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acourtofsnakes · 4 years ago

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Kyr’am - Rogue Chapter 5| The Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader (f)

Summary: Sick of the countless failures, Moff Gideon decides to call in the big guns.

Warnings: Not many in this one, but mentions of violence(brief), brief mention of suicide, (literally barely touching on it), does another cliffhanger count as a warning?

AN: Ooooooo, new people 👀

As always, credit to whoever owns the gif. I usually find them on Google or Pinterest, so message me if it’s yours ♥︎

Wordcount: About 2184, a short one this time for introduction purposes

Rogue Taglist: @snipskixandbeskar @weirdowithnobeardo

Mando’a translation: Kyr’am - Death

The atmosphere in the light cruiser was… tense. Beyond tense, actually. The tension as almost a living thing, vibrating throughout the room and threatening to explode into destruction if someone said but one thing wrong.

Moff Gideon stood at the head of the huge table, staring at the holo-image in the middle of it with a look of distinct distaste. His hands were clasped behind his back as he surveyed the image, a young woman wearing a cloak, fire in her eyes and a ridiculously high bounty above her head. His anger and disappointment were evident, obvious to the men and women seated around the table before him.

There was a break in the air, and then a young woman, Gideon’s Comms Officer and assistant, decked out in the dark grey green uniform walked in. Her even, regimented steps echoed on the floor and she stopped a little way away, offering a quick salute, “Sir, I have just received the report you requested from our spies in the field.”

The air tightened in the room, the people seated around the table holding their breath, hoping it was good. Hoping it wasn’t what had been rumoured.

Gideon looked away from the table, seeing what his people were holding out for. He turned to his assistant, nodded for her to continue.

The woman looked across the table, a glint in her eye and a faint smirk dancing across her lips fleetingly. “They got in touch with the contact who was representing you. Apparently, the hunter succeeded in finding the target.”

The collection of people around the table sagged in relief, one even going so far as to rub his eyes as he let out a sigh.

The assistant couldn’t hide her smirk this time, allowing it for a few seconds, “And then he went rogue.”

Gideon knew this already, but this is a punishment for the people that promised him he’d get what he wanted “Rogue? What do you mean by that, officer?”

“He found the target and began to bring her back as requested. They got into an altercation at another planet, some witnesses said there was a fight in a back alley and the last they saw was the target dragging the hunter back to his ship.”

The table was still, dread beginning to curl around the room like a snake, twining around feet and legs and flicking out a tongue to taste the danger that lingered on the horizon.

“And then?”

The assistant’s voice came out clear, almost disinterested, “And the next thing that we have, is the tracker and puck being destroyed. As of half an hour ago, no one knows where they are.”

Gideon dismissed her then turned to the table. He sighed, looking at the man who had recommended the Hunter this time, “’The best there is.’ That is what you told me, captain. ‘He’ll have her within a week and be back here to collect his reward.’ Well, captain, it’s been a week.” He spread his hands, his eyebrows raising in a mock expression of wonder. He looked around the room, then back at the captain, “Where is she? Are you hiding her under your seat?”

The captain swallowed harshly, a sheen of sweat crawling over his skin. He kept his hands under the table because they were shaking, “N-no, sir.”

Gideon shrugged, that false wonder still in his voice too, “Then where is she? I took a great risk in following your advice. And it hasn’t paid off.”

“Sir, please! I didn’t know this would happen. I thought the bounty on her would be enough to keep him straight. My sources said he was running out of money, that he was exchanging favours instead of credits for the repair of his ship. He couldn’t have turned that money down. I don’t know what happened, maybe she tricked him. Used her power to-“

Gideon’s hands slammed onto the table, echoed only by his snarl, “Enough.”

The captain cut off, unable to stop the pitiful whimper. No one moved, no one looked at him. They all knew what was inevitably coming.

Gideon pointed at the pain, “Don’t you dare try to make a fool of me. It’s on your authority that this has gone wrong again.” He straightened up, “Every single one of you is to blame. Each one of you let me down. You will be punished. As it is, I have found other means. Expensive means.”

A lady lifted her hand, trembling.

Gideon’s eyes slipped to her, his eyebrows raising just slightly.

The lady swallowed, “Everyone knows she hasn’t used that power since she was a child. As far as we know, it doesn’t even exist in her anymore. I.. what’s the point?”

Gideon looked at her, his dark eyes simmering but he said nothing.

Only for a man across from the captain to speak up, “She’s right. They say if one of those types doesn’t use their power, they forget how to wield it. The Child repressed his powers for decades.”

Gideon was impatient now, waved his hand dismissively, “And then used it repeatedly in presence of the Mandalorian. It can come back. I have proof that it has. She used her power to heal him.”

“But, sir, we don’t know that-“

The atmosphere in the room noticeably shifted again. This time, the danger became something so much more.

It became a truly living thing that pressed against the traitors around the table. It licked down their bones, caressed their minds but it sung a song of death and destruction.

The door slid open, and then a figure walked into the room.

He was clad head to toe in black, a black so dark it seemed to suck the light of the room.

His tall, lithe body was armed with weapons of every variety, everything one could possibly imagine and more that were only rumoured, weapons that had been made just for him.

He stalked into the room with all the ease of a predator walking into the den of some small, helpless animals. And relished in the sheer power he had without even trying.

The harsh lighting of the room glinted off the blade sheathed down his back. The scabbard was engraved with symbols, symbols that had long since been used. The hilt was as black as his outfit, and intricately carved. If he had unsheathed it, the blade would have been as deep as obsidian, and so sharp it could have sliced off someone’s hand with a mere whisper.

He stopped at the opposite end of the table to Gideon, shoulders back, posture tall and at ease, but coiled beneath the surface, waiting to strike.

A hood covered his face, gold embroidery picked out by the lights and snaking around the edges of the hood.

No light pierced the shadow that fell over his face, keeping him anonymous.

Clearly the captain realised he wasn’t getting off this ship, because he suddenly broke the deathly silence by laughing. “Seriously? Is it dress up day or something?” He looked around the room at the horrified expressions looking back at him, “What? Are we supposed to be scared or something?” His arrogance was barred by the sweat pooling into the neckline of his uniform, the frantic pulse at his throat.

The night-clad figure said nothing. Merely rested his gloved hands on the table. A simple act.

But the air in the room vibrated, a warning.

Gideon inclined his head toward the figure, “Thank you for coming. You understand that I would have left your services be if these fools hadn’t failed me.”

The cloaked man nodded once, a slow incline of his head that somehow said everything he needed to. That he wouldn’t even have paid attention otherwise.

Another woman at the table, a general, inquired quietly, “His services, sir? Does this mean-“

“Yes, General. It does. Never in my life have I been so spectacularly let down by a group of people before. You were supposed to the best in your fields, yet you couldn’t give me one tiny little girl.”

The woman swallowed, nodded and looked at the table in submission.

Again, the Captain added another nail to his coffin, “You’re giving this freak the job? If we couldn’t find her, if even Trandoshans and Troopers and two Mandalorian’s can’t get her, what makes you think he’s qualified?” He stabbed a finger toward the figure, who remained silent, a predator watching their next mean.

Gideon glared at him, losing his patience with this captain, “Because he is the best there is.”

A snort from the foolish captain, “Oh? And why would you bring him in just now? Why not before?”

Gideon’s glare could have cut through metal, his words clipped, “Because he has a very unique skill set that I would rather not be associated with using. However, because of this situation and the necessity of obtaining her, it makes him the most qualified.”

“Skill set? Like what? Is he going to bed the girl and then drag her in? Or does he have a-“

The captain’s words were cut off with a gurgle, and his eyes went wide. His chair pushed back and then he was rising from his seat, as if pulled up by strings. Every limb of his body was frozen, rigid. Like he was no longer in control.

The figure had finally moved, lifting one of those gloved hands in a gesture that was almost casual. He tilted his head within his cloak, and a voice like silk slipped out, far too soft, far too seductive to belong to anyone good, “Perhaps you’ve been living under a rock and you’ve simply never heard of me.” His voice was crooning, desirable. It belonged to the deepest pits, full of monsters and creatures. It was the very darkness that plagued you, seduced you in a voice like honey – and then devoured you.

Undiluted terror dawned on the captain’s face. He flinched, twitching, trying to claw at the invisible hold on his throat that was slowly crushing his windpipe.

The cloaked figure lifted his head, like he was scenting the fear oozing from the captain.

This man was a dark legend. A rumour that you had to be crazy to whisper, for fear of unleashing his dark wrath upon the speaker. Many, many people had heard the rumours of a hunter so precise, so ruthless that he left no trace. People went missing, and then showed up days later completely unrecognisable, bodies so destroyed that even the most advanced robots couldn’t extract enough DNA to give the victims a name.

His work wasn’t messy though, that’s what made him so terrifying.

It wasn’t just clean and efficient. It was beautiful. This was a man that relished in his skillset, lived for the hunt and the kill. Breathed it. It ran through his veins, worked the muscles of his heart.

The fiercest warriors had dropped to their knees and wept for their lives before him. Mere mortals had died just from the sight of him.

As soon as he got the scent of someone, they may as well have ended their own lives to spare the pain.

Many had. And it still didn’t stop him from finding the bodies and playing.

The rumours also whispered that he wasn’t human. That he had sold his soul but even the vilest of monsters hadn’t wanted it. They’d taken one look and given it back. He wasn’t born by the Maker; he was something else entirely. He had no trace of soul in him aside from the Force, which he had twisted and utilised for his formidable beauty and indescribable actions.

Gideon watched him play with the Captain, “You will receive the payment on her head and more. We know your prices and are grateful for your services, you may have whatever you need to assist you.”

The man flicked a finger and the Captain dropped to the ground, some guards dragging him away, “Just stay out of my way. You can keep the kid and the Mandalorian, but the girl is mine when you’re done with her.” The possession in his voice when said the word, “mine” sent a chill down the spines of everyone in the room. There was no room for disagreement, for challenge. They would finish what they needed to do with you, and then you would be given to him. Probably wrapped in a bow.

Then he was gone, walking out of the room in a preternatural silence.

This man… he didn’t just exude fear. He was fear. His were the eyes in the dark that watched you walk home. He was the voice that whispered when no-one else could hear. His breath was the kiss of ice that licked down your spine when you were alone, making you lock the doors, pull the bed covers up higher. But he was like smoke, he seeped through the cracks, through carefully built defences and invaded, slumbering like a beast within, without his host even realising.

He was death.

And he was coming for you.

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#the mandalorian x force sensitive! reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x force sensitive! reader #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian #the force #rogue #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years ago

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baby, kiss it better - m. tkachuk

I saw a 13-minute video last night just called “the Tkachuk brothers annoying people” and immediately got an idea. Two and a half hours later, this was the result. Title is from cardigan off of Taylor Swift’s masterful new album folklore. Listen if you haven’t, and let me know what you think of this (and the album!)

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You glanced up at the arena clock. 4:12 left in the first intermission. Taryn rubbed your shoulder lightly, catching your attention. “You good? You’re looking a little on edge.”

You blinked a few times, shooting her a tight smile. “Yeah. It’s good, I’m good. Just a little tired, nervous since the team’s down.” The score was 0-2, Vancouver having gotten in two early goals that the Flames hadn’t been able to catch up to.

“There’s still 40 minutes of play,” she said, shrugging, “so don’t get too worked up. Weirder things have happened.”

This smile was a genuine one. “Fair.”

Chantal shuffled back into her seat, precariously balancing two trays of food in her left hand while trying to hold her phone in her right. “Hot dog for Taryn, and nachos for you, love,” she said, passing the chips over.

“Thanks, mom,” you said. You and Matthew had been married for just under two years, but it still never ceased to amaze you how welcoming his family had been, straight from the start. It had never been a question of if you’d “fit in” or not with them; you were treated like a second daughter from the moment Matty brought you home to St. Louis. His mom was beyond grateful her son had finally found someone to tamp down his attitude, Brady loved having another person on his side when he’d chirp his brother, and Taryn was excited to finally have another girl around the house. You loved your own parents, but being grafted so easily onto the Tkachuk family tree was something unexpected but so, so welcome nonetheless.

It had become something of an annual tradition to have them fly in for a week or so at least once during the season, usually at some point between Matthew’s birthday in December and your own in March. Keith was tied up with something back in Missouri, so he had sent his regrets and his wife and daughter on a plane to Calgary in his stead. They stayed in one of the spare rooms in the house you and Matthew had bought just before the wedding, a gorgeous slate gray four-bedroom on the edge of the city. It had an enormous yard that was practically begging for a dog, so you had dragged Matty to the animal shelter right after returning from your honeymoon in the Seychelles. Cocoa was the other love of your life, an exceedingly friendly lab mix whose chocolate brown eyes had captured you the moment you saw her.

But Chantal really had turned into your second mom, even outside of your relationship with Matthew. You hung out with her and Taryn on your own accord during the off-season, and on more than one occasion Matty had walked into your bedroom only to see you on FaceTime with his mom.

“It’s nothing,” she said, waving you off. “I know how you feel about cheese.” It’s true, you had an ongoing love affair with cheese.

You bent down, taking a sip of water before replying to a text, slipping your phone back into your jeans pocket. You had never been the type of person to check your phone during games, even when Matty wasn’t on a shift. You were his wife, sure, but you were a hockey fan before you ever met and would rather step on a Lego barefoot than miss a single second of the action. The referee dropped the puck at center ice and the second period began.

Midway through the period, they had cut the Canucks lead by half, Lindholm sneaking a wrap-around goal in the fourth minute, but were still trailing by one. The frustration was beginning to show. Chirps were being thrown more freely, hits got a little dirtier, and more than a few sticks had been banged against the wall in frustration on the home bench. Which is why it wasn’t particularly surprising when Matty dropped the gloves after a decidedly nasty cross-check on one of their rookies.

Matty got into fights. It’s what he did, he was an enforcer; you knew that when you met him, starry-eyed and 21 and about to finish college. Even with the league’s increasingly restrictive rules on fighting, he always found a way around them. And if he couldn’t find a way around them, he just broke them. There was a reason he led the team by a mile in penalty minutes. You had long since accepted that some nights your husband would come home bruised and battered, a little worse for wear. It was the part he played on the team, and since he had been named captain after Giordano’s retirement, he felt a newfound responsibility to look after his team even more than before. Especially the new players, and especially the rookies. He remembered the feeling of being lost in a new city, in a country that wasn’t his own, with next to nobody that he actually knew. Nobody fucked with his boys, not on his watch.

Like the rest of the thousands of fans, you watched the fight. You were invested. You played with the hem of your jersey, the same one Matty had given you for your first anniversary when you were dating. You were as proud as anyone wearing it to games back then, and the sentiment hadn’t changed after more than three years. All that was different was that you were wearing a jersey that had your last name on it too.

Fights rarely made you nervous anymore. Hockey was a rough game, and fighting was a part of it. Everyone knew Matty could hold his own, and despite his devil-may-care attitude, he was usually good about not picking fights he didn’t think he could win. But all of the bets were off as soon as the gloves were thrown and the fists went flying.

For the first few seconds, it seemed like Matty had the upper hand; he had grabbed a hold of the other player’s collar and had managed to land a few well-placed punches, but his lead was short-lived. He lost his footing for just a moment, but the Canucks player saw an opening and moved in, landing hooks and uppercuts and jabs that Matthew barely missed. The linesmen tried to move in, break up the pair, but they shook them off. Matty tried to land a punch with his left hand, but he missed his face and hit the helmet. The close-up on the screen broadcast his wince for the whole crowd to see. You felt a pang in your heart. As much as you understood that this was his job, this is what he was meant to be doing, it never got any easier. He tried to take a jab with his bad hand, an ill-advised decision that led to him cursing not-so-under-his-breath. The Canucks player missed one, harmlessly hitting the air above his head as Matty ducked. Then he just barely grazed his neck.

And then he didn’t miss one, his fist leveling with Matty’s cheek. He lost balance, his skates coming out from under him as he fell to the ice, first his shoulder, then his head. You thanked God that he hadn’t been so stupid as to take off his helmet, but you didn’t like how he landed on his hand and how slowly he was getting up. The athletic trainer jogged out on the ice, kneeling next to your husband as your hand shot out to the chair on your left, fingers interlacing with Taryn’s as you held your breath, waiting for him to get up. And he got up a minute or two later, but there was blood and gauze and he had to be supported on both sides, gingerly skating off the ice and going straight to the dressing room.

You tried to steady your breathing, reminding yourself that injuries happened all the time in sports, that half the time they weren’t nearly as bad as they looked, and that Matthew was one of the toughest people you knew and he would fight tooth and nail to get back out onto the ice barring anything extreme.

Play continued for a few minutes. You broke your “no-phone” vow and pulled it out, flipping it over and over in your hands as you glanced down at the home screen, waiting for a text to come through. He knew to call you if it was something serious, or to get someone else to contact you, but leaving you hanging wasn’t something he was known for. At the next break in the action, an icing call against Vancouver, the PA system crackled to life. “Number 19, forward Matthew Tkachuk, will not be returning to the game following an assessment by the team’s medical and athletic training staff.” A nervous ripple of whispers chorused through the crowd. You gripped Taryn’s hand so hard you thought you’d break it. Your knuckles were so tight you feared they’d split. He’d never been pulled from a game after a fight; five minute majors here and there, once or twice a season he’d get a game misconduct and be thrown out for ten, but never in your entire relationship had it been his injuries that kept him from playing.

You turned to Taryn and Chantal, your eyes wide-open in fear and your heart racing. Fuck it, you weren’t going to wait for someone to give you permission to see your own husband when he was probably in the worst shape you’d ever seen him. Chantal’s expression mirrored your own; she knew this feeling, she’d dealt with it for the twenty years her sons had played hockey. She looked over at you, mouthing three words. Go to him. You frantically nodded, squeezing Taryn’s hand before shooting up from your seat, grabbing your bag and shoving the strap over your head. One way or another, you didn’t think you’d be back.

The heels of your boots clicked underfoot as you made your way out onto the concourse, following the familiar signs of the Saddledome to the private elevators on the far side of the arena. The attendant on call was an usher you knew, thank God, who opened the elevator doors immediately as you walked up. You tapped your foot nervously as the elevator descended down, down, down until it hit the lowest level, the underground corridors that were usually crowded with players, families, and media after games. It was eerily silent as you jogged through, the only sounds being your boots against the floor and the distant roar of fans as play continued. One left and two rights later, you were standing outside of the door to the dressing room, pausing for exactly two seconds to steel yourself to see whatever condition Matthew was in. Once you hand calmed your still-shaking hands as much as your body would allow you, you pushed the door open.

You were greeted by the team doctor and the head athletic trainer, crowded around your husband, who was propped up on what looked like a massage table. His jersey and pads had been stripped off, all that remained was his sweat-soaked t-shirt. He caught your eye. “It’s worse than it looks, I promise, babe.” You gingerly took a few steps forward. Matty’s good arm, the one that wasn’t being worked on, wrapped around your waist. He kissed you on the shoulder.

“What’s the damage?” You asked timidly, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and looking at the doctor. He finished splinting Matty’s third finger.

“Couple minor cuts, mild concussion, sprained wrist, one broken finger,” he listed off. You sucked in a breath. He must have sensed the worry radiating off your body, because he smiled kindly at you. “I won’t lie, it’s not good, but I’ve seen worse. He should be back in a few weeks at the longest.” He turned to Matthew. “We’re done here, but you’ve got to promise me to take it easy.” He looked pointedly at you. “Listen to your wife when she tells you to slow down.” Matthew nodded, a hint of his old smile returning. “It really shouldn’t hurt much, but if it’s bothering you you can take some Tylenol. Let me know if it gets significantly worse.” The doctor zipped his bag shut, leaving with the trainer out the door and your husband with a finger splint and wrist brace.

You carefully hopped up onto the table, carding your hands through his curls, your foreheads just barely touching. He was sweaty, but you couldn’t have cared less. “You really scared me out there, you know,” your voice said, cracking.

Matty felt a pang race through his body, one that had absolutely nothing to do with his physical injuries. This was his wife, and he had scared her, even though it wasn’t entirely in his own hands and even though that was something he swore on their wedding day he’d never do to her. His heart broke like he broke his promise. “I’m sorry. He was about to beat up on the rookie, and I felt like I had to do something. I couldn’t just stand by and watch it when I could do something. But I worried you, and I shouldn’t have.”

You pulled away slightly, gently grabbing his good hand and running yout thumb over his knuckles. “I know, and how much you care about the boys, how deeply you care for the people in your life, is one of my favorite things about you. It’s one of the first things that made me fall in love with you.” The corner of his lip twitched up in a half-smile. “But I’ve never been scared for you in a fight before, Matty. And this scared the shit out of me, babe.”

His fingers skated up your arm to brush away the lone tear rolling down your cheek. You hadn’t even realized you were crying. “I promised when we got married that I’d always take care of you, put your needs before my own. I didn’t do that today.”

“I get that it’s what you do, I get that you’re an enforcer,” you said, shaking your head. “And I don’t want you to ever feel like you have to give that up for me. I married you for you, all parts of you. And like it or not, that includes the parts of you that beat people up on occasion.” You gave a watery laugh. “I’m not asking you to stop fighting altogether. The boys need someone to back them up, and I’m proud that you’re that person. I’m just asking you to maybe think a little more before you go to drop the gloves, you know?” His blue eyes pierced into your own, his expression softening. “This was fine when you were 21, and I knew what I was getting into back then. I know what I’m getting into now. But,” you took a shaky breath, “there’s someone else you’ve got to worry about.”

His brows furrowed, not quite able to piece it together. You took a hard swallow. This wasn’t how I wanted to tell him. “I want to bring our baby to games. There’s nothing more that I want than for them to get to see you doing what you love. But I don’t want our son or daughter to have to see their father laid out on the ice because he couldn’t keep his temper in check for once in his life.” The tears were coming more freely now, and you reached up one hand in a futile effort to try and wipe them away, while the hand that was holding yours tightened almost imperceptibly.

Matthew’s eyes searched your face, looking for any trace of a joke, but he should have known better. This wasn’t something you’d joke about. His breath hitched in his throat. “You’re pregnant?” His heart lifted. While the two of you hadn’t been actively trying, you had gone off birth control a few months ago, having agreed that you were both open to the idea of a baby now, choosing to let whatever happened, happen.

You nodded, a real smile emerging on your face for the first time all night. Almost on its own accord, his hand moved to your stomach, hovering over it as if he was expecting you to already be showing. You looked down at his awestruck face, silent permission for his hand to creep under your jersey, pressing flush against your stomach. “How long have you known?”

You tilted your head. “I found out two days ago, just before I left to go pick up Taryn and Mom from the airport.”

“Do they know?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “I wanted you to be the first. I was going to tell you this weekend, but…”

“Plans change.” You nodded.

“How far along are you?”

You met his eyes. “Eight weeks.” Matty silently cursed himself. He wished you had been able to do it how you wanted. He leaned into you, ghosting a kiss over your lips that enchanted you and comforted you and took your breath away all at the same time. He pulled away. “I promise I’ll take a step back from the fighting. You’re right that it’s my job, but this, you, will always be more important.” He took a deep breath. “Being your husband is the best thing I’ve ever done in my life. But this,” he breathed, running his thumb over your skin under his jersey, just above where your son or daughter the size of a raspberry was, “being a dad?” His voice cracked. “I’m never going to do anything better. I don’t care if we win the Cup, or I get into the Hall of Fame, or sign the biggest contract the league’s ever seen. You and this baby are the most important people in my life. And I swear I’ll never do anything again that could make you question that.”

He kissed you again, but this one was different. This one grounded you, somehow communicating all of the guilt, and confusion, and happiness he was experiencing without saying a single word. “And I’m so, so happy about this, babe. Do you know how happy I am?”

It was a little bit of a rhetorical question, but you smiled anyway. “Really happy?”

A full-blown grin burst out onto his face. “I’m fucking ecstatic, babe. We’re having a baby. You’re gonna be a mom. I’m gonna be a dad.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, but just like the kiss, these were different. Happy tears. “You’re gonna be a dad.”

#matthew tkachuk #hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl imagine #nhl smut #hockey imagines #hockey writing #nhl imagines #nhl writing #nhl #rat king #hockey #matty tkachuk

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ginnyq · 3 years ago

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Apparently I’m now writing AU missing scenes for fics @neverfeedthesarlacc hasn’t even written yet! Inspired by concerns about the timeline of their AU and this statement of theirs:

the idea that like. Din and Boba would be in love at any point and Din would hear that Boba fell into the sarlacc pit and NOT go at least check it out even if they're not together anymore... does not make sense to me

like, him just going to check it out 5 years later... no way, he'd go try to bomb the sarlacc himself

So, here is the first, uh ... 1K words (🙃) of a fic whose working title is, well.

Din Bombs the Sarlacc

Summary: It’s been years since Din’s seen Boba. Not since they decided to put their own feelings and happiness aside for their duties — Din’s to his tribe, Boba’s to following in his father’s footsteps. Din has found satisfaction in providing for the covert, and he’s happy and proud whenever he hears talk about “the best bounty hunter in the galaxy.” He hopes Boba feels the same, having finally lived up to his father’s legacy. Until one day the talk brings different news, and Din finds himself on his way to Tatooine with no real plan beyond “bomb the sarlacc” …

[Eventual BobaDin, angst with happy ending!]

Din was on Nevarro when he heard the news.

Later, he’d wonder if he would have reacted differently had he been anywhere else in the galaxy.

He’d returned to the cantina after bringing his earnings to the covert. It wasn’t much, this time, but it was something, and the Armorer had seemed satisfied.

Din was less so. He always felt like he was playing catch-up; no matter how much he brought in, there was always a need for more, and he knew that if he could find something — or multiple somethings — with a big payout, then he might finally be able to get ahead, build up savings so that no one was at risk of going hungry.

He just could never shake the feeling that he wasn’t enough.

So it was with very little patience that he waited to receive his next set of pucks, eager to fuel up and be on his way again. The cantina, however, was abuzz with something. Since, on occasion, the odd rumor proved useful, he allowed his attention to drift toward a nearby conversation.

“Yes, really! She strangled him with her own chain!”

“Why was she there in the first place?”

“That’s what I keep asking, but no one seems to know! Just that she killed the old slug.”

“Think the Rebellion was behind it?”

“Nah, they’re after the Empire, not Jabba.”

Jabba the Hutt was dead? Good riddance. Din had never dealt with the Hutts personally, but he’d heard enough stories. The galaxy was far better off without him.

“Wasn’t just Jabba, though. His whole pleasure barge went down in flames in the middle of the desert!”

“Did Organa do that, too?”

“No, get this — I heard something about a Jedi.”

“Bullshit.”

“I know! But my sister’s husband’s niece swore some guy came for Solo, and that he fought with a lightsaber!”

“Solo?”

“No, the Jedi!”

Din shook his head. He didn’t know what a Jedi was, but he knew for a fact that Han Solo was stuck in carbonite. Boba had tracked the smuggler for years and finally cashed in on the biggest bounty in the galaxy twice — first for the Empire, who then allowed Boba to turn him in for the second from Jabba. Din wasn’t entirely clear how that had worked, but he’d been happy to hear Boba talked about with such respect.

He hoped, as always, that wherever Boba was, he was happy, too.

Din let his attention wander across the cantina, listening to conversations here and there. They were all talking about Jabba who was, apparently, very dead, and while they all contained the same major players, every version was different. He doubted, for example, that Han Solo had single-handedly blown up Jabba’s pleasure barge, or that this Jedi person had actually flipped up and out of the jaws of a sarlacc to catch a lightsaber (whatever that was) and free all the prisoners.

“… shame about Fett, though.”

In spite of his desire to remain unnoticed, Din’s head whipped in the direction of the name.

“He wasn’t on the barge, was he?”

“Nah, the sarlacc.”

“No! He’s got that jetpack!”

“That’s just what I heard!”

Din crossed the room in two quick strides. “What else have you heard?” he demanded.

The small group startled, expressions morphing from annoyance to surprise to nervousness in short order.

One of them, a Weequay, shook his head insistently. “Just that he fell in. Nothing else.”

“I heard the Jedi knocked him in,” a human piped up.

The Rodian bartender winced. “What is it with the Fetts and Jedi?”

Din clenched his fists at that, but only said, “Sounds like a lot of rumor to me.”

“Nah, Fett definitely fell into the pit,” said a Trandoshan. “Him and Jabba being dead are the one thing everyone agrees on. But I heard he fought Solo and lost.”

“Solo’s in carbonite,” the Weequay said dismissively.

“Solo was in carbonite,” countered the Trandoshan. “But the whole reason Jabba was up in arms to begin with was that someone thawed him out.”

“No one can survive that,” the human muttered.

The Trandoshan shrugged. “If anyone could, it’s Solo.” The group seemed to agree. “ He was at the battle of Yavin, maybe the Rebellion went to bust him out, and the bastard got the final one-up on Fett by kicking him into the pit.”

“Where was this?” Din snapped.

The group shrunk away from him.

Except for the Trandoshan, who snorted. “Where else? Tatooine.”

“I meant where on Tatooine.” Din wasn’t sure if it was his tone or something else, but he vaguely registered that the cantina had fallen silent.

“Pit of Carkoon,” the human muttered. “Jabba’s favorite execution spot.”

“When.”

“Why so interested, Mando?” the Trandoshan asked. “Looking to collect on Solo’s new bounty? Didn’t work out so well for Fett.”

Din tilted his head slowly turned toward the Trandoshan, who wilted.

“Last month or so, Mando,” the Weequay hurriedly explained. “News like this travels fast, especially when Jabba or someone like Fett …”

Din spun on his heel and left the cantina without another word.

He didn’t remember boarding his ship, or leaving atmo, or punching in the coordinates for Tatooine.

It was the jump to hyperspace that finally jolted him out of his trance, and only then did the news hit him, like a blaster bolt to the chest.

Doubled over in his seat, squeezing his helmet so hard between his hands he half-hoped it would burst like a melon, Din struggled to breathe.

Boba, dead.

Thrown into the gaping maw of a sarlacc to die, slowly and cruelly, in the middle of a desert.

Alone.

The pressure in his chest grew until he couldn’t bear it.

He roared in agony, hitting the console hard enough with his fist to dent the durasteel. Pain lanced through his hand.

Unable to catch his breath, he ripped off his helmet and let it fall unceremoniously to the floor.

His eyes stung with tears as he gasped for air again, and again, and again.

Time was difficult to track in hyperspace even under normal circumstances. Din had no inkling of how long he took to regain control of himself.

But when he did, only one thought occupied his mind.

He didn’t know if it was actually possible to kill a sarlacc, much less how to go about it.

But he was sure as hell going to try.

#the mandalorian #fanfic #my fic #bobadin #i am a menace #and so is neverfeedthesarlacc

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bthump · 4 years ago

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I know this is very nitpicky, but what do you think is the level of awareness Griffith has during the stairwell scene? For a very calculated and rational guy like him, it's hard to imagine that he hasn't even tried to decipher where these strong reckless reactions come from. I mean... even king of denial Guts has reflected a bit on it. Enough to ask Griffith about it. I know yoy mentioned in a recent answer to an ask, that you don't headcanon Griffith as pining, so would you say that you (cont)

Would you say that you imagine that he compartimentalizes his thougts and represses to the point that he doesn't aknowledge at least to a certain extent, that his feeling for Guts are more passionate, than what he feels for other comerades. The fact that he fully realises the depth of those feelings once Guts leaves is clear. But Idk the stairwell scene makes me think that he is at least aware, that he has a bit of a crush, but choses to not give it much importance. Curious about your thoughts

hmmm. okay first off I just want to say that I can see multiple possibilities, from full on repression and denial, to recognizing his attraction but not acting on it, to knowing he cares for Guts and wants him as a True Friend(TM) but often downplaying that because he believes Guts sees him mainly as a superior officer. But yeah I do prefer the denial and compartmentalization explanation and I want to go into why, because I think it’s fun to talk about lol.

So the big reason I read Griffith as refusing to acknowledge his feelings to himself is because that’s how he deals with all his other inconvenient feelings, like his guilt and fear and the fact that he cares about the Hawks. Like eg when he tells Gennon that he doesn’t feel a single emotion about him whatsoever, or when he tells Casca that he doesn’t feel guilty over the deaths of the Hawks, I don’t think he’s just lying to them, I think he’s convincing himself too, to the point where he really believes it.

It’s sort of hard to explain how I see this working in Griffith’s head bc it feels v intuitive to me but I know that’s not the case for everyone. So yk it’s not that I think he like, eg makes himself forget that he nearly had a breakdown in a river, but I think he doesn’t ask himself why he nearly had a breakdown beyond maybe a shallow ‘sex with gennon was unpleasant and made me uncomfortable for a couple hours but i’m completely fine now’ and doesn’t think about it afterwards if he can help it.

And when he tells Charlotte he doesn’t have any friends and tells Guts he belongs to him during the second duel, I think he’s telling himself lies/rationalizations he genuinely believes there too. In fact, I think his denial of his own feelings is straight up meant to be his tragic flaw, which is why he’s only able to finally acknowledge them in the torture chamber, after it’s caused his downfall.

In the torture chamber we see him remember the face-off with Zodd and acknowledge that it was an irrational thing to do and wonder why Guts is so important to him, and I think part of the reason the monologue works so well is because it’s the first time we see that kind of self-reflection sans lofty rationalization from him, because before he ended up trapped in his own brain for a year with nothing to distract himself in between bouts of torture he didn’t really ask himself these kinds of questions. If he had, things probably would’ve gone better for everyone.

And like, I don’t think this makes Griffith less intelligent, or negates his rationality in other areas of life. I don’t see a contradiction in someone being able to analyze a battlefield or read other people well but avoiding genuine soul searching whenever possible and lying to himself a lot. I think it’s actually pretty realistic - I don’t think very many people fully understand themselves or their feelings, even really self-reflective people, and it’s very easy to rationalize away inconvenient cognitive dissonance. and I include myself in that lol.

Griffith’s life is kind of a contradiction that would really fuck him up to untangle (he sends people to their deaths to achieve a dream for the sake of assuaging his guilt for sending people to their deaths to achieve a dream), so he doesn’t try to untangle it, he avoids the question and hides behind a philosophical ideal. And his feelings for Guts add to that cognitive dissonance because if he values Guts over the dream, that kind of proves his entire defensive life philosophy is bullshit and his whole life plan is built on a precarious house of cards, so it makes sense to me that he’d avoid examining those feelings closely too.

And you can look at Guts too, who does navelgaze a lot and tries to analyze his own feelings and motivations - when he’s faced with a contradiction (I want to become independent of Griffith and do my own thing solely to gain Griffith’s approval) he actually notices it and briefly questions himself... and then he still puts it out of his mind and continues pursuing his contradictory goal anyway, and manages to stay in denial for 3 days even after learning that Griffith ended up in a torture chamber because he left.

Along those same lines, Guts eg realizes that he kills things because it makes him feel better but he doesn’t make the connection between his irrational urge to fight powerful enemies and his childhood trauma the way the readers can, the King didn’t acknowledge his incesty feelings til Griffith shoved them in his face, Count Slug kept denying having human feelings til Puck went on a tirade against him and he couldn’t sacrifice his daughter, Casca lies to herself about her feelings for Griffith for a long time before finally acknowledging she’s in love and then doubles down on her Griffith feelings when her newer feelings for Guts threaten them until she has a breakdown and admits some things to herself (I mean I find that last one disappointing lol, but it’s also a really straightforward example of someone living in denial of romantic feelings and therefore a good comparison point to show that Miura does this on purpose), etc. So I think this interpretation of Griffith is also consistent with how Miura just like, tends to write people.

Like imo Griffith has moments where he comes close to self awareness and could’ve started potentially reflecting on his feelings and coming to better, more accurate conclusions, and those moments definitely include the Zodd conversation (as well as the river scene with Casca, and “do you think I’m cruel?”) but none of those scenes lead to useful self-reflection because they all go wrong. Casca tries but fails to reassure him bc she’s out of her depth, Guts reminds him of his dream, the King interrupts their conversation and Charlotte reorients Griffith towards his goal so he can move on from that moment of irrationality and refrain from thinking about it further for a while. Even after the duel Griffith tries to avoid self-reflection by fucking Charlotte imo (”take all the sad and frightening things and cast them into the fire” ie hey girl wanna repress some shit w/ me?), and imo his previous ability to do that makes it all the more impactful when it doesn’t work this time and he breaks down.

BUT YEAH all that said I don’t think this is the only reasonable reading of Griffith’s awareness of his feelings lol, it’s just the one I like best and consider the most satisfying and interesting and fun to think about. And honestly that’s partly because I love dramatic irony and have a real thing for characters who lie to themselves, so I’m biased in favour of it too. Nothing about Griffith being good at denial contradicts the idea that he could still be aware of an attraction to Guts (in that case he’d probably just write it off as irrelevant and deny the associated internalized-homophobia-related self-loathing lol until it all pours out while he’s projecting at the King), and he could eg be aware that he irrationally cares about Guts above and beyond anyone else and just doesn’t even try to reconcile that with his dream, ie compartmentalization in another way.

But I think the idea that he only fully admits it to himself in the torture chamber is just very narratively satisfying.

#Anonymous #ask #griffguts #ty for the question and giving me an opportunity to go on about this #a #b #character: griffith #theme: coping mechanisms #theme: repression #ship: griffguts #headcanons #character thoughts #arc: ga

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hockeylvr59 · 4 years ago

Text

Secret Love Part 4 || Cale Makar

Requested: [ ] yes [x] no

Authors Note:

Warnings: cursing, discussion of sexual activities

Word Count: 3,911

~~~~

You’d tossed and turned for almost an hour before you had eventually drifted off to sleep, only to be awoken by the Denver sunrise spilling through the window. Groaning softly you made a mental note for the shopping trip...curtains...Cale definitely needed curtains. Laying on the couch, you played on your phone for a few minutes before the need to use the bathroom finally took over.

After knocking quietly on Cale’s door with no response, you cracked it open hoping to sneak through to the bathroom without disturbing him. As you tiptoed across his bedroom floor, you couldn’t help but let your eyes fall on him. As expected, he was shirtless, blankets falling only midway up his exposed chest. His hair was a mess, and a relaxed expression covered his face. Quietly closing the bathroom door behind you, you chastised yourself for the heat that flooded through you. You were just friends and despite his now single status, that was all this was ever going to be.

Relieving yourself, you then quickly brushed your teeth before quietly moving back to the living room, easing his door shut behind you. His parents were going to be here in about an hour and after starting a pot of coffee you examined the contents of Cale’s fridge and cabinets. Finding bacon, eggs, and pancake mix you decided to make everyone breakfast. It was as you were moving around the kitchen that Cale finally appeared, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“You’re making breakfast?” He murmured, leaning in to kiss the top of your head.

“I am…” You smiled, checking on the bacon in the oven as you scrambled eggs in a pan on the stove. Cale poured himself a cup of coffee and you felt his eyes on you once more.

“Anything I can do?” He questioned after a moment.

“Get some plates?” You requested. “How do you want your eggs?” The clatter of plates filled your ears for a moment as Cale set plates beside you.

“However you’re making them is perfect.” He insisted, sharing a warm grin now that he was a little bit more awake. Nodding you took one of the plates and scooped a hefty portion of eggs onto it before pulling the bacon from the oven and the pancakes from where they were keeping warm in the microwave and piling those onto the plate as well.

“Eat up.” You grinned, turning to place the plate in front of one of the bar stools at the island. Doing another batch of eggs quickly you set everything aside to keep warm before serving yourself a much smaller portion. Taking a seat beside him, you shook your head as you watched Cale continue to dig into his breakfast. The moment felt a little too domestic and natural so you were thankful when there was a knock at the door that signaled that Laura and Gary had arrived.

It wasn’t long after that before you were quickly getting ready and heading out with Laura to go shopping for things for Cale’s apartment. The first place you stopped was Starbucks and then you were off to a local shopping center to do some damage.

“You seem more relaxed…” Laura mentioned as she sat waiting for the light to turn green.

“Yeah uh...we talked after dinner last night. We’re good.” You shrugged. Yes you were close with Laura, but you really didn’t want to tell her the details of your friendship with her son. She seemed to accept that because she nodded and smiled.

“Good. I’m glad.” Her response ended the subject and instead she focused on the task ahead. “So you’ve spent a decent amount of time in Cale’s apartment...what does he still need other than what he mentioned to me?”

“Well curtains would be good. Waking up to the sun isn’t always ideal.” You said, a yawn slipping from your throat. “He could also use a throw blanket for the couch.” You added, pondering over what comforts Cale’s apartment seemed to be missing that would make it feel more like a home.

Wandering through aisles, Laura did most of the shopping, occasionally asking for your thoughts on something before either tossing it into the cart or putting it back on the shelf. As you walked through the aisle containing photo frames you paused.

“What do you think about surprising him with some pictures?” You suggested. He had a couple pieces of ‘artwork’ but there really weren’t any family photos to be found as far as you could see.

“Why don’t you take the reins on that?” Laura replied, a soft look you couldn’t place filling her eyes as she handed you her phone. “Text yourself anything from my camera roll.” As she looked through possible throw pillows, you quickly scanned through the pictures, texting yourself a half dozen that would be perfect. Agreeing to meet up in about fifteen minutes, you headed back to the instant photo machine, plugging your phone in to print the pictures from Laura’s gallery as well as a couple from your own. Satisfied with what you had, you moved back to the frames, picking out one for each photo before moving to find some command strips to hang them with.

On the car ride back to Cale’s place, you worked to get each photo into a frame. By the time Laura pulled back into the garage you were finished and you helped her carry all of the shopping bags inside. Cale had given his mom the spare key in case the two of you were done before he got back and after letting yourselves inside, you went to work on making Cale’s apartment feel just a little cozier. Together you hung curtains up in his living room, tossing pillows and the sherpa throw onto the couch. Then Laura helped you with hanging photos on his bedroom wall while a few of them were placed stationary on a side table in his living room. Laura unpacked the rest of the things Cale had asked her to buy and then the two of you settled onto the couch to watch tv until the guys arrived.

Gary and Cale had picked up lunch on the way home, so the four of you sat down to eat. When you finished, Cale handed you a gift bag and though you had a feeling you knew what it was, you were still anxious to open it. Navy fabric accented with maroon and white spilled around your fingers and you gently ran your fingers over the number 8 and lettering of the nameplate.

“Can’t have you come to the game tonight without proper apparel.” Cale murmured and you jumped up quickly, wrapping your arms around him in a hug.

“It’s perfect.” You agreed. You’d packed the Makar home jersey that you’d bought yourself at the beginning of the season, but you had to admit the thirds were your favorite jersey and getting the jersey from Cale meant just a little bit more than buying one for yourself.

As you cleaned up lunch, Cale started to settle in, getting ready to take his pregame nap. He had acknowledged the curtains, blanket, pillows and other things his mom had gotten him but it wasn’t until he disappeared into his bedroom for a moment that his eyes must have caught the photos. He’d only been gone maybe 30 seconds when he returned, pulling his mom into a huge hug, his eyes soft.

“You framed pictures for me?” He muttered softly.

“That idea was all Y/N.” Laura quickly clarified and immediately Cale turned to you, his arms wrapping around you just as tightly.

“That’s incredible. Thank you.” He whispered into your ear, and when he pulled back his hands lingered on your hips for a moment more.

Soon you were grabbing everything you’d need for the game because you were headed with Laura and Gary to play tourist while Cale napped and then headed to the rink. Laura and Gary had already headed downstairs while you debated on a shirt to wear and you didn’t even notice Cale come up beside you as you dug through your bag.

“Wear that one.” He instructed, pointing to a wine red long-sleeved off-the-shoulder blouse. “We’re going out after the game if we win.” He clarified, rubbing the back of his neck. You were already wearing your favorite pair of jeans and had thrown on a cute pair of tennis shoes for running around. You weren’t exactly a club type of person but going out with Cale and his teammates did seem fun.

“Okay.” You agreed, disappearing into his bathroom to change tops before returning. “Have a good nap. And kick some ass tonight.” You teased, grabbing your makeup bag because you’d barely put any on to go shopping and if you were going out tonight you were going to need to rethink your current makeup. With everything you needed, you snuck a kiss to Cale’s cheek before disappearing out the door to meet Gary and Laura down at the car.

____

The last time you saw Cale play live was versus Calgary during the playoffs. So sitting in the stands of the Pepsi Center watching him warm up was an entirely different experience. You’d watched him on tv many times but in person it was clear to see just how much his game was growing every day. He was almost mesmerizing to watch and tucked in next to Laura, wrapped in his jersey, you felt at peace. Well, at least until the puck dropped for real.

During a commercial break in the first period, the Avs announced a promo game. After the participant was introduced and the game was explained, a baby picture popped up on the screen. In it, a little boy, no more than 9 or 10 months old, sat between the legs of a little girl around the age of five who had a book in her hands. Immediately your own cheeks flushed as you recognized the picture, it was one of your favorites from when you and Cale were super little. The fan playing got one guess of who it was with no options to win an autographed jersey, but they were way off and guessed Nate for some reason. Then multiple choice popped up with Cale’s name, JT’s, and Gabe for a chance at an autographed puck. You didn’t even pay attention to the guess beyond hearing the boos signaling they got it wrong, but instead your gaze landed on Cale who was looking up at the screen, hiding a smile as he took some ribbing by his teammates. Eventually his eyes drifted up to where you were seated and he sent a little wink that you would have missed if you weren’t looking at him. From beside you Laura just smiled and bumped your shoulder, signaling without words just how strong your friendship with Cale really was.

The Avs played a solid all around game and you cheered with each goal scored. Cale had two assists on the night and with the team coming out with the win you knew he was going to be in a good mood. Heading down to the locker room, you listened as Gary rambled on about the game as hockey dads do while sharing looks with Laura that made you burst into laughter.

When Cale finally stepped out of the locker room he hugged his parents before lifting you up and spinning you around.

“You ready to go have some fun?” He inquired, boyish smile on his face.

“Don’t get into too much trouble.” Laura warned, though her expression wasn’t all that serious.

“As if I’d let him.” You joked. For years Cale’s family had the running joke of you being the more responsible one keeping Cale in line. It wasn’t always true obviously, but for the most part the point stood. Still after the past few weeks Cale had had, you were willing to let him go just a little bit crazy tonight, knowing that you would be there as his safety net.

“We’ll see you both tomorrow.” Gary grinned. “Go relax and have a good time.” Cale��s arm drifted around your waist as he tugged you to his car. Once there, you stripped off the jersey leaving you in just the blouse and as he pulled out of the garage you mussed up your hair just a little bit. Using the mirror, you carefully added a little more eyeliner before throwing on a dark lipstick, tossing both cylinders into the cupholder beside you.

By the time you stepped out of the car at the club you felt ready for a night out and as you watched Cale shed his jacket, you felt his eyes on you once more.

Waiting for him to be ready to head inside, you watched as a tall redhead approached, beautiful woman tucked into his side.

“Y/N...this is JT and his girlfriend Lauren.” Cale introduced and you reached a hand out to shake theirs before tucking your hand back into your pocket.

“So this is the best friend.” JT said, smirking. “Bout time Cale finally brought you around, he’s been talking about you for forever.”

“Really?” You teased, ready to throw out a semi-embarrassing tidbit until Cale grabbed you by the waist, his finger falling to your lips to shush you as he guided you inside.

“Can you at least let me get a drink or two in me before you start spilling the embarrassing stories?” He pleaded jokingly.

“I suppose.” You conceded, smiling as he guided you up to the VIP lounge and over to the bar. Settling for a glass of wine, you watched him order a beer for himself before leading you over to one of the many couches. It wasn’t long before you were being introduced to all of Cale’s teammates.

Gabe was boisterous and funny and the way that he looked at his wife Mel made you smile brightly. Josty was a character, he had you laughing almost immediately as he told stories about all of the media events he’d done with Cale and what he’d learned from residing in the same building. He was definitely giving you ammo to use later. Then again they all were, chirps had been flying left and right all night.

You’d been nursing the same glass of wine for about an hour, watching as Cale downed another 2-3 beers as well as a shot that Burky handed him. It was nice to see Cale out with people that clearly cared about him and you knew this was probably the first time he had really been able to let go of all of the stress since the pregnancy scare.

Eventually Mel and Lauren dragged you out onto the dance floor with the other better halves and even though you’d barely had anything to drink, the beat of the music had you relaxing, enjoying the time you had getting to know the people who were part of Cale’s other family.

“You know his eyes haven’t left you all night.” Mel eventually declared, her voice barely audible over the loud music.

“He’s always been a little protective…” You simply shrugged. The look Mel and Lauren shared suggested that they weren’t buying that logic but they didn’t push things. After a few more songs, you left the dance floor to head to the bar for a bottle of water. While there a tall….like really tall, dark haired man who looked like he should star in the next hollywood vampire blockbuster, slipped up beside you, his arm brushing against yours lightly. As you placed him as Cale’s d-partner you smiled up at him before looking back at where the bartender was rushing back and forth.

“You know none of us have ever seen him like this before…” Ryan murmured. “He comes out but he never really lets loose. Now I don’t know whether that’s because it’s the first time we’ve been out since everything happened or if it’s because you’re here but I suspect it’s more to do with the latter.” You didn’t really know what to say to that so you shrugged. “And I’m not saying that in the manner of he feels like you’re the babysitter who will take care of him, I’m saying that he feels comfortable because you’re here in a way he was never comfortable either by himself or with Sara.” Ryan finally managed to get the bartender’s attention and he ordered your water along with whatever he was drinking before continuing. “And I’m sure Cale never said anything and neither did anyone else but...you should know everyone really likes you. And I can’t say the same for Sara.” Just as quickly as he’d appeared, Ryan had walked off and you glanced over at Cale to see his eyes planted firmly on you, his cheeks rosy from the alcohol.

Water in hand, you moved to Cale’s side, his arm wrapping around you immediately. The redness in his eyes told you he’d had a little bit more to drink than he probably should have and you pushed your water his way, not wanting him to be completely impossible to drag home. The grin on his face was lazy as he took the bottle, showing how completely relaxed and at ease he was.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he took a long sip of the water and you tilted your head to observe him, tie gone and the top few buttons of his shirt undone. His fingers slipped just under the edge of your shirt along your hip and you took your own sip from the bottle of water trying to hide the flush that filled your body at the feeling of his fingertips on your bare skin. Passing the water back to him, it was soon gone and once the bottle was empty you stood, looking over your shoulder.

“Are you going to sit there all night or are you going to come dance with me?” You inquired, your tongue running against your bottom lip. Stumbling just slightly, Cale slipped out of the booth and his hand fell to the curve of your back as he guided you over to where his teammates and their significant others were dancing.

With Cale’s chest pressed against your back, his hands fell to your hips once more and the pads of his fingers wandered over every inch of skin they could reach. His touch had never affected you like this before, he’d never been this brazen before, but you chalked both of those factors up to the alcohol. Though you’d only had two glasses of wine since you arrived, wine had always made you far warmer than any other form of alcohol so the heat in your skin was definitely just from that.

“So I have a question…” Cale’s breath fanned over your ear as he leaned down to whisper yell at you, allowing you to hear him over the rap song that was playing.

“Yes Cale?” You replied, tilting your body back against his so that you could see his face. It was even rosier than before and his soft smile was replaced by a serious and focused look causing your eyebrow to quirk at the sight.

“Women like having oral sex performed on them right?” For a split second you were certain that it was only Cale’s hold on you that kept you from falling right over. Choking on your own saliva as you tried to swallow you quickly coughed, your cheeks even more flushed than you could attribute to the wine.

“I...I mean from what I’ve heard yeah…” You finally stumbled out an answer. “Why?” Your question was ignored as Cale’s hands tightened around your hips.

“You’ve heard?” Cale prodded. “You don’t know?” Cursing under your breath you shivered as Cale’s thumb stroked a sensitive spot along your side.

“Cale…” You mumbled, not drunk enough for this conversation. He poked you in the side though signaling you to continue and you groaned. “I mean...I had sex for the first time freshman year of college and we didn’t exactly know what we were doing…” You explained, softly enough that only Cale would hear you. “And I mean I’ve only had sex one other time...it was a one night stand and we were both way too drunk to do anything but fuck. So yeah...I’m just taking other people’s word on it...why are you asking Cale?” You finished, twisting in his arms so that you could look at him properly. His head ducked to press against the crook of your neck and he hissed quietly as you drug your nails along his lower back.

“Just curious…” Cale breathed. “Sara never let me...I mean I wanted to but...she told me she wasn’t interested.” For a moment you didn’t know what to say as that little piece of you celebrated the fact that it seemed there were a lot of things he didn’t do with his ex girlfriend.

“Oh...I mean everyone has their own likes and dislikes…” You reminded him. “But generally equal reciprocation is definitely appreciated.”

As the song ended, Gabe called Cale’s name to go take another shot and you pushed him to go murmuring that you were going to run to the bathroom. By the time you returned, you suspected it was definitely time to get Cale home, so you sidled up to his side, slipping your hand in his front pocket for his car keys.

“I think it’s time we get you home and to bed rockstar.” You declared. Thankfully Cale didn’t put up much of a fight, closing his tab before letting you lead him out of the club. By the time you had parked in his garage, you could see how sleepy the alcohol was making him and you moved around to help him out of the car, his body nearly dragging yours down with its weight.

Stumbling through the door, you urged him to start to bed while you got him more water and some pain killers. Gathering both, you moved to his room after checking to ensure the front door was locked. You found him sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in only boxer briefs and though you tried not to stare, your body couldn’t help but notice that gone was the teenage boy you once knew and in his place was a man plain and simple. Setting the water and pills on his bedside table, you urged him to take his contacts out.

Once you were certain he was fairly settled, you turned to make your way to the couch. Instead, Cale’s hands reached out to pull you back to him and as he scooted to the far side of the bed, he drug you down with him.

“Cale…” You mumbled in complaint but his eyes were already closed and his breathing was starting to steady out, his hands keeping your body pressed tightly against his. Sighing, you managed to work yourself out of your jeans before giving in and settling in his arms.

Between your conversation with Gravy, the looks Mel and Lauren were giving you, Cale’s inquiry, wandering hands, and this, so many lines had been blurred tonight that it was making you dizzy.

For the second night in a row...your mind reeled as you fell into a fitful sleep.

Blouse:

#cale makar #cale makar imagine #colorado avalanche #colorado avalanche imagine #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #hockey imagine #hockey imagines #cavalanche #038

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thebeezcnys · 3 years ago

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With G's departure from Philly pretty much inevitable now I want to take a trip down memory lane to honor how much he's impacted me as a Flyers/hockey fan. Here's a small collection of stories I personally have with Giroux. Feel free to reblog and add your own memories!

(I'll be referring to my best friend growing up as Karen because, well, that's what she grew up to be, but she still plays a key role in a lot of these stories.)

1. Karen clocked Giroux as a star from the very beginning. In 2006 she begged our moms to take us to Trial on The Isle in Stone Harbor to meet the latest Flyers prospects. We were just 10 years old, but we had our sights set on the supposed next superstar, Claude Giroux.

When you go to Trial on the Isle they give you a little sheet of paper that you ask all the prospects to sign as you shuffle through the tables of players inside an elementary school gym. Karen insisted that we get Claude's signature separately, so we asked him to sign pucks we had bought. He gladly did, and even took a picture with Karen. (I was too scared to ask for a pic with the long lines building up behind us). I didn't understand why she was so hyped up on this one prospect, but mission accomplished in meeting him. Little did I know this was my Giroux era origin story.

2. Karen and I attended several Phantoms games when G played for them. Karen was so sure he'd be a big deal that she bought a Giroux Phantoms jersey. She proudly wore it the games we went to. One game in particular Phlex (the superior Phantoms mascot) fell on the ice during intermission. He was actually hurt, but G came out of the locker room to help skate him off the ice. At the end of that game he saw Karen wearing his jersey and he tossed his stick to her.

3. On days we had off from school we would sometimes convince Karen's mom to bring us to Flyers practices in Cherry Hill. We would spend the majority of our time waiting outside the Skate Zone after practice trying to get signatures from players. Some were total jerks and only signed a couple peoples' gear and then sped off, some never came around at all, but only Giroux showed up every. Single. Time. He happily signed each and every person's gear, and he even started recognizing us after awhile, calling us "the school skippers". He was so beyond nice and seemed genuinely happy to interact with the fans.

4. Flash forward to 2012. Karen and I convinced our moms to take us to Toronto to see the Flyers play the Leafs for our combined Christmas and birthday presents. We bought a big banner that said "Happy 16th birthday Karen and Taylor. GO FLYERS!" to bring with us. We got tickets in the very last row of the stadium so we could hang the banner up on the back wall the whole game, but for warmups we brought it down to ice level. Several players noticed the sign, but only Giroux shot a puck at it. The game ended up being 0-0 through overtime. The only goal of the entire game came from Giroux in the shootout. When he scored he spun around, looked up, and pointed directly at our sign. I swear he scored that goal for us. Giroux became my favorite player from that moment on.

5. Karen and I were 17 and could finally drive. We went to the Flyers carnival alone for the first time. I convinced her to sign up for the stadium tour because it was free and I'm a big nerd for the behind the scenes stuff. She reluctantly agreed, but ultimately signed up. When it was time for our tour we all got into this massive service elevator and started riding up to the top. The guide started getting really excited and said that, "this group got the best one of the whole day". We didn't understand what he meant until the elevator doors opened and there was Claude Giroux to surprise us! We were able to get signatures AND pictures from him (which is a big deal at the carnival. Usually it's $25 for one or the other there and we got both for free). Karen and I were the last to go up but when we did he paused for a second and asked, "the school skippers?" We beamed with excitement. Giroux knew us.

8. My high school CAD teacher lived in Cherry Hill and has a daughter the same age as Briere's son. They went to school together and everything. She told me about how her family had gone out to eat last weekend and noticed Briere and Giroux a couple tables over. They were egging Briere's son on about something. The next thing they knew the son was at their table sheepishly asking her daughter if she'd be his date to homecoming. She said yes, and G lost his shit cheering him on in the restaurant.

7. Karen went to the carnival alone the next year since I was now in college several states away. She brought the picture of G and her from way back at Trial on the Isle for him to sign. He took one look at the picture and went, "oh god I was such a baby back then, do you even have school to skip anymore? Where's your partner in crime?" and reluctantly signed the picture.

Unfortunately I don't have any more personal stories since leaving for college, but Giroux will always hold a special place in my heart for these moments. He helped me fall in love with this team and the sport overall. I feel like I grew up with him.

This season absolutely sucks, but I'm watching the games for Giroux. I've been watching him since Trial on the Isle in 2006, so I plan on watching every last game he has as a Flyer and then continuing to cheer him on wherever he ends up going.

I'm a Giroux fan first, and a Flyers fan second. Go get your cup G, you deserve it.

#flyers lb #philadelphia flyers #nhl flyers #claude giroux #giroux #sorry this post is so long

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aros001 · 3 years ago

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First time read through light novel vol. 6. Random thoughts.

Hey, can you guess what my favorite episode of the anime is? Here's a hint: it's one apparently a lot of other Subarem shippers hate. I say f**k that! Episode 18 and this book made me love the idea of them as a couple even more! But we'll get to that in a minute.

“By conducting these negotiations, you bear Emilia’s fate on your shoulders. Naturally, everything you say affects her, and it carries the same weight as Emilia’s words. This is not a decision you should make lightly, nor are the words you say easily taken back.”

“...Ah, uh...”

“Moreover, I ask again—should you owe me in this matter, it will mean the defeat of the Emilia camp. Are you truly fine with this?”

It really brings into the focus the problem of Subaru calling himself Emilia's knight without thinking and why the actual knights took such offence to it. At best it was a gimmick with no actual meaning to him and at worst he wanted all the rewards that came with being a knight (or at least what he perceived as the rewards) and not any of the responsibility. That's basically the reality Crusch is making Subaru face; the true burden that is on the one who claims to be Emilia's representative. Being a knight isn't just a game or a fancy title. Whatever he does will heavily impact his lady's future and he never once considered that.

“You hate the Witch Cult. That’s the reason you approached Emilia, is it not?”

Damn.

“—You have not said, ‘I want to save Emilia,’ even once.”

Daaaamn. Obviously, we know the witch cult has nothing to do with why Subaru wanted to hang around Emilia, but it's really telling of his current state that that's what it looks like from the outside. His hatred for Petelgeuse is stronger than his love for Emilia.

The fact that Roswaal has twice now been absent during events that his presence could easily have prevented tragedy is incredibly suspicious. Especially during the mansion arc, where he only left the mansion during the loop Subaru had made a lot of progress in finding the shaman and thus, unlike the previous loops, could have warned him about what was about to happen. It feels like Roswaal is intentionally removing himself as to invite disaster upon his house and Emilia, likely to manipulate her and Subaru.

Priscilla is an oddity to me, because she really feels like someone I should dislike more than I do, as I tend to have an instant dislike for very bratty, entitled, and/or spoiled characters. I'm not sure what it is specifically that's lifting her up so much for me. It's not just the looks, because I've seen attractive female characters I've hated because of their brattiness (I think she and Bitch princess from Shield Hero share the same english voice actor, in fact). I think that, one, there is just this sense of fun and amusement when Priscilla's around, like I just want to see whatever she does next, and two, despite her attitude, I'm not really getting a feeling of shallowness from her. She doesn't feel like she's putting people down just to prop herself up. There is actual strength and depth to her.

Rem followed behind both of them, and he could hear noises coming from her nose every so often. Rem had a keen sense of smell, and she’d apparently picked up some kind of unsavory scent, staring at the back of the iron helm as they walked along.

Well, Al is from another world like Subaru, so it wouldn't be surprising if he also had the witch's scent attached to him, assuming his situation is anything like Subaru's.

“Don’t be silly. You’re Ram, right?”

“I am Rem... Forgive my rudeness, but where have you met Sister, Master Al?”

Rem explained how he’d mistaken her for her nearly identical older sister as she posed the question. However, Al made no reply. He raised up his one arm and touched his helm, busily poking the metal.

“What the hell’s goin’ on here...?”

Al sounded nervous, seemingly unable to process the information. The increasingly rapid tapping offered further proof.

“So you’re Rem...and your sister is Ram?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“This might be a weird thing to ask but...is your older sister alive?”

“...? I do not understand the meaning of your question. Sister is alive, as she should be.”

The instant Rem gave that answer, Subaru, who had been listening to the conversation in silence, felt goose bumps all over his flesh.

“—This ain’t funny.”

Well...that got a lot of theory wheels turning in my head. I was already wondering if Al had his own Return By Death ability, so it's certainly possible he'd met Ram before a restart, though why he'd mix up her and Rem, I'm not sure. Another possibility is that he's maybe experienced Subaru's own RBDs, so while he can't trigger the ability himself he retains his memories from the original timelines. We've seen timelines where Ram has died but also one back at the mansion where only Rem died. Of course, there's also the possibility this story is going to go full Futurama: Bender's Big Score and Al is going to turn out to be a future version of Subaru sent back to the past.

That damn whale is like something out of a horror movie. I don't tend to care for gory horror but I do like movies with unique monsters and killers, so I could easily see myself getting into a movie about a giant flying whale that appears in a dark fog and basically consumes the entire existence of whatever it eats, including its past presence in the world. It's not just memories being erased. The person themselves never was.

You can tell the story is doing a good job of connecting when I know full well that Subaru's going to have another RBD and that everything's going to be fine and I'm still tearing up over Rem basically sacrificing herself to hold off the whale and Subaru is realizing he's allowed her to die four times over.

Huge difference between the books and the anime, as I'm pretty sure in the anime Puck just killed Subaru in the room Emilia died in. There was no bringing her to the witch cult's hidden cave like there was here.

“Unable to even pass a single trial, not even facing a single Deadly Sin, bearing great expectations only to stumble over the first stone in her path...”

The madman looked down at the sleeping Emilia, sighing.

“—Ahh, you were lazy!”

Curious as to what he meant by all that. Now that I think about it, I don't think it's been revealed yet the specific reason the witch cult went after Emilia. Yes, she looks like the Witch of Envy but it that a bad thing or a good thing to the cult? Do these "trials" she was supposed to face have to do with the dragon and royal selection or the witch?

I don't think they said why Subaru can now see Petelgeuse's previously unseen hands. I think I saw a theory about how Subaru's connection with the witch grows stronger with each RBD, beyond just the scent, so he might simply has just accumulated enough EXP to finally level up into seeing them. Then again, I did love Subaru's mocking line to Petelgeuse that the witch has been "cheating" on him with Subaru, so it's certainly possible he just has more of Satella's affection than Petelgeuse and thus he gets more special perks from her.

And finally, we get to the talk between Subaru and Rem at the end. Funny thing, when I first started watching the anime, someone I knew who'd seen it before me told me that, one, it's very different from Isekai Quartet, which introduced me to the characters, so don't go in expecting a comedy, and two, that episode 18 has a Subaru moment that a lot of people hate. Given how the arc had been since before that episode and how Subaru kept falling further and further, I had no idea what was going to happen or what was worse than what he'd already done that'd get people to hate him so much.

And it turns out it's just because of a shipping war. I'm still not sure if I should feel relieved or annoyed. Yeah, I ship Subaru and Rem over Subaru and Emilia, but hating this part of the story just because he still loves Emilia? I feel like everything else except for that one line gets ignored (the line I'm avoiding saying because I don't want a bot to flag this post) and that the lack of all context except Subaru loving Emilia while Rem loves him destroys a lot of why the scene works.

There's just so much to talk about with why I love this part between Subaru and Rem. I'm a big fan of superhero stories and a classic trope I love is when things get dark and everything is brought to its lowest point...only for the hero to make a comeback. And Subaru... The man is broken. He's given up. Not only has he experienced death, failure, and futility multiple times, he's seen the people he cares about be completely slaughtered, with Rem dying, being mutilated, and even erased to protect him and Emilia, the woman he loves, dying directly because of him. He's powerless to change anything, or at least everything he does change seems to just make things worse. He sees himself as selfish, greedy, and arrogant; that he never actually cared about anyone other than himself. He's just spewing all this very justified self-hatred...and Rem counters it perfectly, not saying a single thing that isn't true about what she loves about him. Last volume had her imagining running away with Subaru, so the possible life with him she talks about isn't just something she's pulled out of the air. It's something she's considered and wants, which means it has actual weight when she turns him down.

I think another reason Rem connects to Subaru so much is because she's no stranger to self-hatred. She's also seen her own existence as a blight on everyone and everything around her. That she's selfish and terrible. And the person who helped pull her out of that state, at least somewhat, and get her to start liking herself was Subaru, which is what she's doing for him now. It's what I love so much about the relationship between these two. It's not just that they've saved each others' lives. They've helped each other in incredibly personal ways, despite the fact that neither fully knows what the source of the other's pain is. Subaru doesn't know what Rem felt as she watched Ram's horn get cut off. Rem doesn't know about Subaru's RBD and constant failures. They didn't need to. They simply knew the other needed help and they gave it, with no strings attached. It's why, despite me shipping them together, I'm not upset that Subaru doesn't return Rem's love (yet?) in the same way. There was a great bit of art I saw of the moment, and the words alongside it were "I didn't say I love you to hear it back. I said it so that you would know." Despite her still having some issues, being a little too subservient and obsessed with Subaru, I can believe Rem's love for him is real. When Subaru hated himself and believed everyone else did too, Rem told him that she loved him, not to get anything back out of it, but simply because she wanted him to at least have that to hold onto.

Rem was clearly at least a little upset at the end of their talk, and I can see it being some regret that she turned him down or that he does still love Emilia more, and I'm fine with that. She did the right thing and she is happy the real Subaru is back, but her being a little sad afterwards keeps her human (even if she's a demon).

Honestly, while I do ship them, I think both did make the right call. If or when they hook up, it should be when there's no lingering doubts or regrets they're carrying with them. Where they can have a future where they can smile together and with everyone in their lives they love and can't just abandon. Plus, I want to see Ram as an aunt to Subaru and Rem's kid! That sounds amazing!

And Subaru saying he loves Emilia, even after Rem poured her heart out to him...well, yeah, of course he does. He just found out Rem loves him and has had no time to process it (he was trying to run away with her out of fear and guilt, thus why she turned him down). If his feelings for Emilia were that easily swayed then it'd be hard to say that they were ever that strong or real to begin with, and thus what would have been the point of everything he's been through? It's not like he said it to hurt Rem. Hell, here and in the anime he sounds pretty apologetic as he says it, because he knows it'll hurt her to hear it and he doesn't want that. But it is the truth. So I'm not going to get mad at him for it. It's consistent with his character and everything he's been through and lead to great character moments for both him and Rem. What's there to be angry about?

But yeah, there was a little bit of it in the last chapter but I'm soooooooo looking forward to next volume. I remember just the feeling of hype and "F**k yeah!" going through my chest on my first watch of the anime. Subaru, after hitting his absolute lowest point, pulling himself together with Rem's help and gathering up everything he's got to fight back against the previously hopeless situation and save the day. It made all that heartache and misery so worth the wait.

Original Reddit post: https://www.reddit.com/r/Re_Zero/comments/gr9y77/novels_first_time_read_through_light_novel_vol_6/

#re:zero #random thoughts #reddit repost

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sprnklersplashes · 4 years ago

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right where you left me

or, the missing scene between robin and moth where she seeks him out that no-one asked for but you get anyway, complete with allusions to the author’s headcanons

He recognises her calling card as soon as he sees it.

It hasn’t changed since they were kids; a single, thin branch taped to the inside of his locker, a pink flower just beginning to bloom on the end of it. He actually smiles a little, in spite of himself, when he first finds it. It’s kind of nice, in a way, to see this hasn’t changed since he saw her last. And even better to imagine how she did this; slipped in unnoticed and blended in amongst the Baxter High students long enough to get that note into his locker. It can’t have been hard, not for her, but he’s impressed nevertheless. She was always good like that.

Soon after the nostalgia, however, comes the dread, especially when he sees the note stuck under the branch. He steps closer to the locker and straightens his shoulders, trying to block as much as possible despite the hallway being empty. School is finished now, the bell long since silenced, the only bodies still here either in classrooms or in the gym for basketball practice-where his boyfriend is now. There’s no-one around who could see it, and if they did they likely wouldn’t care, but that doesn’t stop him from taking precautions. The day he doesn’t might just be the day he should have.

Besides, this is beyond private.

His hands shake slightly as he lifts the note down from the door, his chest tightening. There’s no seal on it, he notes with faint surprise but also relief. At least it’s not an official request. When he opens it, he finds the message carefully written inside, if a little on the blunt side.

You. Me. Oak tree. ASAP. I’m waiting.

-Moth.

She’s nothing if not direct.

He lets out a long exhale and closes his locker, not before pocketing both the note and the branch. Amazing, how such tiny words can shake him so much. Make him feel like he’s been pushed down the stairs and had the air knocked out of his lungs. He leans his head against the locker door, eyes shut tight as he tries to think past the ringing in his ears.

He shouldn’t go. If his life with the Pagans is over, his life with them is left in the dust and it’s better staying that way. He wants it that way, he tells himself. He’s put so much energy into building a new life now and it’s good, better than good. As close to perfect as he’s ever known, and he’ll be damned if he does anything to risk that.

And after all, the last time he was there he was told to never come back. So by staying away, he’s merely following orders.

And yet… he reads the note again and try as he might, he can’t be completely okay with the idea of ignoring it. Maybe it’s because of who he is, some deeply-buried hobgoblin instinct pulling him, or a sense of twisted loyalty. His parents told him when he was a kid that no matter where he went, he’d always be tied to the forest, and this must be what they meant. It must be, because he can’t think of any other explanation as to why he might actually do this when every other cell in his body is digging their heels in. Telling him-or rather, begging him-to just toss her note in the trash and move on with his life.

His mind is made up when he looks down at the note again, his finger tracing the faintly-familiar writing. If he’s fast, and he is, he’ll be here and back before Theo’s finished basketball practice. He’s not planning on staying longer than he needs to anyway. Theo wondering where he’s been is actually the one thing he doesn’t need to worry about here.

He half-jogs through the silent corridors and down the front stairs, before heading out the front door. The air outside is cool enough, a welcome contrast to the prickling warmth overtaking his body. The parking lot is almost empty, save for a few cars and some trash blowing around in the wind. Even so, he can’t be too careful here, and he takes one last look around him before he takes off, leaving only the scattering leaves behind him.

His landing is far less graceful than he’d have liked it to be; skidding to a halt and just about managing to not trip over himself. He pushes his hair out of his face, turning slowly to survey the area. This should be the place, unless there’s another tree he was meant to meet her by. He doubts it, but takes the note out again anyway. They were never ones for hidden clues or anything, but he can at least pretend he’s doing something.

“You’ve gotten sloppy,” a voice comes from behind him, and he jumps out of his skin, a curse escaping his mouth and the note falling to the ground. But even with the frantically beating heart, a grin spreads across his face as he turns around, finding nothing at first, but then he lifts his chin, his eyes straining until he finds a flash of turquoise amongst the green leaves. The branches shift and rustle, and the flash of blue moves along until the branches part and he sees her smirking down at him, leaning up against a branch like it’s a lightpost. “Once upon a time you’d have stuck that landing.”

“I was in a rush. This was kind of last-minute,” he replies. “So are you coming down or am I coming up?” Moth purses her lips, but she jumps down onto a lower branch, then lower again, as quick and agile as any creature that would live in the tree. When she lands on the floor without a sound, he’s almost impressed.

She still looks the same. She’s changed, of course, taller, the round face of childhood gone, her blue-tinged hair falling just past her chin instead of tumbling down her back. But she’s still her, still with that defiant, so-what look in her eyes and there’s something comforting about that.

That comfort is likely the only reason he’s able to get out a “hi” when she lands. She nods, her arms folded across her chest, and the air around them tightens as they regard each other. She keeps her distance, like he’s got some infectious disease, and he tries to pretend it doesn’t hurt. He shoves his hands into his pockets and kicks the ground, trying not to let the uneasiness he feels show on his face. For all he knows, she’s enjoying this.

“Been a while, Puck,” she says eventually.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs. “Been busy. Travelling. You know how it is.”

“Yeah. I do.” There’s a bitter edge to her voice that he can’t say he doesn’t deserve. Even if it’s maybe not fair. After all, she saw what happened too. “To be honest, I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“I’m wondering if I should be insulted by that.”

“Well, I haven’t heard from you in a while,” she reminds him. “Last we heard you were on your way to Greenedale and then that was that. Nothing.” Her jaw clenches and his stomach twists itself into knots. He won’t feel bad here, he won’t. “And we didn’t even hear that from you.”

There it is. He clenches his jaw tightly, deliberately looking at the ground although it does nothing to alleviate the weight of her eyes on him. A flash of indignant anger runs through him, enough to, at least temporarily, shake away that tight, uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

Like he said, she saw what happened, and she had almost been on his side back then. Times change, he guesses, and so he can skip the formalities.

“Moth, I take it you didn’t go through all this effort just to make a social call,” he says flatly. “So what do you want?”

Her hands curl into fists at her side and for a moment hurt flashes across her face, before she swallows it and puts the mask back up.

“You’re right,” she sighs. “It isn’t a social call.” She takes a step closer, slightly narrowing the gulf between them. She raises her chin and as seconds pass in silence, she seems to be psyching herself up; her breathing slow and deep, her eyes regarding him warily, like he’s a frightened animal, and that’s when the alarm goes off in his head. “Oberon sent me.”

Those three words flip a switch in him. Not even the three of them. Just the one. Just that name. He backs away slightly, his chest tightening as he tries to keep his knees from buckling. Frankly, he’s amazed by the fact he keeps breathing. So much comes flooding back, things he’d pushed so far down he thought he’d healed. He’d forgotten exactly how much anger there is there, how much resentment he’d had piled up until it sits in front of him now. All of his old wounds reopen without warning, invisible blood running over his skin, and it doesn’t help that Moth is standing over there as a physical reminder.

Of all the paths he thought she’d take, this was the last one.

“So you’re his lackey now?”

“Someone has to be.” There’s a sting of accusation in both their comments, and the unsaid implications are clear, for him anyway. ‘Someone has to be, since you left’. “And I’m not a lackey.”

“Whatever,” he sighs, shaking his head. He backs up, blinking away the hot tears in his eyes and he replies with more callousness than he thought he was capable of. “Tell Oberon I don’t care. If he wants me, he can come and talk to me himself. I’m not dealing with a go-between.”

“Gods, will you stop acting like a child?” she spits back. “This is bigger than you and Oberon’s little spat, Puck, and you know it.” He shakes his head and is ready to leave, would have if not for what she said in that critical split-second. “You can feel it too. I know you can.” And that turns him around, almost involuntarily, while Moth mutters, “You haven’t been gone that long.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, ignoring the implication.

“Don’t play stupid, Robin,” she says. She closes the distance between them even more and up close, he can see the desperation etched onto her face, the concern shining in her dark eyes. She grasps his arm tightly, her fingers buried in his jacket, and her touch feels more like a plea. “This realm is different now. It’s not safe anymore, is it? You can feel it, I know you can.” She stares up at him, eyes blazing, and whatever lie he had prepared dies on his tongue.

He has felt it; he’s just chosen to ignore it. Every time the hair on the back of his neck raises, he pretends it’s just the wind. When worry sits like a heavy stone in his stomach, he pushes through it and moves on with his day. And whenever he bolts awake in the dead of night, his nerves sparking like livewires, he tells himself it’s nothing important. He told himself that over and over until it got stale, and it’s only in the past few days it’s become impossible to ignore.

Maybe it’s fate that Moth came to him now.

“Maybe I can,” he mumbles. He pulls his arm out of her grasp, but there’s next to no strength in it. “So what?”

“Then you know this realm is doomed,” she tells him.

“No,” he responds firmly. “No, me and my friends, we have a plan. We’re going to fight these, and we’re going to win. We’ve already defeated some of them before.” A bitter grin cuts across Moth’s face, and when she laughs, the sound is cold and hollow.

“You weren’t always this naive, were you?” she mutters. “Maybe all your time in this realm has done more damage than I thought.” She tosses her head, her hair falling away from her eyes, and crosses her arms over her chest. “You and your friends can try to save this realm. We’re trying to work out what to do if you can’t. That’s why Oberon sent me here.”

“Well isn’t he sweet?” he sighs. “You give the guy too much credit. You always did.”

“He cares about you,” Moth says. Her voice verberates throughout the forest and what’s worse is the conviction in it-so much damn passion in it that it hurts him. “You might refuse to believe it, but he does.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe it,” he mutters. He backs away from her, his fingers fidgeting at his side. His instinct is to tear into her, to remind her of every single thing Oberon has said and done to him to disprove her argument, but he holds it back. He didn’t come here to rub salt into old wounds and she didn’t come here to do so. So he lets the silence linger and clear his head, his pent-up resentment fizzling and fading into background noise. And as he breathes in, slow and deep, he registers what Moth said fully.

“So this plan,” he begins. Her head twitches up when he speaks and what’s more, her mouth turns up into a small smile. He suppresses a sigh, unable to believe he’s actually doing this. “What is it?”

“We don’t know yet,” she confesses. “But there’s a meeting tonight that’ll explain everything. And we want you there.”

“Oh, you do?”

“It’s for all hobgoblins,” she tells him. “And no matter where you go, you’re still a hobgoblin, Robin.” He nods, biting the inside of his cheek, and she studies him carefully, her expression teetering on hopeful. “So… are you coming?”

That’s the question. And when he thinks of his answer, he isn’t thinking of himself, not really, but about Theo. More specifically, he thinks about Theo in Blackwood’s perverted reality. A side effect of getting his real memories back in the perverted world means he remembers everything that happened there too, and more than anything he remembers watching Theo await execution. How he saw the fear on his perfect face, and how he could only stand helplessly with Zelda holding him back lest he run up there himself. He thought he knew what fear felt like before, but watching his boyfriend’s life hang by a thread blew his past away, and there hasn’t been a day since where he hasn’t thought about how close he came to losing him. And with that comes dark things he doesn’t like dwelling on but has to; what if next time he’s not quick enough? What if next time they don’t have magic? What happens if and when Sabrina’s luck runs out? All it takes is one unlucky move, and Theo could pay the price for it.

Besides, a back-up plan can’t hurt, can it?

He closes his eyes, and the image of Theo chained to the church wall flashes in his mind.

“When and where?” he asks flatly, and he opens his eyes just in time to see Moth’s shoulders sag in relief.

“Still working out the finer details,” she tells him. “We know it’ll be late. After midnight, we just don’t have a specific time. Apparently some pixies are being very uncooperative. Why don’t I just come up and pick you up? I take it I just turn left somewhere, follow the faint carnival music and then knock on the scruffiest-looking caravan, right?” she jokes, oblivious to the ugly history she missed.

And unknowingly bringing up the elephant in the room.

He really should contact her more often, if only to avoid moments like this.

“I uh… I actually don’t travel with the Pagans anymore,” he says.

“Oh,” is all she can reply with. She stammers for a bit, confused and curious, until he dismissively waves her hand, his cheeks warming slightly. “Uh… I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, no you’re not.” She doesn’t deny it; she never liked them. Turns out she was right. “It didn’t work out, that’s what happened.” He neatly side-steps everything else. It’s for another time, preferably with alcohol involved. He scratches behind his ear, opting to go for something that might be easier to explain, but probably infinitely more embarrassing. “Yeah I uh… I live with my boyfriend now.”

And just like the word “Oberon” flipped a switch for him, the word “boyfriend” flips a switch for Moth, only in the other direction. Her mouth slowly and steadily falls open, her eyes doubling, tripling in size and a decidedly uncharacteristic squeal emits from her. He wouldn’t have been surprised if birds had started fleeing the area. He laughs though. It feels good, like old times.

“Boyfriend?” she echoes. He nods and she smacks his arm, her own way of congratulating him. He’s glad to see she’s not gotten any weaker. He feels the bruise forming already. “Well look at you,” she sings proudly. “Never thought I’d see the day. What’s he like? Tall, dark, handsome? Romantic hero type? Or did you fall for the bad boy, because if I remember correctly, you do like them rough.”

“He’s not a bad boy,” he tells her. “He’s not. He’s…” He bites his lip. There aren’t enough words for him to describe Theo and certainly not in the time they have. “He’s sweet. And he’s funny.”

“Aw, you’re smitten, Puck,” she teases. “So what is he? Pixie? Sprite? Another hobgoblin? Where’d you even run into him?”

“Slow down, Moth,” he says. “First off, he’s mortal.”

That does put a damper on Moth’s mood. While it is rare, he’s not the first fae creature to love a mortal. He doubts he’ll be the last too. But that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable, at least in the fae folk’s eyes. In Moth’s.

He bites the inside of his cheek, watching her expression darken, and almost wishes he hadn’t said anything.

“Wow,” she breathes. “I take it he doesn’t know-”

“Oh, he does.” He smiles, feeling a sort of smug satisfaction. “He knows all about supernatural worlds. He knows what I am. He just doesn’t mind.”

“Well good for him,” Moth mutters. She stuffs her hands into her pockets and looks up briefly to check the sky, while Robin checks his watch. He still has time before Theo finishes, but he senses Moth might have places to be. “Okay, so I’ll pick you up at your boyfriend’s house, I guess?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “It’s that big farmhouse just outside town. You can’t miss it. I’d give you an address only-”

“Wise move,” she replies. “And what about the boyfriend?”

“You said it’ll be after midnight?” She nods. “Then he’ll be asleep. He won’t be a problem. Neither will his dad.” He shivers and pulls his jacket tiger around him. “He doesn’t need to know about this.”

“Glad to see you haven’t changed that much,” Moth tells him. He wants to ask what she means, but then realises he already knows. He’s not sure how he should take it, and so he lets it go entirely.

“I should go,” he says. “Theo-my boyfriend-he’ll be expecting me.”

“Ah, of course,” she says. “True love waits for no-one.”

“Speaking of true love, have you made a move on Merryweather yet?” he replies, and gets an enormous amount of satisfaction from watching the tips of her ears turn pink. “Well, keep working on it. Maybe I can ask her tonight.”

“Don’t you dare,” she whispers. She clears her throat steps back, her hands shoved into the pockets of her jeans. “I have to go too. Duty calls and all that. You know, being a ‘lackey’ as you put it is harder than it looks. But I’ll come pick you up tonight.”

“I’ll be there,” he replies.

“Cool.”

They stand there for a bit as the silence around them grows awkward and heavy, neither one sure if or when they should leave. There’s still so much unsaid between them, good and bad, but for now they’ve done all they can. When Moth eventually turns to leave, it’s with tiny little finger guns instead of a wave, because of course it is. She couldn’t take something seriously if she tried. She’s a lot like Theo in that way, he just realises. And in some more too. Maybe when it comes to the people he cares about, he has a type.

The sight of her turning away makes him realise, just now, how much he’s missed her. It’s yet another thing he tried to ignore, to forget, but it all comes back and hits him like an arrow shot to his heart. He missed her. For years, it was just her and him against the world, or at least in their minds, and whatever grudges he holds against the rest of the hobgoblins, Moth has always been the exception to that. They have their differences, but for so many years she was his better half. His best friend. It’s anyone’s guess how much of who he is now is owed to Moth. And in that critical moment, he realises that this time he is far less okay with letting her go.

Neither one of them can change what’s happened. They can’t go back to the way they were; they’re both too different now. But this is a second chance of sorts. Maybe they can change their future.

“Hey Moth?” he calls after her.

“Yeah?”

The sunlight catches her hair as she turns, and she looks so much younger then. Like they’re still the kids who chased each other through the forest. He smiles at her and pretends the lump in his throat doesn’t exist.

“It’s good to see you,” he tells her. It’s an understatement, truthfully, but it’s the best he can do for now. She gets it, of course. She huffs a laugh, but the disguise is short-lived and he sees right through it anyways. When she looks at him, it’s not quite a reconciliation, but it’s closer than they were before.

“You too, Puck,” she calls back. He goes to say something else but then she’s gone, the scattered leaves the only evidence that she was ever here in the first place.

#caos ff #chilling adventures of sabrina #robin goodfellow #moth caos #moth #caos #no one: me: writes fanfic about 2 minor characters-one of which only appears in one damn episode #and then ill be shocked when i get little to no feedback on it

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suitetarts · 5 years ago

Text

𝔽𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕘

Pairings: F!Reader/You x The Mandalorian/Din Djarin

Warning: You might die from how cute this is, honestly

Words: 6,984

AO3 Link

A/N: What was going to be a quick fic about the reader teaching Din how to dance became approximately 7k of fluff from Din’s perspective, with sprinkling of angst because this is Din Djarin we’re talking about. I had a lot of fun writing this, let me know what you think. 🥺

In the vast vacuum of space, it felt like one was in a state of unending desynchronosis. The constant hum of the Razor Crest’s yellow lights were a poor substitution for a proper day and night cycle. Stopping on Planet A at midday and going to Planet B to find it was the middle of the night was a daily occurrence. Or, at least as common as days could be when one’s sense of time was as out of sorts as Din’s. As natural as bounty hunting came to a Mandalorian, he was only human and he knew this wasn’t good for him. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt truly rested... But he was used to it.

What he wasn’t used to was travelling with others, namely you and his infant foundling. You two weren't used to his lifestyle either.

Din had been on the run with the kid for about half of a standard year at this point. After Nevarro, after losing Kuiil and IG-11 -- and nearly himself, for that matter --, he had asked Cara to recommend someone he could hire as a crew member. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he knew that he couldn’t continue taking bounty pucks, be a good dad for the kid, and be his own mechanic (for his ship or his body, really) all at the same time. He knew you were iffy about taking such an odd job, and who wouldn’t be?, but Cara insisted that you meet him before saying no. “This one is something else,” she had said, in reference to you. Cara had smirked at Din then, as they sat in the makeshift cantina on Nevarro waiting for you to join them.

Cara was right, too. Din was surprised you said yes; you were an exceptionally good mechanic (it was honestly overkill to have someone like you on crew to maintain a single ship, even one in such poor of health as the Crest), Din saw the adoring look in your eyes when you first saw his adi’ka -- even as you were hedging that look by saying you weren’t a big fan of kids --, and you could use a blaster and defend yourself, among other things. As Cara walked the three of you back to the Crest, the two women had talked about their time in service to the Rebellion, and how you were a dingy mechanic during the day but the military basecamp’s entertainment at night. Cara’s face was red at the memory, which only made Din more curious. Even on that very first day, while he went through the laundry list of buttons and switches to get the Crest into space, you were mindlessly explaining shield generator capacitors to the baby with a gentle sparkle in your eyes like you had been doing this for years. You were the perfect crew member, but…

If anything, in hindsight, Din was disappointed when Kuiil had turned down his offer of a job. He understood and respected the Ugnaught’s decision to remain free, but the idea of having a crew that Din could form coherent thoughts around was something to be envious of. No offense to Kuiil. Your expertise in your craft was one thing, but Din hadn’t expected you to be so… Funny, thoughtful, smart, genuine, and most of all, cute. You were adorable, graceful, attractive in everything you did, even on that first day when you met him covered in oil from your previous job. He could hardly look at you without his face getting hot underneath his helmet, and even though you couldn’t see how flustered you made him, he would flounder all the same. And Din really needed the full use of his mental capabilities at that time, or at least as much as he could muster. He was running on fumes.

With everything that happened on Nevarro, the child hadn’t slept soundly in weeks. He could hardly sleep for an hour or so without being awoken by shrieks and cries coming from the kid in his pram. That was the main catalyst for Din reaching out to Cara to find you. So when you first joined, after meeting with you and Cara on Nevarro and getting the Crest into space, Din was exhausted beyond belief and splayed out weakly in his pilot’s chair. He watched you settle in to the spare cargo cubby hole that was to serve as your room, just across from the cockpit and above the only proper sleeping quarters on the ship -- the one that Din hardly got the chance to use properly. The stars in the window behind him moved slowly as the three of you sauntered leisurely through space. He remembered hearing a faint sigh as you leaned down to pat at the admittedly thin foam pad that was to serve as your bedding. (He made a mental note to get you something better.) You didn’t have much to put away, which was good, considering how little space Din had to give you.

“Mando!” Your exclamation made him realize his heavy eyelids had fallen shut. “Is that how you sleep?” You giggled at him as you walked out.

“I have a bed,” Din huffed.

“Oh yeah? It doesn’t seem like you use it.”

Din gestured at the kid in his pram with a roll of his wrist. “It’s not easy with the baby keeping me up.”

Your eyes softened with something Din couldn’t quite place, and he remembered the heat dusting his cheeks with the way you looked at him. You quickly turned to the kid, and Din was grateful to be out of your view so he could breathe. In hindsight, it was laughable how quickly you had Din under your spell.

You poked at the kid’s chubby cheeks, earning a content chirp. “I’m assuming you’re feeding him, changing his diapers, keeping him clean, and uh…”

After Din didn’t give a reply, you looked back at him to find that he had responded with an incredulous tilt of his head.

“You’re a big boy, use your words.” This was the first time you had said that to him, and in the months that followed, Din noticed that you said this a lot. It got on his nerves, but that only seemed to make you say it more.

He had closed his eyes to calm his temper, but his mouth betrayed a playful smile. “Of course I do those things.”

“Just thought I’d make sure.” You smiled innocently back at him before turning back to the kid, whose light, cheerful babble was in contrast to his adopted father’s dark and dramatic pose which took up nearly the entire cockpit. “Does he have a set schedule?”

“Not really,” Din responded flatly after a moment of silence. “He sleeps when he’s tired, he cries when he needs something else.”

“Babies need a schedule, a rhythm.” You checked the chronometer on your wrist before turning back to the kid. “It’s 22:00-ish in my home city, so that’s good enough. We’re getting you to sleep.”

Din watched as you pulled the kid up and out of the pram, all wrapped in blankets against your hip, and was about to sarcastically wish you good luck before it stuck in his throat.

You had held your free hand out to him.

The blood rushing through his ears was almost unbearable. He was on his feet before his mind could catch up, having not taken you up on your offer.

You mouthed ‘OK’ around an awkward smile before rolling your eyes and pulling your hand back, using it to grab the data pad on your utility belt. As you fiddled with the pad and held the child against your hip, Din stepped back slowly until the back of his knee bumped into the seat of his chair. This cockpit was suddenly too small, and too warm. He looked back at you, at the way you leaned against the doorframe just a tiny bit, at the way your fingers threaded through the baby’s tunic, and he remembers wondering what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

“Here,” you said, pushing the pad and kid into his arms. His adi'ka beamed at him, raising his ears with a coo as you continued to speak. “I pulled up a video the baby might like. Just hold him and watch it with him for a while, until he sleeps.”

Din cocked his head again, not sure if he heard you right. “I’m not going to sleep, we just--”

“It’ll be fine,” you interrupted. “And the baby might sleep better with you.”

“I can’t do that, I have to--”

“You have to sleep.” You looked at him sternly. Too sternly. Din knew his effect on people was generally fear or intimidation, or at the very least curiosity. You didn’t seem scared of him at all and you hadn’t pestered him with questions about his creed. Did you know how dangerous he was? You either didn’t know or you were seeing right through his armor, both options being out of Din’s comfort zone.

The rap of a knuckle on his pauldron pulled him away from his thoughts “Are you listening to me, Mando? I’m just trying to help.” You spoke softly, only just more than a murmur, which caused the tension in Din’s shoulders to ease. You continued with a boast but kept your voice low. “I’m your expert crew. You should trust me.”

Truthfully, he hadn’t been listening and he didn’t trust you (just yet), but he wasn’t about to say that. He didn’t want to make you upset. He rather liked the way your voice sounded when you talked to him like this. Ever the talker, he kept his response short. “I know.”

Your eyes flickered between your fidgeting hands and Din’s visor, the two of you standing like that for what felt like forever, but was really only a brief pause. His right hand twitched ever so slightly when you cupped your mouth to hide a yawn.

You flashed a tired smile before you twirled towards your room on your tiptoes. You practically sang, “Good night, Mando.”

Good night? Din had not been planet-side for longer than a few weeks since he started his, what you could call, career as a solo bounty hunter in earnest about 15 years ago. He was of course accustomed to wishing people good night or morning, but never in space. He’d never had anyone to wish a good.... anything to out here. It was far too lonely, but that’s not to say Din was lonely, he was just....

And by the time that he was back in the moment there with you, ready to wish you a good night on your first night on the ship with him, you had already closed your door. It disappointed him more than he could admit even to himself.

Luckily for Din, every single one of your suggestions proved to be wildly successful. The video you had queued on your data pad was of a couple dancing to some catchy, upbeat tune in a language he didn’t recognize -- which he would later learn was Paldese, your native tongue--, and the kid insisted on watching the video on repeat dozens of times that first “night”. The kid had eventually fallen into a deep, happy sleep in the crook of Din’s arm. Din had slept in his full armor that night, to avoid jostling the baby awake, but even he had gotten an incredibly peaceful five hours after all was said and done. With the imposition of a schedule, Din suffered through the dancing video like clockwork, but the blissfulness of regular sleep was worth every second.

It was… different, life with you and the kid. Different in the best possible way. As the months went on, you had only become more comfortable in your bossy attitude and quips at him, but Din didn’t mind. The jokes at his expense were worth hearing you laugh.

One time, while the Crest was docked on Rodia, you had asked for him to hold up a piece of the ship’s outer hull while you re-welded it to the frame. As Din walked around you, you stuck a leg out and tripped him, his beskar helmet hitting the landing gear of the ship with a comically loud ping. His minor concussion was the last thing on his mind as you writhed on the ground next to where he fell, your body wrapped in on itself as you wheezed and laughed so hard tears came out of your eyes. And then Din’s heart simultaneously fluttered and stopped dead in its tracks when you composed yourself and crawled over to him on your hands and knees, apologizing in that soft tone he liked so much as you wiped your eyes and asked if he was alright.

Din thought about that memory a lot, as well as the time he comforted you in jest when the baby sneezed all over your face, when you squealed under the ice cold water of the Crest’s shower and he couldn’t help but laugh loud enough for you to hear it, and the time he let you paint his nails with a bit of the silver hull paint. He wasn’t keen on the idea, but being so close to you was… intoxicating. Almost as much as, if not more than, the paint fumes.

Din was not the most experienced flirt, but he did his damndest at first to try to make it obvious that there was… something more to you that he wanted to know better. He felt like a teenage boy again; every interaction with you was like wildfire on his skin and taxed his body as if he’d ran a marathon. But it never seemed like you noticed, and he couldn’t help but feel like a fool. Din wasn’t the best conversationalist either, but he was a fantastic listener. He’d taken mental notes of all of your favorite things, and when he bought soap scented with your favorite flowers and washed your bedroll, or made a real home cooked meal with your favorite spice from home, or any of the other things he did out of this indescribable emotion bursting from his chest, you smiled but never seemed to… You weren’t... Din didn’t know what he expected from you. He wanted more, but it seemed like you didn’t.

Yes, a million times yes, Din was happy to have you... as his crew member, he supposed. Any time with you was better than when he was out on a job, even if he couldn’t be as close to you as he wanted. The kid adored you, and you seemed happy, too.

He could hear you at night, the pads of your bare feet echoing off the hollow metal above his head. He had your data pad with him and the kid in his bunk, so you were dancing alone to music playing in your head every night. Din had never been much of a music or dancing or frilly-fun-things-like-that person (no Mandalorian was, as far as he knew), and he had told you as much when you first joined him. He wondered if you intentionally hid your dancing, like you didn’t want to include him… Din tried to not think about sad thoughts like that. You didn’t owe him anything beyond what he paid you for, after all.

But, even if he wasn’t thinking about it, he noticed that you never talked about your dancing with him. Perhaps it was in some attempt to not bore a warrior of his caliber with the details of fine arts, but little did you know, you could never bore him. Din would imagine sitting with you cross-legged on the floor, writing out all of your favorite songs on pieces of paper. One by one, he imagined that you two would pick a song at random, and you would dance for him as he laid back with the kid, maybe even get to hear you sing. It was a self-indulgent dream that Din tried to not dwell on often. But perhaps, if it ever came up in conversation, he could listen to the music that played in your head when you danced. Out of stubbornness or shyness, or something equally stupid, he never asked about any of it.

Every night when he would start the dancing video for the baby, Din would watch carefully even though it was burned into his retinas. This was your video, after all. The dancers twirled and shook and slid to the music, and it was nearly therapeutic, if it wasn’t also so terribly familiar to him after watching it literally thousands of times. Despite the number of times Din had hit the repeat button on your data pad for this cursed video, he would find himself tapping his foot on the metal hull of the ship to the tune. He had grown bold over the months he spent with you and the child, and hoped beyond a hope that you were listening to him when he danced too.

On this “morning”, the kid began the day like most other days: by shrieking or slapping Din’s neck with a slobbery three-fingered hand. He could sleep without the helmet, since the baby was his adiik, but Din learned the hard way that the kid was not opposed to shoving his spit-covered fingers wherever they fit. So, for Din’s sanity and beauty rest, he kept the helmet on.

Din set the baby down on his cot as he went to wake you up and give you back your data pad, as he always did. And as always, he hesitated for a moment as he watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest, before tapping your shin with his foot.

You pulled your face away from your den of blankets, which Din had practically filled your room with to help you sleep better, and smiled up at him. “G’morning, Mando.”

The blackness of space reflected on his helmet like a shadow, but the smile underneath was bright and warm. “Good morning.”

You squirmed in your blankets, your toes nearly brushing his wool socks before you reached the apex of your stretch and sighed. You sat up and held out your hands expectantly, until Din gingerly took hold of your forearms and pulled you out of your soft nest.

As with any morning on the Crest, it was a delicately orchestrated tried-and-true dialogue between the two of you. A touch here, a joke there, a sigh or gentle puff of static through a voice modulator. A step out of line wasn’t illegal or anything serious like that, but… Din wasn’t sure how to act around you outside of this routine you two had happened to fall in to. He didn’t want to push things, to make you uncomfortable. You were always so nice to him and he didn’t want to take advantage of that kindness.

After everyone was awake, Din would do whatever bit of piloting needed to be done -- in this case, on this day, land the Crest in a nondescript shipyard in the jungles of Eriadu -- and then he would cook breakfast for everyone while you idly chatted to the baby. He watched you and the baby eat while the two of you stated your plans for the day, whether it was a bounty, taking this or that apart on the Crest to fix some capacitor or array, an information hunt for the kid, or just a quick jaunt in a market for spare parts or exotic foods.

Today it was the latter, much to your delight.

As you got ready for the day up in the cockpit, Din scarfed down bites of his own breakfast in-between putting on pieces of his armor. He had been here before, to Leun, a hidden smuggler’s city tucked in the wilds. The city was heavily guarded by a cartel of rich merchants who called this place home, and the markets were as lively and diverse and secure as one could find out here in the Outer Rim. It would be a safe place to get out, stretch, and maybe even have a good time.

You stomped once at the top of the ladder. “You decent down there?”

Din found that his hands had slowed down in his thoughts, and quickly shoveled the rest of his food into his cheeks before pulling his helmet back on. He choked the unchewed eggs and peppers down his throat, muffling a weak, “All clear.”

You hopped down into the cargo hold like a loth cat, silent and graceful. Din’s eyes looked over you almost on their own, as if he couldn’t stop himself. Your long hair pulled back into a messy bun, the freckles on your shoulders and arms peeking through the sheer sleeves of your blouse, your skirt giving way to the smooth expanse of your bare thighs --

You bent your head down to meet his visor’s gaze, a laugh bubbling from the lips that were caught in your teeth. “Your big boy words, Mando…,” you gently chided.

Din had to fight back the urge to clear his throat as he turned his attention back to fastening his pauldrons. He was supposed to be honorable, for Maker’s sake. Din thanked his lucky stars that you gave him mercy and didn’t comment further on his stare. Shit, he really hoped you weren’t uncomfortable now. You seemed fine though... His thoughts were racing even faster than when he was looking at you; the way you looked at him, your eyes crinkling from smiling so widely, knowing that he was looking at you, and-- and you weren’t upset? Again, you seemed totally fine? And what ‘big boy words’ did you want him to use--?

He really had to stop thinking so much. He was going to give himself an aneurysm trying to figure you out.

“Let’s go,” Din called out as he opened the hatch and set security protocols with his vambrace. You clamored up to his side almost immediately, with one hand wrapped along the kid’s bottom and the other snaking through the crook of Din’s elbow.

It took everything in him to not melt in that moment, and every moment afterwards. As the three of you walked out of the shipyards and towards the markets, you kept your grip on his arm tight and he did his absolute best to not overthink the gesture and just enjoy himself. When your arm holding the child became visibly tired and Din reached in to take the bundle, his gloved hand brushed the side of your ribs and he sucked in a breath when he could have sworn you leaned into the touch.

Don’t think too much, just have a good time.

When you entered the food area of the markets, and came across a stand that sold massive jellied tauntaun eyeballs, you squirmed, hiding under his arm. Din idly hoped that you would stay there, that he could have his arm on your shoulders as you strolled. But you quickly ducked away, hiding your face from him. The blush on his cheeks only heated up at your sudden shyness.

Don’t think too much, Din.

By the time you and Din were fairly exhausted from all the shopping, flirting, and the ever-present moist heat of the jungle, he rented a small cart to haul back all of the various ship parts, tools, cloth, ammunition, household goods, and consumables the three of you had bought. It was still daylight, but your chronometer had beeped a good hour ago, warning you all that it was getting late as far as your internal clocks were concerned. The cart was fairly heavy, especially with you and the child laying on it and staring up at the colorful and bright canopy above your heads, but Din pushed it along the streets back towards the shipyards with an easy smile playing on his lips all the same.

When you two finished unloading the cart, Din closed up the Crest for the “night” and started the auxiliary engine just to get the climate controls going. The cool, dry recycled air coming out of the vents was a welcome comfort, with Din mindlessly pulling his cape away from his neck for a moment to let the air travel between his heavy layers.

“Uh, Mando?”

Din jumped out of his skin at your voice and nearly strained his muscles to stop his body from dramatically flattening itself to the wall. On the surface though, he seemed as collected as ever as he put the cloth back on his neck and held his hand over his feverish skin. “Yeah?”

You gestured to your utility belt, to the empty holster where your data pad usually sat. “Um….”

A pause, but then he realized what happened. “Shit,” Din sighed, the hand on his neck now serving to support his head as he leaned into it.

“I didn’t even notice. I’m sorry.”

“What? Don’t be sorry…” Din wanted to say more, but it caught in his throat. Sure, your data pad being stolen was kind of shitty, but what made his blood boil was the fact that he didn’t even notice. He had let his guard down too much, and let himself be distracted. You could have been seriously hurt and it was his fault. He wanted to punch the wall, but the last thing he wanted was to frighten you. Or make you fix the dented hull panel. He sighed again, letting his hand fall from his neck lazily. “I should have been watching you more closely. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

Your blank, apologetic face quickly turned up into a shy blushing smile. “Hmm… I think you watched me plenty close, Mando.”

It was as if Din’s brain short circuited and shut down. You had called him out twice now today, held his arm in the markets like the two of you were some sort of... pair? (Was he allowed to say that?), touched him so so much-- This was all more than he was emotionally equipped to handle, honestly. He quickly scrounged his empty helmet for any coherent, relevant thoughts before the blood rushing to his face killed him.

“We’ll need another data pad for the kid. I’ll go back out to the market,” Din rasped. He pried himself off the wall and began to move towards the closed bay door, but a hand pulling on his own stopped him dead in his tracks.

“No…” you started, facing his boots. You looked up at him through your lashes and it surprised him to find you so red. “No, we don’t need the data pad.”

This was the cherry on top of the sundae that was your unscripted touches. Din was undone, unraveled, broken under your tender gaze and warm touch. His hand suddenly ached, the heat from yours seeping through his gloves and straight into his bloodstream, and the only reprieve that felt right was to squeeze. He did so gently, carefully… as if to protect this blessed moment from shattering under his fingertips.

“W-we don’t?” he asked with an uncharacteristic stammer, his mouth suddenly parched.

Hearing and feeling Din’s reaction to your bold and admittedly uncalculated moves gave you the confidence to look at him fully, to take his other hand in yours as well, and to pull him to the middle of the cargo hold. He did so willingly, more than willingly, giving you the reins.

You began to trip over the words spilling out of your mouth at the velocity of a snail, which was very unlike you. “I know you don’t, uh... We could try... Do you want to...?”

Din was anything but frustrated with you, standing here in the middle of his ship with your hands in his and clutched to his chest, his ribs surely getting bruised from the jackhammering of his heart. However, his patience was uncharacteristically thin at the moment, wanting everything you were willing to give as soon as you were comfortable letting him have it, and so he embarrassed himself by squeaking out, “What is it?”

“We could dance like in the video,” you quickly blurted, as if you were thankful for him releasing you from your stammering torment. Din felt you tug at your hands slightly as you hedged your idea, but he didn’t let go. “I know you don’t like that stuff though, I just… I just thought it would be fun. T-to dance with you.”

Din was generally one to think over his words carefully before he spoke, making sure he was getting the right intentions across. He had learned early on in his training with the Mandalorians that silence was a powerful tool, and it became a tool he was expertly acquainted with. But with you, it seemed like Din couldn’t stop unfiltered words from tumbling out of his, well, voice filter.

“Dancing? Th-that sounds nice.”

The way your eyes lit up, the way your tongue peeked out from your wide toothy smile, the way your arms trembled when you squeezed his hands as tight as you could… Din couldn’t breathe all the sudden, and he found himself on unsteady legs.

While Din was letting this all sink in, you were checking over your shoulder that the baby was laying down on his cot and looking at the two of you. Then, you loosely lined your feet up with his for the first steps of the dance.

“Alright, so put your hand here…” You pulled one of his hands down to the high waist of your skirt and, with the other, stretched yours and Din’s arms out to a point. Your voice was steadier now than before, and he realized you were teaching him the steps.

Din all the sudden remembered that he couldn’t dance and that he was about to make a terrible fool out of himself.

As you continued your quick rundown of the dance with you teaching him the man’s steps, a small part of Din wanted to retreat to the cold, solitary comfort of the cockpit. But his pounding head, his fluttering heart, the butterflies in his gut, his feverish skin, his chapped lips, and practically everything else rattling around inside his armor ordered him to stay. You had him there, and despite everything that Din was -- a Mandalorian, a cold-hearted bounty hunter, a murderer even -- he really wanted to know what you felt like in his arms. Were you as every bit as soft, warm, and inviting as you were in his dreams? The idea that Din could have that knowledge in real life was tearing him apart at the seams.

“Do you have the steps down?” you asked, the excitement obvious in your voice. “I’ll start singing once you say yes.”

“In that case, uh...” Din said breathlessly, buying himself a brief moment in an attempt to prevent a heart attack.

You flustered, mistaking his need for a break as unsteady hesitation. “Mando, you-- you don’t have to dance with me if you don’t want to. I’m sorry, I--”

“No, no no,” he murmured. Of its own accord, the hand he had on your shoulder found its way to your jaw, his thumb mindlessly tracing your cheekbone. Din would have been stunned into silence by his own body’s involuntary betrayal, but the way your eyes had watered from just the idea that he didn’t want to be here with you… It had him running on pure instinct, an instinct he didn’t know he had.

“I don’t dance, you know that,” he started, and then subsequently paused as he searched for the right words, which made a strangled sound come out of your chest. Din immediately wanted to kick himself; that wasn’t what he should have said, this is why he needed to remember to think before he started running his mouth. Before he got too wrapped up in punishing himself in his head, he nearly bit his tongue as he quickly finished his thought, “B-but I want to! I want to. I want to dance with you.”

“Fuck’s sake, Mando,” you whimpered weakly, pushing him away but keeping your grip on his shoulders tight. You pulled him back in after a second, but even closer, until your chest was pressed against Din’s cool beskar and your hands clasped a hair's-width away from the nape of his neck. It wasn’t a tight, flush press or anything scandalous like that, but he was rigid as a board regardless. He had been overwhelmed a hundred times over today, and it appeared that you weren’t done shocking his system quite yet.

“Loosen up, this is supposed to be fun,” you scolded playfully.

“I am loose,” Din muttered defensively, rolling his shoulders underneath your forearms to prove his statement. You didn’t seem as convinced as he’d hoped you’d be when you rolled your eyes at him. His face was nearly in pain with how much he’d been smiling, and it only got wider at your silent rebuke. He added in a whisper, barely loud enough to be caught by his helmet, “... and I am having fun, really. I’m… I’m ready when you are.”

You pulled your lips between your teeth as you closed your eyes at his voice, the happiness too much for you to contain as you took in a few deep breaths. Din took the opportunity to breathe as well; he found that he kept holding the air in his chest with every little thing you did to him.

With your eyes still closed, you sang the first word and made the first step at the same time, pulling at Din to take the lead. He recognized the song immediately, which wasn’t surprising, but it sounded so… new. The data pad made everything sound tinny, the singer was a deep baritone, the instruments were intense, and the footfalls of the dancers were annoyingly loud. The way you sang this song -- with Paldese lyrics he could sing himself (if he dared), after the thousands of times he listened to it for the baby, but had never bothered to search the meaning of -- was slow, quiet, and romantic. The dance, which was a fast-paced cavort that required a wide open space, was slowed down and achingly intimate to meet the tempo of your voice.

Din wasn’t a very good dancer, as he expected. He should have taken off his boots, as he’d stepped on your feet a couple times already, and he was missing steps more often than he remembered them, but you didn’t seem to mind. With a wide, mischievous smile on your face, you guided his resting arm to your shoulders and held onto him by his waist, leading the dance fully. Din could have sworn that his cheeks could be used as a cooking skillet when he realized what you did, but you couldn’t see his embarrassment and you didn’t seem to mind or have issues with taking the lead… And if he was being honest with himself, this was fine. More than fine. Fantastic, great, even. But even those words failed to match how he felt. He was lighter than air as you sang to him and led him through the dance, and it was everything he’d ever wanted in all the time that he’d known you.

After what felt like a blissful eternity of yours and Din’s bodies moving together to the soft intonations of your voice, you sang the last note of the song, holding on until your voice faltered and your chest fell with more than just an exhalation of air. He saw it on your face and he felt it too: the slightest tinge of sadness to what was otherwise the best five minutes or so of his life, because those five minutes were over. You two held onto the embrace for as long as you dared, lungs heaving to catch up despite (or because of?) the intimately slow dance you shared. Din was speechless as he searched your eyes for any indication that he should let go, because Maker knows he didn’t want to.

His body decided the answer to that unspoken question when the baby made a noise -- a sudden reminder that there was anything else in this galaxy outside of the warmth of your skin separated from his own by only the leather of his glove -- and he involuntarily jolted away from you towards his cot. The dance over, the trance broken, the moments shared between you and him only another memory for Din to revisit in his head…

He turned towards the baby in a sense of duty, the only thing keeping him from running to you and pulling you close once more. The child was sleeping, which only proved to make Din feel worse even though it was why you two had danced in the first place. He looked back over at you -- still frozen where he had left you in the middle of the cargo hold -- with a sigh and a tired shrug in his shoulders.

You relaxed at his sigh, slouching forward with a chuckle. “I guess it’s bedtime.”

‘Only if you want it to be,’ he wanted to say.

What Din actually said was much more predictable, succinct. “...Yes.”

You blushed and smiled at him before ascending to the cockpit and your room, but he caught a look in your eye of something else. Like he had said what you expected, but not what you hoped for.

Din dwelled on that look as he freed himself from his armor. He found his skin underneath to be cold, sweaty, and prickled with goosebumps. Whether it was from you or the climate controls, he couldn’t be sure, but it was definitely not as hot in the Crest as it had been (or as Din hoped it would be)… It was going to be more difficult for him to control his thoughts, wasn’t it?

When Din finished up, he found himself stuck. The kid was in the center of the cot and there was no way he was going to be able to maneuver himself into a comfortable position without waking the baby up. Din wasn’t about to risk it either, since he was sans your data pad and he didn’t have the emotional energy to ask you to dance with him again just yet.

He opted to sleep in his pilot’s chair. It was better than sleeping on the floor’s metal grates, and he could darken the visor on his helmet so that the light from the windows wouldn’t keep him awake. And… and it was closer to you, although that was only a tertiary bonus.

Din quietly climbed up the ladder and stalked over to the pilot’s chair, slightly dragging his feet so that his footfalls were muffled by his socks. Your door was still closed, so far so good. He set himself down in the chair slowly so that he could lean into where he knew the creaks and squeals would be. It was a valiant effort on his part to not bother you, but he quickly found that he’d failed when your door slid open, your head and shoulders peeking out from your nest of blankets.

“Mando?”

Din sighed and stood up, not trying to hide the loudness of his damned chair as he released it from his weight. He spoke in a whisper as he walked towards your door, and crouched so that he was at eye level. “Sorry, I didn’t want to move the kid. Or sleep on the floor.”

His tone indicated a thinly veiled attempt to get an invitation from you, although the second it came out of his mouth he wanted to stab himself. Thankfully, you were too sleepy to catch onto his forward advance.

“Ah, well… I never did thank you, for dancing with me,” you murmured shyly, hiding between the blanket and your eyelashes as you spoke. “It was… really nice.”

Having just mentally mutilated himself over his unfiltered words to you, Din paused to think of an honest and dignified response. How was he supposed to be a dignified Mandalorian when he wanted to rip off his helmet and lay down with you, though? How was he supposed to put his feelings to words, when those feelings would surely scare you off?

Din didn’t notice it at first, but your eyes flitted back and forth between where you thought his eyes were, your shoulders inching up with bold anticipation with each sweep of your irises. You finally couldn’t take it anymore, jumping forward and kissing his helmet where you thought his cheek would be. You quickly slunk back into the safety of your blankets, your face pure red and stretched taut with an unmistakably impish and flirtatious smile.

Din’s first response was to freeze, which paradoxically went against all of his training and expertise as a Mandalorian warrior. Then, he felt the ghost of a touch where your lips would have landed, and the swelling of his chest threatened to bring tears to his eyes. His bare fingertips traced the receding warmth of your kiss on his beskar.

“Use your big boy words, Mando.”

Din tried to form a comprehensible thought that could even vaguely be relevant, but even just words by themselves weren't coming to him.

“It’s okay, big guy,” you cooed, wrapping your hand around the door. You pulled the edges of your mouth apart in a sort of excited terror as you added on, “I like you, too. Good night.”

The sunlight reflected off his helmet, turning the dull yellow of the jungle sun into fractals of shimmering rainbows against your skin as you pulled your door closed. Before your door shut completely, Din made sure you heard him as he softly wished you “Good night.”

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heyitsn1kk1 · 5 years ago

Text

Nameless Pt. 1

Nameless

Part 1: The Deal

Synopsis: a nameless assassin for hire finds herself in a tight spot after a hunt gone wrong. Stranded on Navarro with no fuel and no credits she’s forced to make a deal with one of the galaxy’s most feared warriors: a Mandalorian.

* Note this story takes place a year or two before the events of The Mandalorian

* Also it’s going to be a slow ass burn

——————————————————————————

So far so good.

Everything was going according to plan. The mission was simple enough. Seduce this wealthy snob, get him into a room alone, then proceed to stick a knife into his throat.

But I’ve been in the business long enough to know that things rarely go this smoothly. In fact I was quite suspicious as to my good fortune.

“Mira... why don’t we head back to my room? I’ve got some Cloothian Spirits on ice.”

That’s my cue.

“How can I say no to that Mr. Harker?”

The profoundly round man offered me his fleshy arm. I linked my arm with his slowly and purposefully, some might even say sensually. I could practically feel him buzzing with excitement over what sharing those drinks in his bedroom entailed.

This entire night I’ve been displayed as this wealthy contractors arm candy under the alias Mira Remell, and I had about enough of it.

Patience was a necessity in my line of work but this man was an utter bore. Sometime I get prey that I can immediately connect with. We could talk for hours, sometimes I even purposefully dragged out the mission longer just so I can get to know a bit more about them. This man however could only talk about food and booze. I can appreciate both but not to the sickening extent this man could. To say I was eager to kill him was an understatement.

After a lengthy walk filled with monotonous conversation Mr. Harker finally led me into his room. It was lavish, as to be expected, though not the most lavish I’ve seen.

I took a seat on his bed as he poured us our drinks.

“So Mira, have you had a spirit like this before? It’s of the highest quality. From what I’ve heard the Cloothians ferment these high altitude berries for centuries to make this drink we are about to enjoy.”

“Fascinating isn’t it? What goes into making life worth living.”

I was met with a nasally chuckle.

“I have everything that makes life worth living right here.”

That was cheesy.

He handed me the drink but not before slipping a hand behind my back, trying to undo my dress.

Someone’s a little over eager.

“Is that so Mr. Harker?”

I said in a low soft voice so he had to lean in closer to hear me. I slowly reached for knife I kept strapped onto my inner thigh.

He was about to plant a wet kiss on my lips when the door suddenly opened.

“What the hell! Ever heard of knocking you fucking dim wits?” Mr. Harker raged. Immensely angered over the interruption.

“Sir we have reason to believe you are in danger. Our intel reports that an assassin is here to kill you tonight.”

I knew things were going too smoothly.

“Nonsense! Why would anyone want me killed?”

That’s easy. Your son wants his inheritance before you keel over from over eating.

“Sir please, we are to place guards outside and in your room to ensure your safety.”

Better get this done quick then.

“I’m a little busy at the moment if you couldn’t tell!”

“I’m afraid they are right dear. Someone is here to kill you tonight.” I say sweetly before swiftly drawing my dagger and slashing it across his throat.

Piping hot blood splattered over my face and chest. As planned the guards were too shocked by the sight of blood that I easily slipped past them, booking it down the hall to the resort’s exit.

I hope my client takes news coverage as proof of death.

It was only a few seconds later that I heard one guard crashing after me yelling at me to stop. Blaster fire shot passed me as I rounded a corner. I took the stairs down by flights, pretty impressive considering I was wearing heels and a tight gold sequined dress.

In no time I had exited the building and was making a beeline for my ship: The Regalia.

I practically threw myself into the cockpit and starting up the engines.

“Come on come one I gotta get my ass outta here.”

The Regalia’s engines roared to life and I swiftly nosed the ship out of the dock. I was preparing to make a straight shot out of the atmosphere when I saw 3 police droid ships heading my way.

Never a dull moment is it.

I gassed my ship, blasting myself forward. The droids followed me. As fast as The Regalia was I didn’t have a chance in hell of making it off this planet by roaring past them, I had to get them off my tail first.

I weaved in and out between towering mega skyscrapers, swiftly losing the droids.

As soon as a path opened up I took it, flooring it I made straight for the stars.

I was about to enter hyperspace until a blaster bolt hit my ship. Immediately red light started flaring and alarms sounded.

I frantically pressed a few buttons to get a diagnostic check.

Shit my hyperdrive was damaged.

But I was in hyperspace at the moment... meaning. I pulled a lever to disengage but nothing happened. I tried a second and third time. Nothing.

Well fuck.

Unless I did something I’d be stuck in hyperspace until my fuel ran out... meaning I would be stranded probably beyond the known galaxy.

The next hours were spent in pure panic. Lucky my original location was in the inner rim so I had a considerable amount of time to correct this unfortunate situation.

I flipped through my owners manual frantically, finally finding a bit of useful information. A pivotal structure that the hyperdrive couldn’t operate without: a single cable. Lucky I would be able to reach this from inside the ship. The bad news, it would cost a fortune to fix.

I’m not really given any other choice here.

So I sucked it up, grabbed my dagger, and went to work.

It took a couple minutes to saw through the cable but once I did my world came to a hurdling stop.

I rushed back to the cockpit still sweating bullets. I needed to figure out where the hell I was.

The closest planet to me was Navarro. From what the database said about the planet there really wasn’t much too it... except it was an outer rim planet crawling with bounty hunters.

Oh joy.

However I had no other options as my fuel was running desperately low. I’ve never been to the outer rim but there’s a first time for everything.

—

I somehow managed to land my poor Regalia in a dusty landing port. As I exited my ship I noticed right away that it was the nicest docked.

I had a plan... sort of. I needed credits, desperately. Since this planet was riddled with bounty hunters I was hoping to get a piece of the action. I’m an assassin, not a bounty hunter. My quarry never leaves alive when I’m done with them. But I guess aside from that fact it’s not to different... right?

Also since my ship was out of commission I needed a ride. And since I had no credits to borrow one that meant I needed to work with someone with a ship.

My best bet was to find a cantina where guild members got their assignments. I just hope that at least one of them is willing to let me on board.

I’m sure I looked like a mess. But frankly I didn’t want to spend any more time on deck as I spent the last 3 hours or so panicking in there. I was still wearing my golden cocktail dress, my hair was for sure in disarray, and I probably still had blood splattered all over me. I had put on my old cloak in hopes to cover up the mess.

Like that’ll do any good.

I made my way into a dimly lit cantina that was filled to the brim with shady looking bounty hunters. I really should have changed as I stuck out like a sore thumb. Despite the blood and wild hair I was the most done up person here.

I made my way to the bar and took a seat.

“Just water please.”

It was all I could presently afford.

The bartender grumbled in disapproval and quite rudely slammed my drink onto the counter.

“Thanks”

I took a sip before looking around, my hand instinctively going to my concealed dagger as I was met with malicious faces.

None of these people seem promising.

So I waited. Eavesdropping on every conversation I could but nothing piqued my interest. That is until a Mandalorian walked into the room.

All eyes seemed to be on him. Some with fear, some with admiration, but most with distain.

The Mandalorian made his way to the guild leader, from what I heard his name was Greef Carga, dropping a pile of fobs onto the table.

“Nice work Mando!” Carga said as he dragged the collection of fobs towards him.

“Please have a seat.”

The Mandalorian unclipped a rifle that was nearly as tall as me off his back and settled down.

“So I’m assuming you want some more jobs huh?”

The Mandalorian said nothing but Carga carried on as if a reciprocal conversation was happening.

“Well you’re in luck, I’ve got 5 real good ones.”

He placed five bounty pucks onto the table along with their corresponding fobs.

Without even looking at them the Mandalorian said “I’ll take them all.”

I was caught off guard by the smooth baritone of his voice modulated by his helmet. It was oddly alluring.

“Hey now you aren’t the only one in the guild! I have to save some for the rest of the guys!”

The Mandalorian just gave him a pointed look somehow with that helmet on.

“Fine fine, but only know I let you do this because you’re my favorite Mando.”

The Mandalorian was about to take the collection and leave before Greef Carga said “Hold up, I have to warn you about this one job.”

Carga grabbed a puck out of the pile and initiated the display.

A young Mon Calamari showed up.

“Krath Wilgi, a Nobel men’s son. Not sure what he has a bounty on him for but the guy’s paranoid. He’s hold up in some fancy mid rim hotel with a squad of mercenaries guarding him. Not that I doubt your abilities Mando but this might be a bit much for just one person. Plus you’d be out of your element on such a... developed planet.”

“I’ll be fine.” Was all the Mandalorian said before making a motion to leave.

Suddenly I had an idea.

“Wait!” I jumped out of my seat and strode over to the table the two were sitting at.

Two sets of eyes, one behind a beskar helmet, bored into me.

Time to work my charm.

“Forgive me for eavesdropping gentlemen but I overheard that a certain bounty might give you some trouble.”

I really wish I didn’t look like such a complete mess right now but I’ll have to make due.

“As it so happens my specialty is dealing with rich men holed up behind their security.”

I turned to the Mandalorian, directly addressing him.

“I don’t doubt your abilities for a second Mandalorian but it doesn’t hurt to avoid a waste of ammunition and avoidable danger. With that armor of yours you aren’t exactly subtle. I can get past those mercenaries and deliver the quarry right to you.”

The Mandalorian said nothing, giving no indication to how he felt about the prospect.

“Besides mastering the art of subtlety I’m also pretty good with a blaster and even better with a blade. So you wouldn’t have to worry about me dragging you down.”

Still nothing.

“I’m assuming you’d want something in return right dear?” Carga piped in.

I turned my head towards him before I answered.

“Naturally of course. Obviously I’m not from the outer rim. I need some credits to get me back home. I just need enough for some repairs for my ship as well as enough fuel to get me back to the inner rim.”

“What got you stranded here in the first place.” That strangely alluring voice said.

I turned back to the Mandalorian a bit shocked that he actually spoke.

“Let’s just say a serious of... unforeseen circumstances happened. My hunt didn’t go exactly as planned.”

“How do I know this bad luck of yours won’t follow me?”

Prick.

“Bad luck? If my luck was bad I wouldn’t be alive now would I?”

All I got was a scoff in response.

“Look, I’m good at what I do. All I’m asking for is enough credits to cover my trip back to the inner rim.”

“I took more than one job, you’d be stuck with me for the other ones as well.”

“That’s fine by me.” I say my voice dripping with sultriness.

It usually worked on most men but the Mandalorian seemed to be an outlier.

“Deal?” I tentatively said offering this ‘Mando’ my hand.

For a few seconds nothing happened. I was about to dejectedly withdraw my hand before his finally reached out and griped mine.

“Deal.”

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #dyn jarren #dyn jarren x reader

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zachvillasource · 5 years ago

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interview | zach villa - schonmagazine.com

As the infamous Night Stalker, Iowa-born actor Zach Villa is a chaotic evil in the latest series of American Horror Story. Entitled AHS: 1984, the show plays off the hopes and tropes of the 1980s, incorporating elements from films like Friday the 13th and Halloween into a spine-tingling thrill ride. The chief villain of the series is Villa’s Richard Ramirez, a reality-based serial killer set on making the lead characters’ lives a living hell — quite literally.

In real life, however, Villa is an obvious contrast. A multihyphenate with a strong career across a range of disciplines, he first caught the attention of the mainstream from his collaboration with Evan Rachel Wood in the project Rebel and a Basketcase. Now, as AHS: 1984 keeps audiences around the world thoroughly spooked, Villa opens up to Schön! about growing up in Iowa, his willingness to collaborate with Taylor Swift, and the unexpected call that announced his role on American Horror Story.

How did you get your start in acting?

Well, I’ve been on stage since I was two, so the whole shebang started quite early. Acting, oddly, was an afterthought when I first started. I had been dancing and singing on stage for years, idolising great song-and-dance performers like Gene Kelly, Donald O’ Connor, and Sammy Davis Jr. when it occurred to me that I should probably focus on learning the craft of acting if I wanted to continue pursuing that particular path in the entertainment industry. I had focused intensely on two out of the three “triple threat” disciplines, so I guessed it was time that I figured out the third part. It was an accessory to being able to perform musical theatre roles more effectively, and I guess that backfired in a sense and became a more central focus as I developed.

Iowa isn’t the most common birthplace for a big-time actor. What does your family — and presumably other Midwestern relatives — think of your journey into Hollywood?

They are both thrilled and confused. Don’t get me wrong — my family is very happy for me, and while we have had our spats over the years about whether or not I should be pursuing a highly volatile, financial unstable career, they have ultimately come through and rooted for me and my success.

That being said, I think pursuing a career in the mainstream entertainment industry is a very singular experience. Unless you’ve lived it and hit the pavement in NYC, L.A., etc., it’s very hard to understand the day-to-day struggles of a performing artist. I think that certain regions of the country are — generally — a majority of media consumers as opposed to creators, and there is a disconnect between the public and those of us pursuing an arts career that propagates the fallacy of things being easy and breezy, since you don’t have to get up every day at 6 AM, go to the office, and then come home and make dinner. People see that lack of structure as undisciplined and fancy-free. Let me tell you, it’s anything but. Artists have to hit the pavement in a very different way that is highly varied from day to day, and that uncertainty introduces a unique kind of stress, in addition, to actually trying to be good at your job. I always say that booking work is my “job” as an actor, and when I actually book a gig, that’s where the job ends and the craft and career begins. Translating that to someone without firsthand experience can be infuriatingly difficult.

Where were you when you found out about landing AHS: 1984 and the scope of your role? What did you do?Who did you call first?

I was in the studio recording an audiobook — one of the many ways that this particular actor has been able to supplement their income, and it has been such a gift. I was waiting on the call, and I stopped narrating mid-sentence — much to the puzzlement of my audio engineer — and picked up. I got the news, opened the door of the vocal booth and leaned against the front wall, sliding down to a sitting fetal position, and started to tear up. I called a few close friends and family and walked around for the better part of an hour mildly freaking out. The studio staff secretly went and bought a bottle of champagne down the street, and after I finished my page quota for the day they surprised me with a toast. Then everything in my life became a blur.

Of course, without spoiling anything, what can you tell us about your role as Richard Ramirez in AHS: 1984?

Oh, that’s a very difficult question. Richard Ramirez was a real person. I am playing a character that shares his name and is informed by him and his history. Beyond that, you’ll just have to wait and see.

What was the most memorable moment from shooting the series?

I can’t say my absolute favourite without revealing secrets! But I’ll say that the encounter with the hiker in episode two was quite “fun” — if you can call pretending to murder someone “fun.” The makeup and FX team on the show is the best in the biz, and the blood rig that was used in that scene was just wild. It was messy and crazy, and [there was] high pressure to get it right in one take, and I loved it.

What’s your method for getting into character, both in the weeks and moments leading up to a shoot or performance?

I have to play these cards close to the chest. Some of it is instinct. I just feel as though I am inside the character’s head at some point after spending enough time with the material, but it’s different with each role.

Sometimes I need to know how they sound, sometimes it’s historical research. It’s ALWAYS spending an exorbitant amount of time with the script — that’s the golden rule for me. Whether its Shakespeare or the 200th episode of Friends, you have to start with the text as an actor, and the most minute differences in phrasing, punctuation, word choice, etc. are clues to how this person operates as a human being and in the world. I always come back to the text. Any other secret sauce that I do I’ll keep secret for now.

What’s been the most challenging part of playing a character like this?

I’ll modify the question to ask what’s the most important part of playing a character like this… and that, I think, is being able to let it go at the end of the day — which I don’t always succeed in doing. Sometimes after an intense shoot it takes me a minute to let go of the energy I was carrying around on set. I pride myself on being able to flip in and out, but that is challenging from time to time for me on this particular project.

If you could only watch one film and one television series for the rest of your life, which would you choose?

The Back to the Future Trilogy for movies and Battlestar Galactica for TV. Nerd alert.

Apart from acting (and dance) you’re also well-versed in music. How did you begin as a musician?

The same time that I started hearing it, so very, very early. Growing up with a dance studio attached to your house, you hear a lot of very diverse music over the years. That all seeped into my subconscious, and I was writing full-on symphonies in my head walking through the woods in Iowa when I was seven or eight years old. Mind you, I didn’t have the skills to put that into writing or notation — and still don’t, not for the symphonies anyway.

I learned how to read music by playing the violin in elementary school. I didn’t pick up a guitar or actually start producing original music in any tangible way until my junior year at Interlochen Arts Academy. There, my roommate Filip — a wildly talented self-taught metal guitarist and visual arts student from Macedonia — taught me things here and there, and I also taught myself by ear. The Internet, man.

Who are some other musicians with whom you’d like to collaborate?

St. Vincent. Top of the list. Blink 182 — a childhood dream. Jimmy Eat World. John Mayer but only if he lets me be in his next ridiculous green screen music video. Mac Ayers, Tears For Fears, Snail Mail, and oh, I dunno… Taylor Swift. Come at me.

Who are your biggest musical inspirations? And what have you been listening to lately?

Biggest? That’s tough because it changes with each project. Tower of Power is a huge influence for me. My first band was funk-based, and man, they are so groovy. If you don’t know, now you know go listen to them. St. Vincent. Jimmy Eat World. And, regardless of the drama surrounding this artist from time to time, John Mayer. He really is one of the great guitarists of our generation, and more importantly, the songwriting that he produces is top-notch. I’ve learned a lot from diving deep into his material over the years. Miles Davis, and jazz in general, is huge for me. Brain fuel. Listening lately to Sleater-Kinney’s new record, Knuckle Puck, and a lot of 2000s pop-punk.

What else can we look forward to from Zach Villa — be in 2019, 2020 or later?

World domination.

The track on the video content [for this shoot] is the first single — a tease if you will — of my new solo project. Go check it out. My band Sorry Kyle will be dropping a ton of music over the next few months if you’re into punk and emo.

And that’s just music. Acting-wise, post-AHS I’m waiting to see what comes down the pipe. I’m always creating. I want to be fluid in music, movement, film and TV, directing, etc. There’s no time like the present and the present is, well, now. So hang on tight.

#zach villa #ahs cast #american horror story #ahs 1984 #interview #photoshoots #*

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andrewuttaro · 5 years ago

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New Look Sabres: GM 12 - DET

One day my children will ask me what it was like to watch Jake McCabe in his prime. They’ll ask me: Daddy, how did our hero block shots so much and still have the strength to score goals and wreck fools? I’ll tell them it was the enduring power of the crossed swords crest and they’ll be Sabres fans forever. I’ll also tell them the Buffalo Sabres really turned the page from the dark days when they started responding. Responding to what, daddy? Losses, child: when they decided to start following losses, ugly losses, with shutout wins every single time, that was when they really turned the page. Speaking of the pages of history: I’ve been diving into the Buffalo Sabres 50Years Special Section of the Buffalo News for a couple weeks looking at their most historic games. I was prepared to default to that list for my reoccurring segment “Greatest Game Against” after each divisional matchup. When I put it out on twitter however I got some real beauties including a submission from @RegalMoustachio (Dan Ball) that is… for lack of better phrasing: Very 1980s. Allow me to paint you a picture: it’s December 23rd, 1987. Christmas is only a couple days away. Ted Sator is Head Coach and Phil Housley is the top defenseman (mind you Lindy Ruff is the Captain of this team) for a Sabres club mired in mediocrity for closing in on a decade. Sabre Kevin Maguire takes a run at Red Wings goalie Zach Stefan after Sabres goalie Tom Barrasso had apparently taken a fist in the shnoz earlier in the game. Here’s the link () go watch it, I can’t do it justice. For the next five minutes after the hit on Stefan it just escalates and escalates. Eventually Bob Probert fights Maguire and it got ugly. I don’t mean to glorify fighting but dear lord, watch that highlight and tell me that doesn’t color the history between these two teams. Last night’s game was Jake McCabe’s revenge game. He was taking revenge on all us nerds who said he’s not an absolute G. Sure he’s no Rasmus Dahlin, but he puts the Buff in Buffalo Sabres. And he did it in a game we really needed it. For the third time this season they responded to a loss with a win. For the second time this season they responded to a loss with a shutout win. For the first time this season my man Linus Ullmark has a shutout!

I was at Frightworld in Tonawanda for the entirety of this game, but the early returns clearly tended toward a snooze-fest. It appeared the Red Wings were dominating that telling statistical categories like 5 on 5 scoring chances and expected goals. They dominated the most basic statistic that is shots for the first period as they got doubled up 12-6. Luckily there were no goals against. You see a period like that and you kinda expect the worst. I went on record before this game and said if they don’t demolish the Red Wings then the first rant of the season from yours truly was coming. That rant was being prepared as I walked through the Storm Area 51 house fearing the Sabres would lose to two bad teams two nights in a row more than the face-panted acting students jumping out at me. Unfortunately we got another Rasmus Dahlin stinker this first period. I feel like I said everything I needed to say about Dahlin’s sketchy play lately after the Rangers game, but I didn’t say what I wanted to change other than don’t give over turnovers, bud. What I probably would’ve asked for occurred: Henri Jokiharju was moved up to Dahlin’s pairing and they had quite a bit more chemistry than Dahlin and Colin Miller had. In spite of that roster move, Dahlin was trying to move the puck out of the defensive zone and somehow yielded it right to Andreas Athanasiou. Athanasiou took a shot, got in back and passed it to another guy who almost out maneuvered a stick-less Ullmark. Luckily that was the worst it got in the first… well other than that Valtteri Filppula breakaway in the first five minutes… ugh, we were really lucky to survive that period scoreless weren’t we? Yikes.

The Red Wings are a team you’re not allowed to lose to. They’re like the Ottawa Senators, they’re biggest goal right now is to get a high-first round draft pick. They have real NHLers in the minors. Detroit has a team caught between then and now. You got the ghost of Niklas Kronwall on one line and USA Hockey Magazine poster boy Dylan Larkin on another. Evidently they’re taking one more dip in the tank in this year’s spicy good draft and so you have to beat them because frankly they want you to! Both the lines of REO Speedwagon and the Roaring Twenties had their chances through the first half of this game but how are you being out-chanced by the Red Wings! How? I very well could go on a rant but kinda like the night before I just have too many early good feels about this team right now to rant at em after a win. To their credit they actually got more shots and high-danger chances in the second period. All the while Jake McCabe is blocking shots like and absolute hero. And so it was his time to be the star before any of the big names that have found their way onto this club: Eichel gets knocked to the ice after laying a hit on Tyler Bertuzzi and Jake McCabe gets the puck near the Wings blueline and thinks for a moment. He decides to take the shot and it zings right past Jimmy Howard into the net for the first goal of the game. 1-0 Sabres with 8:20 left in the second. Buffalo finally had some good play for the remainder of the period including almost another goal from McCabe. Almost. Either way Jake McCabe became my Hard-Working again this game. He’s one of those phenomenons in cities like Buffalo where the populace just canonizes players they deem tough and diligent. I understand he’s not actually that good as anything more than a role player. That’s fine. Let’s celebrate the role players too because we’re winning games we don’t look so hot in because of them right now.

The third period was rowdy. So we’ve established Dylan Larkin is hot stuff. Evidently on a tanking team he takes on the role of penalty drawer. He gets Kyle Okposo for interference; he gets Colin Miller for tripping; watch the replays that data wasn’t all that convincing to me. No amount of powerplay time could save his team now though. The Sabres got a powerplay after Trevor Daley high-sticked Kyle Okposo and the mercenary unit that is this team’s powerplay that we fell in love with in the first six games came back with a vengeance. With all the video replay powers of modern technology I still don’t think I have enough angles on the absolute gem of a goal Sam Reinhart tapped in. It went from Jeff Skinner to Jack Eichel to Victor Olofsson to Sam Reinhart parked in front of the net and in. It was a thing of splendor and maybe one of those goals we look back on months from now. I mean… Jimmy Howard definitely botched that one hard but nonetheless the 2-0 goal here for the Sabres was just beyond magnificent. Unfortunately that goal deserved better than this game. For the remaining 18+ minutes Larkin went on drawing penalties, getting shots and Detroit never looked out of it. You look at 2-0 box score and think that may have not required a herculean effort from a goalie, this one did. Linus got his pad or a stick or a blocker on so many shots this game. He earned his first shutout of the season blocking 41 shots! That’s only 6 shy of the shots blocked Hutton got in his shutout Tuesday that earned him an NHL star of the week honor. I love Ullmark but he shouldn’t have had to do that much work against Detroit. This is a game the Sabres should have dominated a bit more than they did. They could not manage the clean zone exits and entries they did in the very early going of this season and had Detroit not skated around wasting minutes on end on offense then this game could’ve turned out differently. Nonetheless this one ended 2-0 Sabres and our squad improved to 9-2-1 leaving only one game left in October against a very hot Coyotes squad. Isn’t it nice to think at the absolute worst they’ll end this month 9-3-1? Crazy times we live in, eh?

A couple notes before we turn wholeheartedly into Buffalo Bills mode tomorrow: Sabres Stats tweeted in his 164 games as Sabres coach Phil Housley got them 5 shutouts while in 12 games as Head Coach Ralph Krueger has already gotten them 3. That’s a stat that one might call almost worthless, the Robin Lehner years were fraught but there is a grain of something telling in there. I also share the sentiment of many Sabres fans that a Skinner-Eichel reunion feels necessary at this point. “Skinhel” as I’ll call that combo because I’m feeling spooky, is something that can be unleashed like the blue shell powerup in Mario Cart. You use it when you really need to save your ass. We’re not to that point yet but I too feel that temptation. Before we warp this up your reply guy tweet of the game goes to none other than NHL Commissioner Gary Bettman who when asked about the efficacy of the current playoff format responded: “We think the format works well… unless you’re a Leafs fan.” BURN! That burn was so hot it just ensured it’s going to be a mild winter in southern Ontario! I can say for myself that such a comment is immediately my favorite Gary Bettman quote of all-time. There’s no beating that. Like, share and comment this blog as you go about your Saturday fun. I have nothing to say about the Coyotes Monday night other than maybe don’t let em get every shot they want like Detroit did last night. They will probably make you pay more often than not. Let’s Go Buffalo!

Thanks for Reading.

P.S. What are you looking to about the trip to Sweden for the Global Series? I am so not used to my sports teams getting fun opportunities like that. I don’t know how to get pumped for it.

#buffalo sabres #hockey #blog #NHL #detroit red wings

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