were out of eyeshot, Elora set the speeder on autodrive. They prepared to jump. “3…2…1…NOW!”

During the fall, Elora reached out in the matter of a second, breaking Din’s fall at just the right moment, letting him down as gently as possible. Ghizma spat out bits of dirt which had found their way into her mouth at impact. Arfour landed next to Elora beeping questioningly if they were alright.

“We’re fine. Now let’s go hide behind those trees until the droids are gone.”

“I have dirt in my mouth! That’s what you call fine?!” Ghizma complained.

As expected the police droids continued chasing the silver luxury speeder. They were safe, for now. Arfour used his sensors and led them back to Zaev’s inn. It was a 45 minute walk, and Din’s condition did everything but improve.

“We have a medcenter in our village.”

“I won’t remove my helmet.”

Ghizma shrugged. “We have some good med droids.”

“No droids.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is he always that stubborn when he’s injured?”

Elora huffed. “He’s always stubborn.”

“And people are surprised that Mandalorians are almost extinct. Let me tell ya, they’re all stubborn as fuck.”

“You know I can hear you, right?” Mando remarked, then looked at Arfour who was rolling next to him. Initially there had been no trust in this astromech, but now that he had gotten used to the droid being around he didn’t mind him that much.

Perhaps I should trust Elora’s judgment. She knows more about droids than I ever will. I need help. Droids… are no living things. For Grogu. Do it for Grogu.

 They saw the lights from Zaev’s inn two klicks away. There were no police droids in sight, just the Razor Crest was waiting for them at the very spot where Din had left her. With the mission accomplished, they packed what was left of their stuff in their rooms and said their goodbyes to Zaev and Seshén.

Back on board, Din was sitting down on his cot, out of breath, while Arfour and Ghizma went into the cockpit. The Crest was already lifting off when Elora knelt down in front of him to look up at his T visor.

“How are you feeling? It will take several hours until we’re on Mandalore. How can I help you?”

“I’m ok, just- I don’t exactly trust Ghizma with my ship.”

Elora sighed. “Stop your attempts to distract me from your misery. It’s your ribs, right? Care to let me take a look at it?” She went to get the medpack, only to find a cauterizer and several bacta patches in there. “You gotta be shitting me! You’re a kriffing bounty hunter and all you got is that?!”

“It was always sufficient. The beskar keeps me safe, most of the time.”

“Today’s not most of the time. Will you show me your injury or not? Look, I’m just trying to help.”

Din gave in when he saw the piercing look in Elora’s eyes. Arguing with her in his current state would only take more of a toll on him. He removed the armor from the upper half of his body, followed by his clothing. It was the first time Elora saw his bare chest. His skin was golden. She didn’t know what she imagined, but certainly not this. He was just as broad as he looked in the armor.

Now is not the time to fantasize. Save it for later! He’s injured! Elora scolded herself in her mind and applied gentle pressure to the bruises forming on his chest. Din hissed at the pain her touch caused, at the same time he shuddered, as he was not used to someone else’s touch on his bare skin. If it wouldn’t hurt him so much, he would consider the feeling of her skin on his as pleasant. He tried to focus on those pleasant aspects and the focused look in her eyes.

“Ooo that doesn’t feel like it’s supposed to. Several ribs seem to be broken. You don’t have a mediscanner on board, do you?”

He shook his head as she ran her fingers over the bruises again, this time without adding pressure. Din’s breathing was heavy. She didn’t like the sound of it. “Does it hurt when you’re breathing?”

“S-stinging pain, it’s- I’m fine, don’t worry about me, cyare .”

“Sounds like a broken rib might have punctured your lung. This is a dangerous injury and you tell me not to worry? I swear, Din, if you weren't already injured, I would throw a punch at you!”

“I’d like to see you try.”

In so much pain and still smug… I hate Mandalorians and their recklessness.

A sudden jolt notified them that the Crest had entered hyperspace.

Observant as ever, Din nodded towards the full bags inside her cloak. “What did you take?” Elora suddenly remembered the diatium power cell she had taken from the remains of the bodyguard droid. She showed the small rectangle object to him.

“I can finish my lightsaber now.”

Din put his shirt and armor back on. He gritted his teeth more than once at the pain dressing himself caused, but refused Elora’s offer to help him.

“I would like to watch you complete it.”

Elora took the unfinished lightsaber from his weapon storage and began crafting. She looked like she was in her element when she was able to use tools and create things. The way she used the tools, as if her hands were made to hold them, the way she remained fixated on finishing her weapon, Din was intrigued.

Ten minutes later she was done. The weapon looked like it was made from scrap, because it was, yet the material seemed stable and reliable.

“This is it. Let’s hope this works… Are you ready to see it?”

“Yes.” Din felt happy for Elora. She had wanted to use her kyber crystal for so long and now she was able to. There was a happy sparkle in her eyes when the purple plasma blade bathed the room in a purple light. The weapon hummed when she swished it through the air. It looked elegant and the longer he watched Elora wield it, he noticed the weapon and her body became in tune with each other. He had never seen anything like it. The lightsaber became an extension of herself. It was a connection he and his blaster could never have, and Din was more than familiar with his favorite blaster.

Elora felt the Force flow through her body, it connected her with her weapon, physically and emotionally. She knew this weapon would lead her in whatever battle life had in store for her. It was more than a weapon, it was a part of herself, her very soul.

“What do you think?” she asked.

“It looks like you were born to wield it.” Din’s mouth had gone dry. He liked women who knew how to wield a weapon, but Elora made him weak in the knees.

“It’s perfect, Din.” She switched it off and attached it to her belt with a proud smile gracing her lips..

“This is most likely what your mother wanted for you.”

A tear ran down her cheek at his words. She sat down next to him and cupped the cheek of his helmet in her palm. He leaned into her touch despite not being able to feel it through the beskar.

“It feels like we’ve done something right. Like we were supposed to be there at the exact moment, for this exact mission, so I could find the missing piece for my lightsaber.”

“I don’t believe in destiny, but yes.”

“What do you think Mandalore will be like?” she inquired.

“I’ve been told it's a wasteland. Whoever goes there dies. Now our new acquaintances say there’s a village named Kyrimorut. Never heard of it. I don’t know what to think anymore. I just hope Grogu is alright.”

“I can’t wait to meditate with him again.” She leaned her head against his pauldron.

“It’s been three days and I miss the little womp rat more than anything.” he admitted.

Din was not a man who voiced his feelings often, but Elora’s presence caused him to open up. He was just a man under his armor and she was the first person who touched his heart in a way he couldn’t explain. It was different when he was his Grogu. Sure, he was affectionate towards him and the child had a special place in his heart, but the connection he had to him was entirely different than what he felt for Elora. He had shut people out since losing his parent’s on that fateful day to avoid getting hurt again. Somehow Grogu und Elora had managed to worm their way into his heart. The hardened bounty hunter he had been before now was only a facade he pulled up towards outsiders.

Elora felt at peace in Din’s presence. She didn’t mind the cool beskar of his pauldron against her cheek, but sometimes she wished she could be closer. To feel him against her, just like she did during the nights at Zaev’s inn. She had never felt like this before. This wasn’t the same affection she felt towards her family. Being with Din was different and she died to explore those feelings further. He had to heal first, but she planned on bringing this topic up soon enough. Together with him she wanted to figure out how far those feelings went and if they could potentially turn into something more. A part of her yearned for his touch, even fantasized about things she wanted to do with him. She wondered if he felt the same, and in case he did, if he was ready to let go of his restraints and let this feeling take over his actions. Could her wishful thinking become reality soon? Together they sat on the edge of Din’s cot, waiting. He in his shiny armor, she with her now messy hair and slightly torn gown, looking like the polar opposites they were.

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I wrote the battle scene in this chapter before the BOBF finale aired... Hey, should Lucasfilm look for a new writer for their shows, I would gladly accept the job!

Get well soon, Din!!! 🥺

Yep, I plan on writing smut soon. Idk if it will be in the next chapter or the chapter after that. But soon, I promise!

So, Mandalore it is... For all you Legends and Clone Wars lovers, I think the next chapter will be to your liking. 😉

Mando'a translations:

cyare = beloved