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wonderbias · 1 year ago

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Bang Bang (My Baby Shot Me Down) - Chapter One

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Visenya Targaryen)

Warnings: MDNI, +18, language, violence, manipulation, sexism (style a la medieval), blood, angst, kinda dark?, kinslayer Aemond.

AN: The dividers are from @itbmojojoejo. Their work is awesome, and they make one of the prettiest dividers I've seen. Any questions/asks/any kind of message, feel free to contact me. Enjoy!

Dearest daughter, I've accepted the terms. You are right, as always, and this war will only lead to more losses. I cannot say that your father is of the same opinion, but I managed to convince him. We've lost too much…and I am a selfish woman, I cannot bear to lose another one of my children. I'll be seeing you in two weeks and I only pray for the time to go by faster. All my love for you, my sweet girl. Mother.

Visenya, All is fucked, sister. Mother and Daemon are devastated, she took the only thing that kept him away from his grief: the war, and he's fucking pissed. Joffrey pulled a joke on him…didn't work. Baela cut her hair short…nobody bat an eye. Rhaena, I'm so worried for her, before he was her betrothed Luc was her friend…the tear marks seem like they are permanent on her face. This war has taken their strength to live and, honestly, I don't give a shit about the Throne (like, Aegon can get impaled on a sword and I wouldn't care) when my family is suffering. I wish things were like before. All of us playing on the beach, Luke alive and you not married to the Kinslayer. I've tried…like you asked me, but he took our brother Vis…and, as much as I wish for him to be dead, I know it wouldn't be possible without hurting you in the process. So I'll be visiting the Red Keep for one last time…and you're welcome to visit me and Baela (she misses you too) in Driftmark. I need you. I need my sister. I miss you. But don't ever ask me again to make a truce with Aemond. Jace.

The Red Keep had never been livelier.

The walls had been covered with more heraldry of the Seven but also the old Targaryen and Valyrian decorations had been placed back. Servants ran quickly through the halls, carrying food or clothes; the King's Guards armor had been polished until it shined like silver under the sun.

The new Targaryen heraldry hung proudly at the entrance of the Great Hall, and inside it was filled with more. It was truly a lavish and expensive Targaryen party, a banquet and hunting celebration for the newfound peace in the Realm.

But Aemond paid attention to the details…

Like the green drapes, or the green tablecloths. The maids and servants were also in green, and the whole family had expensive clothes made in green for the occasion.

It was a Targaryen party, yes, but the Hightowers were the ones celebrating the rendition of Rhaenyra.

When he walked into the Great Council, everyone turned to look at him. An already drunk Aegon smiled -the same disgusting smile he had given Aemond before making fun of him-.

"There he is, Mother. Ask him and don't bother me," Aegon said as he raised his cup to be filled.

Her mother's tense gaze found his eye, "Is it true?"

His tongue poked his cheek while he sat down, his grandfather calculated eye didn't leave him, "Is what true?"

"That Alys Rivers has come as the Lady of House Strong," there was a plea in Alicient's eyes.

His face was devoid of any expression, "Aegon legitimized her and she's an ally. I don't see any problem." His fingers moved to touch the pad of his thumb. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Alicient's face fell, her heartbeat pounding in her ears and desperation creeping up her muscles. Her face turned to her father, but he didn't return her look, Aegon seemed preoccupied by the fact that the wine didn't last too much. Was she the only sane person here?

"Aemond, if they find out-"

"I'm taking her as a second wife. The official version will be that Visenya is barren…and that she wasn't able to give me an heir," his tone was flat and devoid of any kind of emotion.

His mother looked like the Stranger had appeared in front of her eyes.

Then Aegon laughed, a loud and unfunny sound, one that the maids knew well when he forced himself upon them, "You fucker! You're really humiliating our sister! Oh, Aemond, I never knew you were this funny!"

His mother grabbed her necklace, the points of the Star digging in her skin, "This isn't right. Rhaenyra will think that this is an insult…all of this will be for nothing…"

"If I may speak, my Queen," Lord Larys whispering voice was finally heard, "It is not a bad idea. It would weaken Princess Rhaenyra's claim even more."

"Rhaenyra and her family are coming to sign a peace treaty. We are walking on thin ice with them, and it is only by your wife's intervention that we have come to this point. If she comes to sign and finds her only daughter, unhappy and surrounded by rumors of infertility, with her husband taking a second wife…I'm afraid she'll have enough reason to put our heads on pikes," Alicient remarked, her voice trembling at the thought of everything going wrong.

There was a silence in the room, only interrupted by Aegon sipping sounds. For a King he has the manners of a drunken peasant.

"Prince Aemond will wed Alys Rivers a fortnight after the signing of the treaty. You must not be seen in public with the woman," the Hand finally spoke, calculating eyes fixed on Aemond.

Alicient's mouth went agape, "Father you surely-"

"This is for the sake of the Realm, my Queen. Besides, the Princess has no lands to her name…while Lady Alys does. Your son will be the next Lord of Harrenhall…you must think with perspective," the tone of his voice made Alicient blush and sit back on the chair.

From the corner of his eye Aemond noticed Aegon's smile…he took great joy at seeing his mother reprimanded like some little girl. Maybe that explained why he let their grandfather rule in his name.

Aemond stood, "If that's all, I shall retire. My King."

He didn't wait for Aegon's dismissal to leave.

As soon as the door opened, Aemond was greeted with the sun peeking through the curtains and the room filled with his wife's perfume.

They had been moved to bigger chambers after their marriage, ones that his mother had cautiously decorated in black and red, to try to make Visenya feel at home. The last rays of sunlight made it look more spacious and the view to the Blackwater Bay gave the sensation of being on the edge of the world…where nothing could stop you and nothing could reach you.

He walked into the room, his footsteps resounding in the emptiness of the chamber, and stopped at one of the chairs in front of the window.

"Wife," was all he said.

The woman in the chair turned, "Husband."

Visenya Targaryen was everything a woman of their house was supposed to be. Her beauty could only resemble that of the Goddesses of Old Valyria, with high cheekbones, plump lips and a soft straight nose. Her hair was the same shade of her mother's, but longer and always styled with intricate braids, while her eyes were a bright purple.

Sometimes Aemond wondered if her beauty was what made her so hard to love.

She was ethereal, a true beauty with impeccable manners, a proud daughter of Old Valyria.

He had been ecstatic when their engagement had been announced. Aemond Targaryen, the scarred prince, was to wed the most beautiful maiden House Targaryen had seen in years? A pure Valyrian bride just for him?

It was as if the Gods were compensating him for his losses, for his place in birth, for the lack of love he had.

So he had married her. Bedded her. Made her scream his name in pleasure, over and over again.

He had found a partner, the friend he had always needed, and a lover…all in the same person.

They were happy.

But shit happens.

After his father had died, his mother had ordered for her to be locked in their rooms. Visenya had asked him, day after day, to set her free, to let her write to her mother, to use her as a messenger and a bridge for peace.

Otto had dismissed her and so had Alicient, when she had asked for reason, to let her intervene. Aemond had talked with his wife, over and over again, trying to convince her to stay quiet and to obey.

But she was too much like…them.

And then, Storm's End had happened.

Water dripped from his thick coat and from his hair while he walked through the hallways to their chambers.

He knew he had a report to make, but right now he needed…he needed peace.

When the doors closed behind him, he started to undress, his clothes leaving a puddle of water on the floor.

He needed them out. It…it felt like the water was pulling him down like…

Like the tides over Luke's body…

Gods…he hadn't meant to. No, no, he didn't kill him, Vhagar attacked Arrax…yes, Vhagar had defended herself and her rider…she was old, surely everyone would understand…and she was a war dragon…she had tried to protect him…Arrax should…should have flown faster…but…maybe it was Luke's fault…who takes a dragon like that in the heavy rain? Yes, it…it was Luke's fault…

"Aemond…?" her voice sounded from the spot on their bed. "Aemond what…? What happened? You're dripping wet!"

Her footsteps resounded in their chamber and, suddenly, she was in front of him, her hair shining gold from the light of the candles. Her hands helped him take off his clothes quickly and covered him in dry clothes, her mouth moved but he couldn't understand her words.

He shook his head, trying to focus on her soft voice while her hands worked on him.

"...and you're gone. What's happening? Please, Aemond, tell me…I'm going mad and my husband leaves without telling me to Gods only know where and-"

"Storm's End," was his shaky answer. Gods, he was freezing.

Visenya furrowed her brows and moved him closer to the fire, her hands rubbing his chest to warm him, "What were you doing there?"

It was obvious she was deceiving herself, she knew what had happened the past days…there could only be one reason for his presence in Storm's End.

Still, his mouth and his mind weren't in the same rhythm, he had never been this cold, "Allies…Luke."

Her brows furrowed even more as she understood the meaning: he had been sent by his brother to seek an alliance with House Baratheon, her mother had apparently had the same idea so she sent Luke there too.

"Oh…" what more could she say? Every word she spoke about this matter left her in a more dangerous position. "I'll give you some wine to warm you up."

She moved off him and went to the little table where the pitcher and two cups were, after filling one she returned by his side and helped him drink, "Well…maybe this…this will bring a peaceful solution. I'm sure Luke will-"

"He had an accident," the wine had helped him get warmer…and to make his tongue loose.

At that, he felt her body stiffening and she moved to look him straight in the eye, "Luke…what? Is he alright?"

"He fell off his dragon…to the sea," was his only answer.

A gasp left her lips, her hands already shaking, "What? H-How?!"

When he didn't answer, her hands went to the collar of his shirt. The tears were already coating her beautiful face…she looked like the statue of The Maiden crying for losing her virtue, "What happened Aemond?! Tell me?!"

His hands gripped her wrists, his voice coming now a little more stable, "Calm down, woman. It…it just…happened."

Her cries were heartbreaking, "Why?! He…He was just a child! How…how did it happen?"

He moved to wrap his arms around her, her tears wetting his neck, "He fell off his saddle…Arrax was already dead."

They stayed like that for a few moments, hugging each other tightly. It had been a horrible accident…but Luke had should known better than to fly with-

"What do you mean that Arrax was already dead, Aemond?" her voice was only a whisper, her hands slowly falling from his shoulders while her head moved away from his neck. When her eyes found his she pulled away, eyes wide open and her lips curved into a sinister sneer, as if she couldn't control her face and emotions.

"I-I…" his mouth opened and closed, not knowing how to answer his wife. What could he tell her? "He…Arrax came too close to Vhagar…and his fire hurt Vhagar so…she chased him…"

Her nostrils flared and her eyes still shined with tears, "You fucker…tell me the truth."

Suddenly, their doors opened and Alicient came running , followed by Aegon and the Hand, the older woman's face contorted in pain and…anger.

"What did you do?! You cursed us all!" his mother's hands grabbed his face painfully.

"Mother I-" she didn't gave him time before a slap hit his scarred side.

Aegon was already laughing, delighted in the pain of others, "Oh, niece. My condolences. If you miss your younger brother search in Vhagar's mouth…some people say that his Velaryon cape is between her teeth. Keep it as a memory, your King allows it."

A toe curling scream was her only answer, her hands going to her chest…as if wanting to rip her heart out.

After that he had given her space while he distracted himself with his brother's duties. After a few weeks she had allowed him to touch her, some weeks later she had finally allowed him to bed her again. But there was something missing…

After that, fucking her had become something distant, her presence a memory of his new gained title and, slowly but surely, every little thing about her that he held dear in his heart just…turned into things he despised.

That's why when he had met Alys it had been easy to let her into his bed, and not only her some other women too. He found himself enjoying their touch upon his skin, his confidence coming back. After all…what better thing than to carry a Targaryen bastard?

Alys had been so different to Visenya, always answering his demands and searching for his company.

Alys knew the hardships of the world, knew how unfair it was and how hard one had to fight to be heard. Her drive and ambition was what had pulled him to her, the fact that she was everything that his mother would hate in a woman made it even more exciting, a witch that wasn't afraid to play with magic to get what she wanted.

Visenya wasn't like that.

She had been handed everything in a silver platter. Name it, she had it. Love, richness, luxurious clothes and people kneeling at her feet.

A mother that loved her, a grandfather who had loved her even more than he had loved his own daughter, three father figures that protected her and loved her fiercely.

A dragon. Because of course that Visenya had to claim Silverwing at seven namedays.

(His father had thrown a feast for a week after that. Everyone already calling her "the Good Princess")

Even his own mother loved Visenya, her hate always directed to the bastards, one could see it in the way Alicient's eyes shined with nostalgia and love every time the Queen looked at her.

He took a deep breath and sat beside her, "Visenya, I need you to listen-"

She held up a hand, she didn't like to be interrupted when writing.

He closed his mouth and pressed his lips tightly, for a few seconds the only sound that was heard was that of her quill against parchment. His fingers tapped rhythmically the arm of the chair, impatiens growing on him.

The door opened and two servants walked with their hands full of clothes, but they knew better than to be seen or heard. Their light footsteps were added to the sounds in the room.

Finally, her quill stopped moving, "Sorry, Aemond. I didn't mean to interrupt you, please, tell me."

His jaw clenched a few times, "Tomorrow your mother arrives and, I'm sure, she will hear of our troubles-"

"Troubles that all couples have," her lilac eyes were soft. This is weird.

"Yes. But, as I was saying, if she's displeased, the Peace Treaty is in danger and we can't afford that, can we?" his tone was condescending, as if speaking with a child.

Because you are a child, always sticking your nose where it isn't called.

To his surprise her hands moved to grasp his softly, "Aemond…I'm sorry."

"F-For what?" just what was she saying?

"I haven't been the best wife for you. I placed a blame on you because I was angry and torn with grief, and that was wrong and uncalled for. Day by day, I ask myself 'what could have been if…?' but recently I have started to ask myself 'What can I do now?'

But now I know: we have to work for our future. And my future is with you, giving you babies and loving them. And loving you…I have never stopped loving you. So, I'm asking you for another chance, to give our marriage a second chance for love."

His mouth was closed but his eye was wide open, confusion and surprise mixed in the lilac of his eye, "I…"

Be calm. Be calm. Be calm.

A sigh left her lips and her hands gave him a soft squeeze, "Think about it, please. We…can take one step at a time…so that we can remember why we fell in love with each other."

She stood up and grabbed her letter, then leaned down to kiss his forehead, her sweet and fruity perfume invading his nose.

When the door had closed behind her and the maids, he went in search of the pitcher and took a great swig of wine.

What the fuck was that?

Rhaenyra arrived the next day.

On dragon back, obviously.

He saw his mother swallow and close her eyes in a quick prayer at the roaring of the dragons, Helaena beside her with her usual disperse demeanor and Aegon sitting on the chair at the head of the table looking…well, absolutely miserable. The only one who looked truly happy was Otto: he could swore he had never seen his grandfather's smile. The rest of the Councilmen were present, the Lords barely holding their excitement at the perspective of "Maegor with teats" kneeling.

The Great Hall was covered on Aegon's and Rhaenyra's heraldry, a symbol of the union and peace between the two factions of House Targaryen, and a huge banner of the red dragon in a black background was displayed behind Aegon. Just for this occasion, they all were wearing black and red.

"You should have brought your wife, Aemond. That would make Rhaenyra feel…at ease," whispered Alicient, her hand against her chest.

He bit his tongue before answering, "She didn't want to be here, mother."

Visenya and him had spoken the night before about this and she had expressed her desire to not be present at the moment of signing the treaty, a frown and sadness in her face as she said it.

Just then, the doors opened and then his half-sister appeared, followed by his uncle and their offspring. It was evident that no one except Rhaenyra wanted this: Daemon had a expression of disgust and his hand was at the pommel of Dark Sister, ready for a fight; Jacaerys seemed like he would rather swallow shattered glass than being here, and his betrothed had the same expression, and Lord Corlys looked absolutely furious…another chance lost for the Velaryons for their "blood" to sit on the Throne.

The expression on Rhaenyra's face was…shocking, to say the least. She looked like the shell of the woman he had met and heard of, her lilac eyes seemed…lifeless.

He was surprised to see the twin of Ser Erryk move forward, "Queen Rhaenyra, first of her name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. Lady of the Seven Kingdoms. Protector of the Realm."

They all watched as she walked forward, followed by two members of her Queensguard and Daemon, until she was face to face with Aegon.

"Brother."

"Sister."

In an extremely surprising act of manners, Aegon had offered his sister his arm. If Rhaenyra was shocked by it she hid it very well, the only sign of her surprise was a slight twitch on her mouth corner, and her hand placed on top of his arm, accepting his offer.

When they finally reached the table, where two parchments and two quills waited for them, Otto couldn't hold back and finally spoke, "It is a wise decision Princess. You are preventing unnecessary bloodshed."

Daemon looked ready to go over the man and make mincemeat out of him.

"Then my baby and my son were blood that needed to be spilled?" her voice was filled with anger despite it's tone.

She turned around to look at Aemond, pure hate in her eyes. It was obvious that Otto had fucked up and the treaty hung on a thin thread.

Alicient moved forwards as a last attempt to stop violence before it began, her hands clasped on the front of her gown and already bloody, "No one is implying that, Princess. We mourn the deaths of Princess Visenya and…Prince Lucerys, we are family after all."

Daemon scoffed and muttered "fucking cunt".

Taking advantage of the distraction, Aegon's Master of Laws moved forward, "If I may interrupt, your highnesses, we should proceed with the signing."

He handed Rhaenyra her copy of the treaty and motioned to a chair. After her eyes scanned those of Aemond and Alicient, she moved and sat down on the offered chair. Her eyes moved along the parchment, her face still devoid of any emotion as she analyzed the contents. After what felt like hours she reached for the quill.

That was it. That was the moment they were all waiting…the moment where she would finally renounce any claim for her and for her line.

"Is there any reason why my daughter is not here?" she asked no one in particular.

Alicient's eyes opened wide and her mouth opened and closed a few times.

"My wife didn't want to be present," Aemond stepped forward.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, "And why is that?"

Rhaenyra placed a hand on the parchment and looked at the Dowager Queen, "I will sign…but I would like to see my daughter. Surely you can understand…"

The soft and broken lilac eyes melted Alicient and she found herself incapable of denying a mother that simple plea -after all, Rhaenyra had lost two children and her only daughter was the one that tried to mend things between the two factions-.

The Dowager Queen searched Aemond's face but it was Aegon who gave the order, "Brother, go and fetch your wife. Now."

Aemond took a deep breath and nodded, before turning on his heels and walking out of the Great Hall, the path to the chambers on Maegor's Holdfast took him some time.

The door was unguarded -he had ordered all the white cloaks and yellow cloaks to be on guard earlier that day- so he twisted the knob for himself.

The chamber was dark, someone had pulled the curtains blocking the sunlight, "Visenya? Your mother requests your presence…"

Silence.

He walked in and tried to navigate, as best as he could, in the darkness of their room.

"Visenya?" He repeats again.

Nothing.

By the corner of his eye he noticed a thin strip of light, so he walked to it and extended a hand, making contact with the thick cloth of the curtains.

With a movement of his arm, he pulls the curtains away, light invading the room and hitting every corner. Things are just like he left them this morning: a linen shirt on the back of a chair, the teapot and two cups on the table against the window, and one of his daggers on the nightstand.

But there's one thing that has changed.

His wife is nowhere in sight.

The sixth day of the seventh month - 127 AC I proposed. I have never heard of a woman who propositions a man -not a decent one, at last. But I did. I proposed to my uncle. And he said yes. His beautiful purple eye opened wide in shock when I asked him…as if he couldn’t believe it and then he grabbed me by my neck and asked if I was playing a game, that he would take one of my eyes if I kept on teasing him. I was not. I confessed my feelings. How I had always loved him -first as a sweet boy, now as a woman can love a man-, how I mourned for him when my brother took his eye, and how I wished for him to be my King Consort when my mother died. I told him I loved him. He kissed me, and was not soft, his mouth on mine was demanding, but his hands on my hips were gentle, as if I was made of the finest porcelain. He is the only one I desire. The only one I will love for the rest of my days. Even if he does not know it, my heart already belongs to him.

Taglist: @snh96

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfic #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x original character #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x ofc #mine

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wolfytae-exe · 1 year ago

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alr cici listen its nothing nsfw but i heard u like dark content n i just had to share this silly little thought with you lol

https://vm.tiktok.com/ZGe1KnknY/

when i heard this remix i INSTANTLY thought abt one scenario -> it’s the middle of the war n prince!beomgyu finds out that his s/o (reader) was a spy the whole time..like just imagine a scene where they stand face to face, his sword inches from her face + both of them breathing heavily, the look of betrayal on his face cuz the love of his life did sum like that..

idk its silly

AURA OH GOD- brb time to write a drabble-

Love knows no bounds (a) (d)

Warning: Blood, Betrayal, Descriptive Death,

In the fight for his palace, Beomgyu, the only prince in line for the throne, lies bleeding in the grass, caught off guard while cutting through his enemies with his traditional blade, forged by bits of blade from his ancestors and various rare metals to signify his importance. The nasty gash across his chest up to his lip, eye, and brow bone, bleed excessively.

Tears well in his eyes not for the pain of the wounds that stained his body but for his home, his family, village, palace, and most importantly, his lover. You pleaded with him not to leave for battle, warned him of his death you swore a teller informed you about. If only he had listened, he would be able to hold you, his dear wife, with child and anxiously waiting for his arrival.

“Please.. Spare me..” Beomgyu shuddered to the knight adorned in full black, features covered, however, this being stayed quiet, looking down on the prince as low as dirt before dropping their sword. “I have-“ The prince started before coughing harshly, blood bubbling up his throat. “I have a wife. She’s with child, please spare me, allow my family to not live a life with one parent.” Beomgyu begged.

Tears fell as the knight crouched down to his level. Hand reaching for the prince's specially forged sword. “I know.” Said the knight, voice echoing within the helmet, yet still distinct. Beomgyu found it familiar and confusing, a female's voice. The prince went to question it before the knight ripped the helmet off.

No..

No!

He refuses to believe this betrayal. “Y-You..” You look him in the eye, his disbelief and horror paints a terrifying smile on your face. “I know, dear. I’ll be waiting for the news of your death.” You whisper as you raise his sword from the nasty ground. “You will die an honorable man, my king.” You continue while Beomgyu hyperventilates, leaning in and pressing a kiss to his bloody cheek. “How..” Is all he can get out, stunned, heartbroken, betrayed.

“I am not with child, my king. This was my assigned mission, I apologize.” You sigh and pull back, grabbing your helmet and putting it back on. “I loved you..” Beomgyu sobs, the heartbreak finally setting in. “You betrayed me.. You betrayed our palace.” Beomgyu’s hand reaches for you, as if to take you with him to the afterlife. “I love you, Beomgyu, I’ve always loved you, but it is not my choice how this goes.” You frown, you tried to warn him, you tried so hard to keep him away from battle and prevent this, but unfortunately, your king was too headstrong to listen.

“I’m sorry, my king.” You finish before pushing the specially forged blade through your husband's chest, the feeling of his heart piercing doesn’t miss you, and only hurts you more. “I love you.” You said as his eyes went blank, staring you in the face, looking for your eyes behind the helmet. The disgust, sadness, betrayal, and love lasted in his eyes even after the let go of the sword that stuck out his chest. You truly do love him, it was not supposed to end up this way, you were not allowed to love him, but love knows no bounds.

#beomgyu angst #beomgyu imagines #beomgyu x reader #beomgyu scenarios #character death #txt angst #txt fic #txt drabbles

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kiwifrowner · 1 year ago

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I want to be called love, but my rough hands on your spine, the repentance which is cemented in my nails while my teeth have always held swords. I will wield it. If anyone comes near and blood that has been shed, it will only tell me if it is my lover i killed or my enemy. I am always on war, will you be able to take a sword cut?.

— muffinsincoffin, "A wolf talk with me".

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thatwasntverycashmoneyofme · 2 years ago

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𝗎𝗇𝖽𝖾𝗋𝗌𝗍𝖺𝗇𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀

❥𝗌𝗇𝗂𝗉𝗉𝖾𝗍 : 𝗒𝗈𝗎’𝗋𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀’𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗈𝗋𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗎𝗅𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗐𝖺𝗋, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖿𝖺𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗀𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗊𝗎𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝗉𝖾𝖺𝖼𝖾 𝗈𝗋𝗋 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗀’𝗌 𝗉𝗋𝗂𝗓𝖾 𝗂𝗇 𝖺 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗎𝗅𝗍 𝗈𝖿 𝖺 𝗌𝗎𝖼𝖼𝖾𝗌𝗌𝖿𝗎𝗅 𝗋𝖺𝗂𝖽. (𝖺𝗇𝗀𝗌𝗍 + 𝖽𝖺𝗋𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗁)

{ 𝗐𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 — 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝖼𝗈𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝖿𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗅𝖾 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋, 𝗆𝖾𝖽𝗂𝖾𝗏𝖺𝗅-𝗂𝗌𝗁!𝖺𝗎, 𝗍𝗒𝗋𝖺𝗇𝗍!𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗂 𝗂𝗌 𝗒𝗈𝗎𝗋 𝗁𝗎𝗌𝖻𝖺𝗇𝖽, 𝗂𝗆𝗉𝗅𝗂𝖾𝖽 𝗋*𝗉𝖾 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝖻𝗎𝗌𝖾 𝖿𝗋𝗈𝗆 𝖾𝗇𝗃𝗂 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝖽𝗈𝖾𝗌𝗇’𝗍 𝗀𝗈 𝗂𝗇𝗍𝗈 𝗂𝗍, 𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝗌𝗁𝗈𝗍𝗈 𝖺𝗋𝗀𝗎𝖾 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗇 𝗍𝗋𝗒 𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝗈𝗇𝖽, 𝗐𝖺𝗋. }

he was a ruthless king given the nickname ‘endeavor’ after conquering many towns and villages, and on his recent one he’s taken you, now he’s your husband. a tyrant king who cares for nothing and no one but power and the obedience of others, who takes you to his y’all’s bed every night since obtaining you.

his warm body almost as uncomfortable, but not more than, the way he keeps you near him. eyes always burning into your frame making you shift in discomfort. he held your wrist tightly in his big hand that damn near covers half your forearm, throwing you down onto the chair next to him before seating himself.

as soon as he’s sat the servants put out the food giving him the biggest portions, a few minutes go by of awkward silence, the utensils hitting the dishes and the cups hitting the long table being the only noise made in the dining hall before the tyrants’ youngest speaks up. “nice of us to finally see your face not in passing, new queen.” his words laced with malice as you grit inwardly, a small hum of acknowledgment leaving your pursed lips.

“i mean…going from a simple commoner to royalty. you must be bursting at your seams.” you scoff trying to keep your composure as the prince continued. “i wonder if you just seduced my father for his riches.” he tsks. “I wouldn’t be surprised.” you pant in disbelief keeping your tone steady and respectful.

“I won’t be talked down upon by a pompous prince, who would have soiled his undergarments when faced with a sword at his neck. you know nothing about me.” he slams his open palm on the table, making the dishes ‘clink’ against the surface. “you wouldn’t survive in the situation I was put in!”

you weren’t phased by him, not in the slightest as he rose his voice, scarred face holding nothing less than contempt for you. “I did! and many more that’ll have you waking up in cold sweats and looking over your shoulder at the slightest pen drop… now I suggest, my prince, to address me with respect, as if I were one of the soldiers fighting your king’s battle, because I was…a victim paying the price for your idiotic war, so excuse me when I say I’ve seen more bloodshed in a day than you have your whole life… I bet you wouldn’t even be able to handle a godforsaken paper cut.”

“enough!!” a loud deep voice boomed through the squabbling of you and the dual haired male, silencing the already quiet dining hall, servants scrambled over each other to leave the room, his other two kids that were looking between you and their younger brother now tensed and faced the table. “you will treat my new wife with respect or its off to that room with you!”

you sigh looking off to the side, rolling your eyes with a pout as your arranged husband finished his shouting. “you don’t need to do that my… king.” you gulp forcing the word out. “he is frustrated, rightly so…” you turn to face the youngest. “i am not your mother, nor am I trying to be we’re the same age for the gods’ sake… i am a treasure earned through your father’s raid on my village. your siblings are older than me, your father’s wife, you think I am not frustrated also—“

you hear a warning grunt from the burly man at the head of the table making you shift with a sigh. “—you don’t even have to acknowledge me, but do not treat me as if im dying to be in this position…” you feel the kings glare on you looking at him before looking away clearing your throat. “I-i… forgive me, my king, for speaking out of turn and spoiling our supper, i just felt the need to clear up any misunderstandings your heir has.”

・❥・

a voice spooks you as you sit on the terrace over looking the night sky of the kingdom. “are you scared of my father?” you reposition yourself, resting your head on your knees, the young prince takes in the bruise marks on dark skin, as you sigh and look over at him. “I’ve never known fear from any man until your father’s army raided my village, it happened when I was barely knee high things I can never forget… but as I got older my people started a resistance I was apart of it and we started to fight back, we started to win.” you look away, a soft smile painted your face before quickly disappearing.

“but your father couldn’t let that happen. he came leading about 60 men, who slaughtered almost everyone of our male soldiers, by the end there were very few of our battalion left, me and my father, the chief, included. so my father came up with an.. arrangement, and i agreed, for the sake of my people.” he looks at your side profile seeing the pain in your eyes.

“I have not had a peaceful nights sleep since your father overtook my village, even more so than when I got betrothed to him, having to sleep in the same bed w-with that—“ you stop your rambling letting out a heavy sigh. “so you ask me do i fear your father…” a wry laugh falls from your grim expression as you gazed at him in his heterochromatic eyes.

"i am terrified of him.” the prince gently touches his left eye. “you’ll hear no argument from me; the man is a monster under the guise of sovereignty, my family and i know it well.” you let the silence and cool air wash away your feelings as you did every night choosing to not let emotions show and tears fall as you sleep next to your peoples murderer.

“I wish to start over. I want you to forgive my insolence, my queen. I’m told that i judge too fast.” he spoke after a few minutes of quiet, the calm breeze washing over you both, making your eyes widen. “I also do not have much friends except for a few servants and I know that you could use some, being the same age and all.”

a soft smile graced your lips, tone somber as you relive your past, recalling your situation, once again rectifying it’s gravity. “fine just never call me ‘my queen’ again, y/n is just fine I’ve been stripped enough as is.”

𝗌𝗉𝖺𝗆 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾𝗌, 𝗋𝖾𝖻𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖼𝗈𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌. 𝖣𝖮𝖭𝖳 𝗌𝗍𝖾𝖺𝗅, 𝖼𝗈𝗉𝗒 𝗈𝗋 𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 𝖺𝗇𝗒𝗐𝗁𝖾𝗋𝖾 𝖾𝗅𝗌𝖾. ©𝖼𝗂𝗍𝗒𝗉𝗋𝖾𝗌𝗂𝖽𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗂𝖺𝗅

#city.writes #black writers #black reader #black fem reader #x black fem reader #x black reader #black yn #giving real ‘i never wanted to marry him I was doing it for the family’ vibes #them servants was getting tea no 🧢#this fic about enji but it ain’t about him you dig??#shoto x black!reader #shoto x black fem!reader #mha shoto #bnha shoto #shoto todoroki #angsty mha

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vollow-tree · 1 year ago

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Don't know if we put short stories on Tumblr but who's gonna stop me?

*I always had an idea for a story of a shapeshifter, who needs to touch something of that person, to be able to shift into their form and one day it backfires.*

There he was, standing before me, the golden breastplate weathered and soaked in someone else's blood, making little stain maps on it; so much blood from this stupid war. His muscles were taut under the torn, bloodied shirt, he was holding his sword with all his might, cutting down the enemies, quickly making his way to me. The anger in his eyes, the two burning dark ember coals staring at me, he took a hit to his right shoulder and didn't care. Stabbed the man who wounded him and just kicked him off his sword, like it was nothing.

I wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run to, the battle roared around me, and the burning city crackled with fear and still not louder than my question: „What did I do? Why is he going after me? What did I do?!” and then it hit me, "I" did nothing, this damned face, Captain of the city watch, this proud fool who didn't even check his drink in a time of war,... his confidence and smugness gave me the confidence that I will be safe with this face and yet he was the one who killed Snowfall, lover of the Blazing Sun, the furious man rushing towards me. The fool cheered, proclaimed himself 'protector of the realm' for killing the skilled assassin, who was no louder than falling snow.

Now I am facing the consequences of his actions, maybe I was the fool for hiding behind this face.

He struck me quickly once, twice, three times, sword in both hands, my own arm barely holding my sword overhead trying to deflect his strikes. My ears were ringing, hands and shoulders aching, but I wasn't going to die here, not with this stupid face.

Then like a whisper in my head, the voice of my mentor „Nothing confuses opponents more than fighting themselves,” it was easy I just had to touch him and take his form. Took me a while to get close enough, trading blows and scrapes. He did cut my leg badly, but left me an opening to touch him, hopefully, this will throw him off balance just enough. I grabbed his golden hair soaked in blood, it gathered in dark strands but was also strawberry blond in places. Up close he was more beautiful than they said, I was looking forward to this face, I channelled my energy and willed myself to change.

He was in shock, his eyes were not burning anymore, just filled with utter disbelief and... tears? He dropped his sword and hugged me tight, his arms completely wrapped around my neck, leaning on me, the side of his face pressed against mine. This felt new, I never had this reaction before. The second he held me felt like a year, he felt heavy.

"My love," he whimpered. These words travelled quickly down my spine like a jolt of lightning. I realised he was heavy in my arms, with his strength he shouldn't weigh this much to me, something was wrong. I felt my new hair swaying in the wind touching my mid back, I looked at my thin, paper-white hands and I,... I was shorter than him. I wasn't him, but how?

He tensed up, grabbing the back of my neck, almost crushing it, he pulled me away, firmly holding me in place staring at my new face.

"You are not him! Who are you?" the anger started burning again in his teary eyes. In his golden hair, falling to his shoulders, was a braid from his hair woven with another, dark brown, I realised my mistake.

I wasn't him, I was Snowfall, gazing into his lover's eyes again.

Staring at my own death.

#dnd #love blood and gods #lore #short stories #shapeshifter #Isone #Dysenia

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genz420 · 2 years ago

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The Fire That Burns With Us - Chapter 89: The Dragon and Raven.

Master List

Pervious Part - Next Part

138 - Harrenhal

Aemond had called Ben to Visenya and his room, wanting the knight to rewrap Visenya's hands since she had ripped them apart trying to take off the braces on her hands. The one-eye prince had left the room as soon as Ben had arrived, leaving Visenya and Ben alone.

“What’s wrong?” Ben asks, the quietness is getting to him, and he isn’t so used to not talking when he is with Visenya. They always find something to talk about, but whenever he tries to start a conversation with her, she shuts it down and stays quiet.

Ben can see her mind working, flickering between her hands that he is wrapping and him. She could keep what she feels to herself and hope it doesn’t cloud her mind when they head west, or she can just get out with it.

“I’m worried,” Visenya answers, the uneasy feeling in her stomach still eating away. “About Aemond, about us going West, Dalton, the Greens, I’m worried about everything,”

Ben watches Visenya, how her eyebrows are scrunched together and her jaw is clenched. He is glad that she is being honest, but he wonders if the news he can give her would bring her some ease, but he doubts it will. Ben might be able to know things before they happen but to tell Visenya that the future is filled with death and loss would not do her any good.

“Aemond is going to be fine, and I am going to keep you safe,” Ben assures Visenya; he knows that he can promise to keep her safe, but he shouldn’t be promising anything about protecting Aemond.

“Who is going to keep him safe?” Visenya asks, leaning closer against the table. She doesn’t doubt that Ben will have her back like always, but she worries about who will keep Aemond safe.

“I think his ancient and scary dragon will,” Ben answers with a smile. He finds it sweet how worried she seems about Aemond, even though he has a dragon keeping him safe.

Visenya shakes her head. She knows that Vhagar is a powerful dragon and could make sure Aemond is safe, but the dragon has gotten old, and who knows if she could handle another war. Visenya also knows that Aemond could protect himself in the capital's siege; he probably has better sword skills than she does now.

“I think Laenor should go with him just so that they have the protection of two dragons,” Visenya tells Ben, letting her thoughts wander. She does think it is a good idea to send Laenor with Aemond for protection but also because she doesn’t want to see him. “Maybe Cannibal as well,”

“I would rather us have two dragons rather than just one,” Ben tells her; the two would be down a fighter, and he doesn’t want to be down a dragon. He might not get along with the old dragon, but he seems rather protective over Visenya, which would be great to have while they are in the West.

“But the majority of the dragons are going to be East; Cannibal has already killed Tessarion, so-”

“What’s worrying you?” Ben cuts her off, her rambling, telling him something else is going on instead of just Aemond being safe.

Visenya looks away from Ben and down at the table, studying the wood like it is the most exciting thing in the realm. Taking a deep breath and blinking away the tears in her eyes, she doesn’t know why she is crying, and she can’t help but be angry at herself for being emotional.

Ben watches her, slightly worried, and he prays that Aemond doesn’t return before he can get the truth out of her or Rob to bring them to the hall. Visenya swallows the lump in her throat and looks at Ben, breathing through her nose to try and control her breathing and stay calm.

“I can’t lose him,” Visenya says, her voice barely above a whisper like if she speaks the words, Balerion would come from Valyria and steal Aemond away. “I don’t know what I would do without him,”

“We aren’t going to send Cannibal with them,” Ben tells her, his voice full of assurance and authority. He wants to ensure she understands that they will not deviate from the plan she has worked hard to make happen.

Visenya looks away from the table and at him. She can spare one of her dragons, having Morghon and Seasmoke watch over Aemond and ensure he is safe. Cannibal would be the better option because he would be more than happy to eat any dragon that might pose a threat, but then he might choose to eat Vhagar.

“But-”

“Aemond is fully able to keep himself safe, and Vhagar might be old, but she has seen more war than any other dragon alive,” Ben stops her and grabs ahold of her hands, he wants to give her some peace of mind but he doesn’t want to promise anything. “Aemond will be fine,”

“Are you telling me that to ease my nerves or because you know he will be okay?” Visenya asks, she would love to have Helaena here to spit out some weird verse that she might be able to figure out, but she would consider easing her mind if Ben tells him that he will be safe.

“He’s going to be okay, and so are you,” Ben answers, kissing her hands up to his lips.

Visenya nods as she leans back in her seat, they have time before the final meeting with the lords, and she might spend it going over any little thing that might go wrong. Visenya looks towards her and Aemonds bed; not too long ago, they were in it together, and now a dress that Aemond has instituted she wears tonight lays on it.

Ben sits back in his chair; Aemond insists that he keeps Visenya busy while he keeps the children busy. He hadn’t questioned why Aemond wanted to spend time with the kids rather than Visenya. Still, he feels the two had a rather tense conversation where Visenya had taken control of the situation. Ben doesn’t want Visenya to leave the room, knowing that Rob would have his head if she saw what the Riverland lord is planning for her.

Taglist: If you wish to be added to taglist please comment so!

@tempt-ress @kassies-take

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fourseasonsfigs · 2 years ago

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Battle-Damaged Niuniu

Ah yes, my love of battle-worn figs continues. This brave duke will indeed be duking fighting it out across the expanses of my castle diorama at some (hopefully not too distant!) time in the future.

Niuniu is the cute way of referring to the brave and noble Duke Su, Xu Jin from The Blooms at Ruyi Pavilion. For all his war-torn appearance here, Niuniu can indeed be quite cute in the clips I've seen from the show! Zhang Zhehan's expressions are quite charming.

I have not, unfortunately, made it all the way though The Legend of Yunxi, which I am still watching at a snail's pace, but The Blooms at Ruyi Pavilion is indeed next up afterwards on my Zhehan back catalog. As soon as I get to where this outfit is from, I will screengrab the outfit for fig comparison purposes, and update this post. Frankly, I'm very intrigued in this scene portrayed here, so this is encouraging me to get to the show.

He looks very serious even in his protective packaging!

Here he is with his sword - you can see where it fits into his hand. I feel like I'm hyper-focused on the accessories these days and how they fit into fig's hands, but I still have flashbacks to wrestling with the Han Ye with Sword figure! Thankfully, it fit very smoothly. So smoothly, in fact, that it actually can fall out when the figure is moved.

You can see why too - the sword is angling down, so can fairly easily slip loose a bit due to the softer grip. But frankly, if I'd been in a long tough battle, my grip strength wouldn't be at it's finest too!

In fact, he's so over-taxed by his battles that he wobbles right back over. I really was hoping my fighting men would stand on their own on the (forthcoming) castle battleground diorama, but no such luck. They're all gonna have to be on stands, but that's all right! Nothing wrong with a little support.

Really great detail on all of his robes here. Impressive given the small scale of these figs.

I was taking pictures of this fig and was all, hmm, that's an interesting pattern on the back of his outfit. And then I was like, WAIT A MINUTE.

Someone slashed him in the back!!!!! That is one cruel looking cut! My goodness. This is a real battle-damaged fig, alright. I'm not gonna lie, this immediately kicked my interest level in this fig up a notch.

I feel bad to so blithely move on from the gravity of this situation, but, uh, I really like the detail on his belt and the texture on the cinched sleeves on his forearms 😬

Wow, it looks even worse (she says gleefully) when the fig is standing up! Well shoot, the front of this fig is so nice, but he's going to have to be facing this way on the diorama, clearly. Ooh, this would look good all backlit up, wouldn't it?

Oh yes it does!

The photo background credit for this (and my header picture) is by Nikhil Mistry on Unsplash. Just a big shout out to all the incredible photographers on Unsplash, by the way - I love that site.

This is a good angle to see the business side of that sword, which has indeed been used for some serious business.

Even better! Don't worry, the bad guys had it coming. The detail on his clothing looks particularly nice here.

You might be able to see here that there's just a tiny bit of room in his hand holding the sword. I'll probably put a tiny bit of museum wax on the sword hilt and put it back in his hand, just to make sure it stays. As long as I don't move him, he's fine, but when I pick him up it slides out.

This fig maker always takes care to put the beauty mark on the ear - it's always a great touch.

The black on black makes it hard to see the details of his boots or pants!

The figs with things in their hands always look more interesting from this top down angle. Hmm, it's a bit hard to see all of his hair crown from this top view. Let me spin him around for the back side version of this too...

There we go. Not a whole lot to see, but now you have the complete view.

The box card art is just gorgeous. Very beautiful and poignant. All the figs from this fig maker come in plain white boxes, which honestly is for the best since I already have stacks of fig boxes, but this art is so beautiful I can't help but wish I could see a whole panorama of it.

Material: Resin and some war wounds

Fig Count: 349

Scene Count: 24

Rating: Tragic yet beautiful!

[link back to Master Fig Index for more posts]

#jzeu #zhang zhehan #the blooms at ruyi pavilion #xu jin #niuniu #junzhe #junzhe extended universe

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rainofaugustsith · 2 years ago

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Now that I've finally leveled all the mage jobs I was doing to 70, I was able to pick up Sage and Scholar, and I'm turning to another job class even as I keep marching these toward 80 for the Amaro achievement. Next up is archer/bard followed by machinist once bard is to the level where they can share gear.

Feelings on the mage jobs, overall: I love these so much I consider them part of Viri's core group of jobs

Red Mage: Still my pick for the best all-around magical job. You have an entire host of melee sword skills when waiting to cast is ill advised, and you have constant use of Dualcast and other abilities to cut down on casting times considerably. Even with all that you get the standard mage resurrect and a heal ability so you can heal yourself in a pinch or help a friend who has gone down. The story is pretty interesting and I love the costumes you get from this job. I also really like the NPCs you get to work with.

Summoner: A job that is interesting, easy to figure out and formidable. While Black Mage is struggling with marks 20 levels below their level, Summoner was able to walk into Shadowbringers FATES at level 69 and hold their own. I love the concept of summoning the egi, that you aren't summoning an actual spirit but a type of simulation from their energy. I weave this job into my lore/head canon for Viri's Reaper job. She's not a Garlean and can use magic and manipulate aether so she has no need to use voidsent. So when she reaps, she's summoning the egi. As for the story, interesting tie-in with the Warring Triad information, and it's always nice to meet one of Y'shtola's siblings. However I still hate the book weapon.

Astrologian: My favorite healing job and that has not changed. I really like how the story shows the discipline of this magic changing with location/culture - it's used totally differently in Ishgard vs. Sharlayan vs. Kugane. That's really interesting to me, that the magical discpline changed according to need. And I really love drawing the cards and being able to buff other players pretty constantly.

After leveling, I would only play these to get achievements/see the story/under duress

Black Mage: I've written before about how much I detest Black Mage and that dislike still stands. It's slow, it's clunky, you have to plant your character in one place and casting takes the better part of a century. For all that is claimed about it having the best mage DPS, Black Mage at 70 still struggles to get through Heavensward and Stormblood hunt marks - where Summoner, wearing the exact same gear, can annihilate NPCs levels higher than them. Shit, my White Mage doesn't struggle as much and that's saying something.

Ironically, Black Mage has the most intriguing story series of all the mages, I think. And certainly the most significant since you avert an actual Calamity. I also liked the history of black magic, and the fact that the black mages you meet are largely from the tribal communities, working united. They also provide a very satisfying counterpoint to the Star Wars THIS SIDE GOOD! THIS SIDE BAD!! absolutism about light and dark sides. It's pointed out in many ways that you need the balance of both and that no magic discipline is evil; it's what is done with it. It even makes those Jedi-style judgmental types look like fools.

Also after doing the 30-70 level missions for Black Mage I am completely convinced Lalai and Lamitt are reflections of each other. There's just too much in common and too many parallels for it to be coincidence.

Scholar: the story missions for this job are giving me so much lore and so many things to think about. If you are interested in Nym and Andapor, you'll want to play this. The NPCs you work with are really likeable, too.

The beauty of this job is that you don't actually have to level it up, it tags along with Summoner. So whatever level your Summoner is will mirror with Scholar. Having said that you do have to play the Scholar's duties and story missions to progress those and unlock some skills. Several of the duties are absolute beasts. But you'll get to visit some really interesting environments, and in light of Shadowbringers, the final boss in the level 70 story mission made me raise my eyebrows a bit.

In terms of gameplay, I love the avatar that comes with you (and again, it raises questions - certain NPCs in Shadowbringers might react to them!), and Art of War is damned amazing as an AOE. I hate that so many healing skills required filling a gauge and remembering combinations. It also seems to eat a ton of MP, far more than the other healer jobs. And again you're out there wielding a book as a weapon.

White Mage: For the most part it's just kind of bland and boring. It's easy to figure out, and it's reliable in dungeons with duty support and I guess that is what counts. I didn't get into the story until the end of the 50-60 arc when issues with NPCs in the rest of the storyline were finally called out. I do like that at level 72 you finally get to stop throwing rocks at people.

Sage: I'm still having a hard time getting my head around Sage. Like Scholar, a lot relies on filling gauges and combinations to access skills. I really don't like that. When you're healing you need to concentrate on what the specific players need in each situation and have the kit available, not sit there remembering combinations to unlock the skills you need in real time. IMHO anyway.

#rain plays ffxiv #I don't think there are other spoilers in here but if there are tell me #ffxiv #ffxiv mages #ffxiv black mage story spoilers

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selcaby · 1 year ago

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Reblogging to add a list of links that are relevant to this fic! If you’ve read it, you’ll be able to guess what sort of links these are and decide whether you want to see them or not. If not … under the cut be spoilers.

So the fic makes a lot of references to other fics by members of Casa Brainrot. Here is the list, for posterity. Some of the references constitute spoilers for the fics, so beware.

“Like, say, if you got a gift and I didn’t.“ The Constellations Shift by @sokkas-first-fangirl

“In some of them, I find love.“ There are of course lots of fics where Bruno finds love, and I haven’t read most of them, but the same boy you’ve always known by @madrigaljail, Flickering in the Firelight by @ramblesanddragons and Corazón Espinado by @lasrina were among the stories I was thinking of.

Honourable mention to the fragment of a Bruno version of “Fixer-Upper” from Frozen, written by a friend of @lasrina and posted in the Casa.

“I used to be some kind of insufferable jerkass kid …“ El Brujo Loco of course, from @madrigaljail‘s The Madrigal In-Laws series.

“Your Mamá was so focused on fattening me up …” A common theme, but especially found in viva la pancita de bruno by @waitingonavision and several stories by @empty-cryptid.

The next one is my fic Artificial Shortages. I couldn’t resist.

“I was hiding in a barn …“ A Miracle Is Not Earned but Freely Given by @wildlyironicbee

“We all played toruro and Camilo used his gift to cheat …” I didn’t want my happy, excited Bruno to talk about all the angst in As they learn to see by @cannibalthoughts, so you get a lighter incident from that fic.

“We’re all half human half animal and I have rat kids!“ All good things by @slingerapen, although I cheated a bit because rat kids aren’t yet born in the chapters posted so far.

The Star Wars AU is Lost Stars by @aetherdecember.

The pirate ship AU is Never Shall We Die by archive_rat

“I spent my whole life shut in a tower …” Change The Fates’ Design by @sokkas-first-fangirl. The fic does not have songs, but Tangled does, of course.

“Camilo turned himself into a capybara“ is Straws on the Donkey’s Back by @riathedreamer

“I shrank to the size of a rat overnight“ is Tiny Tío, Big World by @empty-cryptid

“I was about five hundred years old and had a bunch of advanced degrees and a sword!” Take Back The Kingdom by @optimistic-violinist and @impossiblefangirl0632

“I’m a famous actor and I get you to eat a sea urchin” is A Star Is (Re)born by @madrigaljail

Encanto Milk Day (#encanto-milk-day) had to be there, of course! There was no context, just milk.

The pictures of Bruno with cat ears are by @junosaccount and @ro-bun. Here’s a selection.

These are just a selection. There were so many others I could have picked, even restricting myself to Casa members and fics that I could let Bruno talk about without breaking the mood of my story. I am amazed at the massive outpouring of creativity that Encanto has inspired.

Now go and read!

After dinner the fourth night after they lost the miracle, Mirabel sits on a bench outside her family’s temporary home, sketching in the golden evening light. No-one is about except the two black cats that live next door, both lazing on the sunny doorstep.

The street is a comfortable kind of quiet. The schoolhouse opposite is shuttered for the night; a savoury aroma drifts through the still air from the Pezmuertos’ house; and far away, on the edge of her hearing, a lone acordeón player practises a cumbia.

The front door opens. “Ah,” says Tío Bruno, “you’re here. Never mind, I’ll find somewhere else, see you later.”

“No, it’s okay,” Mirabel says, and shuffles along the bench to make room.

A story about a house.

#encanto #encanto fanfic #bruno madrigal #my fanfic #two cats in the yard #fic rec #fanfic rec #lots of fanfic recs

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testudoaubrei-blog · 3 years ago

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Well, it’s not quite a master’s thesis, but this is (the first of) a series of posts on why Catra and Adora are the best love story in the history of kids TV animation and maybe the greatest love story in the history of TV. This may in some ways be faint praise - romance on TV is generally not very good compared with books or movies. Often it’s just some will they/won’t they sexual tension that is defused by getting characters together and re-heightened by breaking them up. TV is full of nearly shark jumping pointless dramas like Sam and Diane (Cheers, holy fuck am I dating myself, though that was technically before my time), Ross and Rachel (Friends, which was no Cheers) etc, but also some less annoying couples like Ben and Leslie (Parks and Rec) or Amy and Jake (Bk99) who are mostly just kind of cute and fun. Other shows, like the X-Files, teased viewers for years with unresolved sexual tension. In kids shows most romances are, appropriate for their target viewers, mild, sweet relationships based more on self-conscious flirting and blushing than on complex and conflicted feelings or deep passions - which is pretty realistic when the characters are young teens or even mid-teens. Some of these relationships are really well done - Finn and Flame Princess, Dipper and Pacifica (yeah I ship them), the early stages of Katara and Aang (before the showrunners imbued this childhood crush with cosmic significance), Steven and Connie, etc. Catra and Adora, though, are different. Their love story is not a side plot or a sub plot, it’s the heart of the show. It isn’t a childhood crush, it’s a very messy and passionate relationship between two young adults. She-Ra is an emotionally complex lesbian romance just as much as it is a thrilling action/adventure show. Everything about their relationship is baked into the show’s plot, its themes, hell even its musical score. The dramatic tension between Catra and Adora is not the result of stretching out a flirtation for ratings, but a coherent dramatic arc that runs through the entire show. As Noelle said, he made Catradora so central that execs couldn’t take it out without ruining the show. And the show is better for it. In this series of posts I’m going to try to show why, as well as showing why She-Ra is such a fantastic love story.

First off, let’s talk about how Catra and Adora’s character arcs are foils for each other, and how they come together and apart through the series. This is actually a post that I’ve been working on for a while but I keep summarizing the show rather than cutting to the chase, so I’m not going to recite many plot points so much as sketch out what’s going on with the dramatic structure at the time. But also, let’s talk about what each character’s arc is saying, and how they are commenting on each other. Spoiler alert: Catra’s arc is a subversion and critique of stories of empowerment through ruthless self-assertion and revenge, while Adora’s arc is a subversion and critique of chosen one narratives and stories of self-denial and self-transcendence.

When the show starts, Adora and Catra are shown as rivals and friends - their first scene starts the recurring motif of them reaching out for each other as one of them dangles above an abyss, as well as establishing their flirtatious banter and easy camaraderie. We quickly learn that these two young women plan to conquer the world together. These scenes and later flashbacks show Catra and Adora as deeply enmeshed in each others lives, to the point where neither of them (but especially Catra) have clear identities outside of one another. There is so much genuine love on both sides before Adora leaves, but also resentment, envy and fear, especially on Catra’s side, as well as a protectiveness on Adora’s side that deprives Catra of her autonomy. They are both being abused by Shadow Weaver - Catra physically and emotionally, Adora emotionally. It wouldn’t be too much to say that Shadow Weaver holds Catra hostage to control Adora (this is why critiques that Adora abandoned Catra to be abused are actually kind of messed up, since they accept Shadow Weaver’s premise that Adora is responsible for what Shadow Weaver does to Catra). In addition, Catra and Adora actually see the world incredibly differently. Adora already sees the world in terms of right, wrong and her destiny to right wrongs - this is why it’s important for her to accept the Horde’s obvious lies - she couldn’t keep living if she didn’t. Catra, on the other hand, sees the world solely in terms of survival and personal loyalty - everything for her is about preserving herself and the person she cares about - Adora.

Then, when Adora finds the sword, she leaves because it’s the right thing to do. Catra doesn’t even have a concept of ‘the right thing to do’ being something she should care about, or perhaps, something she can care about as an irredeemably evil, awful fuck-up. So at Thaymor neither one understands where the other is coming from, and Catra and Adora begin to part. This is the first turning point in their relationship. Adora chooses duty over what she desires, Catra chooses to protect herself (such as she sees it) and nurse her sense of betrayal and abandonment.

Their relationship until Promise is a kind of weird Frenemy thing that is fascinating to watch and sold me on the show. Neither one wants to fully admit to themselves that the other is now their enemy, neither one has given up on changing the other’s mind. Each is furious at the other, and desperate to see her again at the same time. There’s a lot of heartache and just as much sexual tension, especially at Princess Prom. Both of them come alive when they fight each other (more about that in a later post). But they’re already growing apart - Adora embracing her destiny as She-Ra, Catra rising in the ranks for the Horde. Adora now has the purpose she always wanted, plus other friends and a sense of being chosen to do something great, while Catra now has power - the means to protect herself from people like Shadow Weaver as well as the vindication she had always been denied, and even the opportunity to beat Shadow Weaver at her own game.

The next turning point is Promise. Holy fuck, this episode. It’s an episode that is even more heartbreaking after you’ve watched the show because you know just how much worse things are going to get, and yet, it’s a necessary part of both of their character arcs. Even through season 1 Catra and Adora had remained very much enmeshed in each others lives in an increasingly fucked up way as they grew apart but refused to turn away from each other. Even though they aren’t -exactly- a romantic couple (Adora doesn’t recognize and acknowledge her feelings until the last episode of Season 5), Season 1 of She-Ra is one of the worst breakups I have seen on TV. As I said in a couple of previous posts, this is the kind of shit that the Mountain Goats write songs about. Everything that was poisoning their love for each other even before episode 1 bubbles to the surface and combines with them fighting on opposite sides of the war to make a truly fucked up situation. In the end, it’s Catra that makes the choice to turn away from Adora. This isn’t a -good- decision. It’s spiteful, and destructive, and based on an outright deluded understanding of their relationship (inspired by Light Hope’s manipulations and her own issues), but it’s in some ways a necessary decision. Catra has been so wrapped up in Adora for so long that she isn’t going to be able to figure out who -she- is without cutting Adora out of her life. And the same is true of Adora.

But each of them do this in about the worst way possible. Catra embraces destruction, ambition, manipulation and outright cruelty, turning the tactics of her abusers against them and against everyone around her. She first triumphs over Shadow Weaver and manipulates Entrapta into trying to corrupt Etheria itself. Meanwhile Adora ‘lets go’ and commits herself to the self-denying mantle of She-Ra. Over the next several seasons, their respective paths will nearly lead both Catra and Adora to their deaths (in the Season 4 finale).

For the next season (counting season 2 and 3 as one) Catra and Adora are still closely linked, but as enemies. Still, there’s more than enough flirtation between them (that ‘Hey Catra’ in the first episode of Season 2 is something else), and especially on Adora’s side we see her hold back with Catra, and often take responsibility for the harm Catra inflicts, just like she had when they were kids. Yet they still drift apart - after facing off every other episode in Season 1, they spend less and less time on screen together through season 2 and 3. Catra continues her ascent to power and descent into villainy while Adora becomes more of a stressed out mess as she takes the fate of the world and the wellbeing of everyone she cares about on her admittedly broad shoulders. Catra’s one moment of vulnerability is rewarded by Shadow Weaver’s betrayal and her exile, then Catra triumphs in ruthless badass fashion through sheer desperation and aggression. In the Crimson Wastes, we see Catra at her most independent, and she almost seems happy. But once Adora shows up and Catra hears about Shadow Weaver, she’s sucked back into the worst of her resentments, and she makes very clear that being happy is less important to her than making sure Adora is miserable.

This changes everything. Catra completely breaks with reality and tries to kill Adora, herself and the world rather than lose to Adora and Shadow Weaver (I do think it’s important to remember that she does that after Shadow Weaver nearly kills her). Catra betrays everyone around her when she exiles Entrapta, threatens Scopria and lies to Hordak. Then she flips the switch. When Adora tries to fix things, Catra fights to her own death to make sure that the world disintegrates with her. For her part, Adora fights first to understand what is wrong with the world and then to fix it. Finally she tells Catra that destroying the world is her choice and she has to live with it, decks her, and then sees her off with a death glare once the portal is closed. With this, Adora writes Catra off even if, as she says later, she never never hated her. By doing that, Adora casts off the guilt that had dogged her and takes responsibility for her own life rather than someone else’s - this is actually a huge step for her, and one that will become more important in Season 4.

Season 4 is in many ways the nadir of their relationship. They only see each other once during the entire season, in Fluterrina, when Adora tries to blast Catra, much to the latter’s shock. There’s a sense in that scene that Catra is trying to have the same flirtatious enmity she used to have with Adora, and Adora is having none of it. Catra almost seems hurt by this, which is an early hint at how isolated Catra is beginning to feel. Catra spends the rest of the season at her highest and lowest. On the one hand she spends most of 12 episodes winning by every standard she has ever claimed to care about, besting Hordak himself in single combat and making herself co-ruler of the Horde and coming within a day’s march of ending the Rebellion. In many ways it is the ultimate empowerment fantasy - the abused young woman has defeated her abusers, showed up everyone who doubted her and forced everyone to respect her. But I think it’s striking that the show starts with her and Adora dreaming of conquering the world together and in Season 4 Catra nearly succeeds in conquering it alone, almost like she was trying to live out her old shared fantasy while proving she didn’t need her former best friend.

At the same time, Catra is clearly miserable. She’s always been unhappy, but in Season 4 we see her completely isolated and lying to herself and everyone who will listen in a desperate attempt to justify her actions. Turning the tactics of Hordak and Shadow Weaver against them to gain power and then against Scorpia and Entrapta to maintain it haven’t vindicated Catra, they’ve made her more and more alone as Entrapta is exiled and Scorpia drifts away. Meanwhile Catra reaches out to Double Trouble, and her interactions with them reek of a kind of desperate desire to have someone in her life (the feeling of their interaction is of an unhealthy casual relationship where one partner becomes emotionally invested and the other takes advantage of that while denying the other the closeness they desire). As people leave her, one after the other, it becomes clearer and clearer that Catra doesn’t want power at all - she wants connection, friendship, love, and power is a very poor replacement. As I said in my long Catra rant, Season 4 is both her ‘Walter White as a Catgirl’ season and the beginning of her redemption. Everything comes to head when Sparkles destroys everything Catra has tried to achieve, Double Trouble delivers those harsh truths and Horde Prime shows up and makes it all irrelevant, just highlighting how futile all her struggles and sacrifices and crimes have been.

Meanwhile Adora spends Season 4 becoming her own her and her own woman. After telling off Catra, she grows more and more disillusioned with Light Hope and critical of Glimmer (though the latter has more than a shade of her old habit of taking responsibility for others - Adora’s development is not linear). She’s gained the courage and confidence to strike out her own path, not just follow a destiny. At the season’s end she once again breaks with her best friend to do what is right, and discards the destiny that she was being prepared for. But in this case she isn’t chasing one packaged destiny for another, instead she’s making her own choice and literally shattering the thing that she thought gave her life purpose. It’s badass, and heartbreaking, and along with decking Catra and jumping after Catra into the abyss (see below) it’s the perfect Adora moment.

In many ways Season 5 starts with Catra and Adora farther apart than they have ever been. They aren’t even enemies anymore, they’re completely out of each other’s lives. And both Catra and Adora are lost at the beginning of Season 5 - Catra is useless and alone on Prime’s ship, completely defeated despite ostensibly being on the winning side, and she goes through the motions of her normal plotting without any particular conviction and none of her normal flair. Meanwhile Adora is even more miserable and self-destructive than usual, throwing herself at Horde Bots and working herself until she drops of exhaustion. In a very real way they both stay lost until they have a chance to help the other. Catra takes responsibility for what she’s done and what she can do, saves Glimmer (at least partly for Adora’s sake), apologizes to Adora, and sacrifices herself. Adora only seems to come alive when she decides to turn around, face Prime, and save the cat. And when she does, Catra and Adora’s arcs, which had separated so completely in season 4, come crashing back together to end the series.

Adora during Save the Cat is such a contrast with the uncertain, hesitant and self-destructive wreck we’ve seen so far in Season 5. This is possibly her craziest plan in 3 years of mostly cazy plans, but she never wavers or questions herself. Even when Chipped Catra appears and we see Adora’s heart break while we watch, Adora doesn’t back down or relent. She keeps at it even as the tears stream down her face. She fights better trying to save Catra without She-Ra’s powers than she fought at the Battle of Bright Moon with them. Catra’s just about as desperate - we see her cry and plead, and now is probably as good a time to any to point out how amazing a job both VAs did throughout the show, but especially in this episode, and how good a job the board artists did.

Seeing each other for the first time in a year, and only the second time since Catra blew everything up, Catra and Adora are probably the rawest and least restrained we’ve ever seen them. There’s barely any banter, no bravado, and no pretense that they are anything other than two women who desperately need each other (Prime doesn’t help with ‘You broke my heart’.) Then Catra is flung to her death, Adora jumps after her, breaks both her legs in the fall (we see her crawl to Catra, as though she couldn’t walk) and becomes the real She-Ra. It’s such a triumphant and deeply queer moment seeing a woman transformed into a warrior goddess to protect the woman she loves, and it’s the reason that, as dark as it is, Save the Cat is my Comfort Food episode.

Let’s not sleep on Taking Control, though. This episode is like a microcosm of what this show does best, especially the A plot with Catra and Adora. Catra’s reversion to lashing out at everyone and her refusal to be open to Adora shows just how much of a struggle this whole ‘being good and trying to connect to people’ thing is. Catra’s outburst gives Adora a chance to stand up for herself and refuse to be Catra’s punching bag, while also not trying to control her. Adora’s ultimatum gives Catra a chance to reach out to Adora (quite literally), and allow herself to be vulnerable. In this episode, we see just how far Catra and Adora have come since the messed up stew of their relationship in Season 1. Adora lets Catra be responsible for her own actions; Catra lets herself be vulnerable to Adora and takes responsibility for her actions. They’re both better people and better friends and better partners than they were, and the show has shown this in a strikingly nuanced and realistic way.

The important thing to note in the next few episodes of Season 5 isn’t just how much closer Catra and Adora get to each other and how much they flirt (So much. So much, y’all) but just how -happy- they are. We see both of them transformed in the other’s presence. Basically, since they’ve parted, both Catra and Adora have been defined in no small part by how miserable they often are. They have both had their triumphs and their lighter moments, but there’s been a sense of melancholy dogging both Catra and Adora since episode 1. And now that they’re together again, that lifts, somewhat. Catra’s verbal barbs have lost their venom, and she can openly show how much she cares for Adora and even Bow and Glimmer. She’s still herself - snarky, cynical, somewhat devious - but she’s not engaged in a self-destructive zero-sum struggle with everyone around her. Meanwhile Adora has spent 4 seasons being a neurotic and sometimes nearly joyless mess who takes responsibility for everything and often doesn’t let herself enjoy anything other than the odd BFS group hug (exceptions include trying to uh...impress Huntara and reveling with the butterfly ladies of Elberron in Flutterina). Around Catra, though, she’s a cocky, swaggering jock who gives as good as she gets. It’s a side of Adora we’ve only seen hints of before, and one that’s so much more confident and joyful even as the world is ending around her. Apart, Catra had tried to protect and vindicate herself with power and conquest, while Adora had tried to forget herself in duty and sacrifice. Together, they can be themselves again. This dynamic is crucial to the show’s portrayal of Catra and Adora’s romance because it doesn’t just show how much they love each other, but how they’re -good- for each other now that they’ve grown as people, and that they are so much better than they were when they were apart.

Until Shadow Weaver shows up. Their old abuser reintroduces tensions but even then things are different than they were. Now Catra isn’t just resentful of how Shadow Weaver prefers Adora - she’s protective of Adora, which is clearest in Failsafe when she calls Shadow Weaver out for being willing to sacrifice Adora. And while Adora takes the Failsafe, it isn’t to follow her destiny or because she has a death wish - it’s because she loves her friends, and she is the only one who has any hope of doing this and living (though Catra’s suggestion that Shadow Weaver take it is a good one). And finally, when Catra leaves Adora, it isn’t because she hates Adora, nor, despite what she says, is it because she really thinks that Adora chose Shadow Weaver. At least, not exactly. It’s because Catra loves Adora, and can admit that to herself, and can’t stay around and watch the woman she loves sacrifice herself rather than choosing Catra. Before Catra leaves, she asks Adora ‘What do you want?” It’s a question that echoes Shadow Weaver’s speech in Episode 1: ‘isn’t this what you always wanted since you could want anything?’ As much as Adora has grown as a person, and defined herself and stood up for what she thinks is right, she still has never answered that question - it’s never been ‘what do I want’ but ‘what do I have to do?’ and that’s how Adora answers Catra’s question. This is Adora’s last gasp as a self-transcending hero, letting go of what she wants (not that she ever dared articulate what that was) in order to do what must be done. And it nearly kills her and dooms the universe, because Adora can’t be the hero that she needs to be by being anyone less than herself.

But it’s losing Catra that inspires Adora to tell off Shadow Weaver for good (not that she’d ever really warmed to her after season 1). And it’s love for Adora that inspires Catra to stand up to Shadow Weaver and demand that she do the right thing. In both cases, Catra and Adora aren’t just standing up to their abuser, but holding her to account for the harm she’s caused, and it’s the love that they have for each other that inspires them to do this. In Catra’s case in particular her refusal to let Shadow Weaver weasel out of finding Adora is a much greater triumph over Shadow Weaver than beating her up and breaking her mask in Season 1 - it’s proof not so much to Shadow Weaver but to Catra herself that Catra really is better than this and that she deserves better than this. It’s not turning her abuser’s tactics against her, but truly holding her to a moral standard and demanding that she do the right thing.

And then there’s Catra and Adora together at the heart. Catra has already come back for Adora and stayed to the end, choosing to die with her even if she can’t share a life together (not out of some death wish, but because Adora needs her). And Adora, who’s been avoiding answering the question for three fucking years, finally let’s herself want Catra when Catra finally confesses her love (breaking the last of her self-protective shields) and asks Adora to stay -for her-. And by admitting what she wants, Adora can truly be at peace with herself and be the hero she needs to be, lesbianism saves the universe, The End.

So anyway, that’s how Catra and Adora’s stories are woven together and how they compliment and comment on each other. Narrativiely, Adora and Catra start together, come apart, find something of themselves, and truly find themselves and each other when they are reunited. Thematically, they are critiquing seemingly opposing narrative tropes - empowerment narratives and narratives of self sacrifice. But by showing the flaws in both types of story and showing how neither self-seeking empowerment nor self-negating self sacrifice can actually make us happy, She-Ra asks and answers more profound questions than most prestige dramas for adults do. I’ll get into how the show sells the idea that the power of love can bring us happiness (and save the world) in a future post. But next up, I’m going to celebrate just how much Catra and Adora’s relationship revels in ambiguity, complexity and contradiction and so tells a grown up love story in a kid’s show.

#she ra #she ra spoilers #she ra adora #spop #catradora #she ra netflix #she ra and the princesses of power #goat ship #long #meta

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bloodycassian · 3 years ago

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Tender - Azriel x reader - Pregnancy fic. Fem! reader. LONG!!!

Prompt - Hi! I just read most of your imagines, and i loved them! You have me as your faithful follower, I don't comment much because English is not my first language. Could you write one where az manages to perceive that reader is pregnant right in the middle of the war?

You woke to yelling. Not screaming. Not fear or pain, but battle cries that you'd grown to love. They made your blood sing in harmony with the Illyrian voices. It made your heart hammer in your chest, and your muscles tense - ready to fight. Azriel groaned beside you, curling around your waist like a vise. You managed to break free from his muscled arms. Pale light shining through the tent tinted his shadows a light gray. They wrapped around you, drawing a chill down your spine. The war cries grew louder. "Get up. It's time." You shook him, pulling on your light armor. He covered his face with his hands, and did not leave the cot. He groaned again when you pulled the blanket off his mostly naked body. He was never a morning person. Cassian rushed in when you were putting the last of your gear on, and Az froze. His grip on his pants went white knuckled. Cassian's face was pale, and before he could say anything Azriel was hurriedly pulling on the rest of his clothes. Your stomach dropped at the sight of the Warlord. "It's a diversion." You said, voice hollow. Cassian's slight nod was enough to make the breath leave you. "It's going to be fine." Azriel grunted, pulling his tunic over his head. "We just need to move the troops. Get Rhys here." He waved a hand at his brother dismissively. Cassian grabbed Az's wrist. He forced the male to look at him, to see his worried eyes. You tensed, ready to defend your mate even against Cassian's might. "Rhys is on the battlefield already. We're on our own." His voice was low, and the warning in his eyes was enough to make the hair on your arms raise. Azriel pulled away from him, slowly. He began strapping his weapons belts on, pushed his hair back and sighed. "Where do you need us?" The air was cold, and the howls of battle echoed across the hills. Azriel's shadows curled around your legs, comforting. Then they slithered their way across the valley where the battle was beginning. + You could barely raise your sword by the end of it. The mud had been the most challenging part of the entire fight. The enemy horses had done a good job of making obstacles when they fell in the mud, lame with broken ankles and necks. You wished to put them out of their misery, but there was no time. The forces seemed to come in waves. Like a test against your small unit. Few were lost from your side. The dewey grass steamed in the morning light, carrying up the reek of enemy blood with it. You wiped your face, trying to get the taste of dirt and blood out of your mouth. Sharp stinging pain seared your ribs under your arm. You hissed. Then, you felt the warmth of your own blood. You swore, and looked for a medic that wasn't tending to wounded on the ground. Some Illyrian bodies were being lifted away, high into the air for burial at their homes. You dared not take a healer away from more critically injured soldiers. You nodded grimly to the ones that you passed. They were covered in blood, and yet still gave you fierce grins when you went by. They respected you. More than any other Illyrian Female before you. It was sad, but you hoped to forge a new path for other females of Illyria. You held an arm under your side and limped your way out of the mud. The packed mess inside your boots made moving your feet hard. You couldn't wait to shower. You spotted Cassian far down the field, and watched as he raised his sword high over his head. Your stomach twisted in pity for the suffering animal under him. You looked away before you could see the lifeblood drain from the horse's neck. He sent a blessing to the Mother for the animal, and continued on to the next suffering soul that would meet its end via his blade. + You hadn't seen her in a long while. Too long for a friend, but she gave you that same look she always did when she saw you hobbling up to her for help. Jeva was your favorite healer, and one you knew could keep a secret. She was round, and her voice was light and comforting. She smelled of nutmeg and berries. Something you had appreciated about her since you had met. "What is it this time?" She waved you inside, holding the tent flap open for you while you dumped your battle stained gear on the wood hutch beside the entrance. The tent was light and airy, filled with small plants of different varieties and cluttered with boxes and books everywhere. Her desk and bed were shoved to the corner, and a long wood table took up the majority of her area. As if she had known you were coming, she already had potions of different types laid out on the end of the table. "Probably nothing." You said, pulling off your armor as gingerly as you could manage. The soft light flickered and changed to a harsh beam when she laid you down on her exam table. "I'm not supposed to be healing anymore you know. I'm retired." She clicked her tongue at you, earning a pained grin. It was hard for you to bother a healer for any amount of time for something that you were sure was so small. But something about it stung too much for it to be just a scrape. And you knew Cassian would lecture you about it being infected if he saw through your mask to the pain. Az would force you to see one anyway as soon as he learned of it. "You know I wouldnt be here unless I had to be, Jeva." You said through your teeth as she cut away your muddied undershirt. "Oh, I know. That's why I have my best potions ready." She laughed, then paused. Your shirt lay limp on the table. Her eyebrows knitted together at the sight of your open wound. "Is it bad?" You asked, craning to try to look for yourself. She held you down. "Metal. Fragments are still in here, likely why it hasn't healed yet." You relaxed at that, grateful that it wasn't worse. "Thank the Mother. Az would have yelled all night." You rolled your eyes, and sighed as she started working on you. The first part was always the worst. The stinging hot potion that made the nerves around the wound numb. "One-" She began her countdown, then poured. You growled at her, gripping the end of the stained table hard enough to crack. "Easy..." She warned, and smoothed down your hair. She knew how to take care of her patients, that was certain. You relaxed as the stinging eased. The dull ache that it left behind turned into a bad memory. "I'm going to extract the blade then we can close you up. Simple and easy." She picked up her tools and began tugging away at your side. You could have fallen asleep with the relief the numbing potion brought. And with her humming in the air around you, it was a struggle not to. The time seemed to pass quickly, but when the clank of the metal tools jolted you from your dozing, the tent was lit in orange from the sunset outside. "Relax, we're going to close it up now. Once the potion wears off you will still be sensitive." She placed her hands over you, and the familiar warm vibrations of her healing magic set in. Then it stopped abruptly. You cracked open an eye, then narrowed your brows at her. "What is it?" You said gently, then again when she didnt reply. She stared at you, mouth agape. Her eyes locked to yours, even when you sat up to demand she tell you what the problem was. "Am I dying?!" you took her hand gently, in case she was going to push you away. Then she started laughing, her hand gripping yours back. The warmth glowed in your palm, the light radiating out from it was starkly contrasting the tent walls bedecked in orange. The light she emitted shot through you, and you felt the wound tingle, and seal. You stared at her in shock. That amount of healing power was incredible. Especially for field medics. "Youre not dying, no..." She waved a hand, fanning herself. Her eyes were glassy with tears. She sniffed and clutched your hand tighter. "Quite the opposite, darling." She pulled you in for a warm hug. + You spent the rest of the evening with Jeva. Until she got a hurried message about student healers needing help on the battlefield. You stayed in her tent as long as you could manage with the ringing in your ears. You stared and stared at the mirror across from you, showing you the bloodied warrior that you wanted to be. That you wanted to stay. The warrior that carried the Shadowsinger's child. The thought made tears sting your eyes. You refused to let them fall. You had been ignoring his tugs down the bond for well over an hour. You knew he was concerned, but you couldn't bring yourself to shout back down. The only thing that echoed in your mind were Jeva's words "You're pregnant..." Pregnant. Pregnant. Pregnant. You nearly punched her when she told you she wasn't joking. The only reason you even believed her was because of that powerful zap of healing she sent to you. That she sent to scan your body and make sure the fetus was okay before you even knew about it. You could barely hear half the words she said as she told you your options. You roiled with the thought now. The Mugwart she left on the table was daunting. You desperately wanted her back. Jeva would be able to deliberate with you. You knew she would tell you to do whatever makes you happy. You knew that. But you wondered how ethical the choice that made you happy was. Bringing a child into a world of war seemed cruel. Even if it made you happy. You distantly noticed Azriel as you passed him, walking to the forest edge just passed your tent. Worry laced the bond between you. You tried not to show anything back. But you knew he felt the tension, the void there. "Where the hell have you been?!" Azriel's eyes were furious when you passed him, his wings flared out slightly. You couldnt even look at him with anger back. Your emotions ran wild. You were frozen, and as numb as the potion Jeva had given you when she began removing the blade. "Do you know how worried I have been?! I sent Cassian to-" He tried to grab for your hand to stop you, but you flicked him away. He stopped for a moment, stunned. Then returned with more energy than before. That yawning abyss in your bond was growing darker with shame, worry and anxiety. His shadows roiled around him as he caught up. "You dont get to-" "Azriel..." You stopped in the edge of the clearing. The small meadow was silent in the darkness, not even the monsters of Prythian dared roar tonight. Your mind did all the roaring you could handle, anyway. You tried to focus on the swaying grass, on the soft smell of wet bark and pine hanging in the air. "Dont try to excuse this I need to know you're okay and-" He stormed in front of you, ready to burst with rage. His fear always made him angry. And for good reason after losing so many close to him. A tear ran down your cheek, your face burned hot with hundreds of feelings at once. Fear, pain, shock, joy, hope.... elation. You wanted his children. You wanted to help raise his child. You wanted to see Azriel be a father. You knew he would be the best damn Illyrian father there had ever been. The thought hit you like a well placed punch. He saw your paleness, your tears and stopped his yelling. You fell to your knees, the mud splattering all around you. You wanted to lay down. Lay down and think about the implications of carrying his child. Would it be good for the baby to be born at all? Just because you wanted it didnt mean it needed to happen. You knew that Jeva would give you a potion to extract it without hesitation if it was what you wished. "I'm-" You choked out, fighting the panic that flooded you. Your mind roiled with the conflict of your mind and heart. It turned you into a muddied, dark ocean on the bond. A turmoil that he couldn't see past. If you were an ocean, he was your lighthouse on the cliffside. Signaling you home. His eyes darted to your body, to your hands and how they wrung together in front of you. "I'm sorry. I just-" He sighed and took one of your hands. "I'm sorry." He kissed the back of it and brought his forehead to yours. He normally needed a lot longer to cool down after a fight, but seeing you in tears shocked him out of his pride. "I shouldn't have said that... I know you can take care of yourself." his voice was low, and he ran a hand comfortingly down your back. A hysteric laugh bubbled from your throat. It sounded like a sob. You didn't know exactly which it was. He sat back and pulled you into his lap, despite the grass being dewey and damp. He rocked you there for a few seconds before you had to tell him. Before he could be too close if he didnt want you anymore. The doubt crept into your head, and the nerves ate at you. Your heart raced, you could feel it in your neck. "Azriel..stop." You pushed away from him, to catch his beautiful dark eyes. They were painted in a silver hue by the moon above. You took in his face, the curve of his cheeks and lips for possibly the last time. You had to consider the worst possible outcome. You braced yourself for the rejection, for the pain of his reaction. You knew it had to come out. You knew you had to say it now or you never would. Your stomach flipped over and over. You opened your mouth, a soft sob wracking out of you before you began. He froze. Went utterly still, his shadows even stopping for a second before whirling faster than before. Your eyes went wide. His nose flared, eyes narrowed. He held you closer, sniffing at your neck. He pulled back and his eyes were even wider than before. His mouth fell open when you nodded. "I'm-" "Youre-" his face went through a whirlwind of different emotion. Then, he broke out into a small laugh. He couldn't stop. You felt the tears running down your cheeks and didnt bother to wipe them away. "Honey... I'm sorry." He stopped laughing suddenly. "What do you want to do?" His eyes were masked, his expression the most serious you'd ever seen him. His aura on your bond seemed to go completely gray and still, as if he didn't want you to see him. He masked everything. In preparation for whatever you decide. The gesture made your heart squeeze in appreciation. You stammered, resting your forehead on his. "I dont know." You muttered, voice cracking. Then, he was wrapping his arms around you in a smothering hug. When he pulled away, he cradled your face in his hands. The hands that had seen so much cruelty in his life. The possibilities of the same thing happening to your child made your heart race. "I'm here for whatever decision you make." He brushed your cheek with a thumb. You nodded and let him hold you like that for a while. Quietly rocking back and forth with you in his lap. + You were near falling asleep when the war cries rang out again. Illyrians howling for their leaders to join them. Another onslaught of death coming their way. The calls were distant, but Azriel tensed the second he heard them. Your blood went cold. He buried his face to your chest, as if he wished he could hide there. "I'm not going." He said when you tried pushing him away. "I wont leave you." He promised, locking his muscled forearms around you. The echoes of battle cries faded. He stroked your hair, and traced his fingers along your back. Then he swore. "Let me take care of this." He said, voice edged with anger. Nerves pricked at your stomach, but you stood, wobbling on your feet slightly. He took off into the night sky painted in silvers and blues by the full moon. Then came racing back down right behind Rhys. the high lord took one breath and then he was hugging his brother. Azriel shoved him off, and they shot into the night sky. Well, Azriel did. He dragged Rhys with him. Grunts of pain and fleshy sounds of punching rang out. You followed them high into the air where they had their conversation. Your wings led you around them with ease. "Stop fighting and use your words, boys." You warned. You recognized Azriels growl and smiled to yourself as they broke apart. Rhys adjusted his tunic and cleared his throat. "I need you there. Cassian is handling the Western front, the others need a leader." Azriel began protesting against the high lord. "I cant with my mate-" "I know it feels impossible right now but-" "I will not, Rhys-" You set your jaw. If they wanted to fight over if you needed protection or not, you would take the option off the table all together. "I'll go." you said, voice strong since hearing Jeva announce what grew inside you. Pregnant, pregnant, pregnant. You shoved the thoughts away as far as you could. They both turned to you, horror striking Azriels features. "Absolutely not. No." Heat and rage flared down the bond. It made you want to defy everything he said. You locked eyes with him and glared. Rhys glanced between you with tense shoulders. He cleared his throat. "It would be a good compromise, Azriel. You can go together to the Eastern front. Think about it." He placed a hand on his brother's shoulder and gave him a grim smile. "I wont say a word." He said, summoning the darkness around him then winnowing away. Azriel's cold eyes made him look like a statue. "Let's go." He said, and started circling lower. Back to the meadow. "I'm going, you cant stop me from following you." You said, expecting a fight. He said nothing. You were met with that silence that drove others crazy tryin to find out what he wanted from them. The bond seemed to snap taut, then go into a relaxed state. He was hiding. You knew it, but would rather have silence and peace than him trying to fight you again. He walked you back to the tent, and exhaustion took you under before you could remember him laying down with you. You hoped it it was exhaustion, and not whatever the baby was doing to you. Despite your best efforts, you couldn't resist the urge to cradle your belly while you slept. There was no bump, but it felt like the most natural thing to do now that you were aware of the being inside you. You slept hard, and awoke to the breakfast bell chiming. The sounds of slow footsteps marching through the mud kept you awake. Azriel was gone, but the candle on the table was lit. A note lay there waiting for you. His messy scrawl made you smile, the familiarity of his writing reminded you of the notes he would leave you when he had to leave early for meetings with Rhys. "Back by nightfall, lover. A guard is at the tent, ask her to bring you anything you need. -A" You peeked outside the tent to see Jeva there, her long fur coat shimmering in the morning light. Her breath clouded in front of her when she gave you a soft smile. "Good morning." She pulled a muffin from her coat. "Your favorite." She winked, and you pulled her inside. She had a fire roaring by the time you finished your food. "How are you not freezing?" She complained, blowing into her hands to keep them warm. You brushed the crumbs from your shirt and really took into account the changes you'd noticed lately. How hungry you'd been, how tired after the easiest days. "Do you know... How um..." You gestured to your stomach. She gave a small smile and nodded. "Only a month or so." She said quietly. You stared at your stomach, as if waiting for something to answer you. To give some sort of affirmation that Jeva was right. She continued warming herself by the fire, and soon the tent was filled with her warm chestnut smell. Cassian entered the tent when you were starting to doze off again. The wool blanket on your lap reminded you of a time when you first met Az. Your heart squeezed at the memory of those long nights shared together by a fire. Taking your turns on watch duty. You shook yourself from the memory. Cassian froze. His face scrunched up at the sight of you. The scent, you realised. You swore to yourself, and Jeva only nodded when he looked to her. "Youre pregnant?" He asked breathlessly, and you could smell the fear and excitement coming from him. In fact, you could smell the smoked meat on his breath. And the cold air that clung to him from outside. It was refreshing, like a cool drink on a hot day amid the dry heat inside the tent. "I'm sorry, I shouldnt have.." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to remain focused. "Its okay, Cass. What's going on? Az left me this note." You handed it to him. His lips moved as he read it. He went white as bone. Your stomach dropped. + Azriel had gone in the night to take out the entire eastern flank with a small group of Illyrians. You felt your world skittering away as Cassian told you. Your vision went blurry, and tears fell, dripping on your hands that clenched the wool blanket. "He's on his way here now. He had to answer to Rhys first." Cassian waited for you to say anything. But your lips just couldnt form the words. The hurt, anger... the betrayal you felt for him going to battle without you. And defying a direct order from his high lord like a fool. "I suggest you leave before Azriel comes back. It may get messy." Jeva spoke for you, and you were grateful. You gave Cassian a nod of thanks before he turned and left. The cold wind that blew in from the door gave you goosebumps. "Take it easy, you dont want to be too stressed." Jeva handed you a mug of tea and gave you a small squeeze. You could smell Azriel before he entered. Jeva shot him a glare, but said nothing. "I'll be in my tent if you need me." She promised, gave you a look that said 'find me after' and left. Azriel took off his armor plates one by one. A bit too slowly to be considered normal. Stalling. You said nothing. You let the tension roil out of you, let it hit him down the bond. Like a wave getting ready to break. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his wings. The mask he wore cracked when he saw your fists balled in the blanket. "I couldnt risk you... or the babe." He tried to hide the fear that shone through. The fear of his mate or child being hurt in battle. He wouldnt be able to stand it. The fight was needed, anyway. He needed to get out his instincts to protect protect protect. You said nothing. You let that looming wave grow larger. He sighed, and sat at the end of the cot beside you. "I'm sorry. I needed....I needed to get my head straight. I should have told you. I'm sorry." That wave crashed, not on him though. Internally, guilt and fear melting in on yourself. "I cant lose you, we... We cant." You said through your teeth, trying to hold back the tears that begged to spill over. He tried his best to hold back his surprise. "We?" He asked, a small smile playing on his full lips. You gave him a grim smile. "If you're...ready to be a father. I like imagining you, with my child." "Our child." He said with a bubbling laugh. You laughed with him, and it turned to hysterics. He wiped tears from the corner of your eyes. "We're going to have a baby?" He cradled your face, looking into your eyes. You took one of his hands, and placed it on your flat belly. "Yes. We are." You said, voice quivering. He wrapped you into a hug, and you cried together in the cot.

#acotar #acotar fic #reader x azriel #azriel x reader #azriel

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oonajaeadira · 4 years ago

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LOSING MY RELIGION: CHAPTER 5: THE ATTACK

(Photo: The Mandalorian. Star Wars / Disney+)

Pairing: Post Season 2 Din Djarin / force sensitive reader. Soft. Super soft slow burn on both sides, internal struggles. Alternating POV.

Warnings: So, so, so much fluff and yearning. Yearning and fluff. Sparring/weapon usage. Violence including: knives, choking, blasters-to-heads, punching, kicking, force-throwing. Injuries including: cuts and bruised innards / healing. Mind-control. Mourning for a lost spouse. Emotional farewells. The teeniest-tiniest amount of combat kink and blink-and-you’ll-miss-it allusions to masturbation and fear of being taken advantage of? Is that everything? Did I mention tons of yearning and fluff? Because warning: tons of yearning and tons of fluff.

A/N: I can’t apologize for the amount of fluff in this one. And I won’t. But hey, we’re working into some deeper feelings now, and all I really wanna do is wreck you. Also. Lots more action; don’t let the warnings fool you, the violence is NOT gratuitous, I was just trying to be thorough and list everything, even if it just shows up in passing. Thanks so much for reading my writings, kitkats.

Summary: You and Din learn just how well you can take care of yourselves...and each other.

TAGLIST: you can always request to be on the taglist for this or any of my work. If you’d like to be on taglists for upcoming fic, please sign up here –> TAGLIST

MASTERLIST - LMR MASTERLIST

←-Previous Chapter 4: Resonance

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PART 1: DIN DJARIN

“Okay, let’s see what we’re working with here. Show me what you’ve got. Go.” Din steps into a fight stance, tamping down the grass underfoot and brandishing a beskar spear pointed at your chest. It’s been a while since either of you had a friendly tactical tussle and you’re both excited about the idea of a good spar. At least, he thought you were. You’re just standing there, staring back at him with an unlit laser sword in your hand, like a lothcat in the searchbeam. “Is this your strategy? You know this thing is sharp, right? You do not want me to strike first.”

“I thought you were going to use the Darksaber.”

“Not to spar, not yet. You don’t have armor; I could take your hand off. It’s not safe until I know how you fight and how to compensate.”

“Oh, but a big pointy spear is okay.”

“I’m not going to jab. Just swing and block. It’s mostly up to you to attack.”

“You know I am using a lightsaber, right? It also takes off hands.”

“Aim for the beskar.”

“What if I miss?”

“I won’t let that happen. Quit stalling. Go.”

And yet, you just continue to stare at him. This doesn’t seem like you. What in the galaxy are you waiting for? He’s starting to get impatient. You act like you’re scared and you’ve never done this before.

“Does anyone ever actually fight back? Look at you. You’re like a one-man assault squadron.”

Ah. The helmet. Din relaxes his stance, “It’s me under here. I’m not going to hurt--” but immediately brings the spear shaft up to block your lightsaber blade, pushing you back. Dank farrik, that came out of nowhere. Your attack actually sends him backward a step. “Hey!”

“You said ‘go.’”

Din tilts his visor pointedly at you. Really?

You shrug and there’s just a hint of an apology in your small smile. ”I use the tricks I have. Don’t worry, you’re still going to come out the winner here.”

“Well, at least you’re fast.”

“Apparently, you’re faster.”

Okay. So you play a little dirty. Good. He’s not against some fun. He factors in this new information, takes up his stance again, and begins to move in.

Sizzles and clangs from the weapons bounce off the side of the Crest, echoing over the wide open field, up into the dome of the sky above you both. Sparring was a suggestion to pass the time while lunch was in the fire--and from a professional standpoint, he wanted to see how well you could defend yourself as a secondary measure to his security detail. So far, you’ve been able to block his advances, but you’re hesitant to take openings to counter-attack.

“I can tell you’re going easy on me, Captain.”

“Just trying to get a read.”

“I’m not useless, I’m just not a knight. Come at me for real.”

“You really don’t want that.”

Your mouth sets in a hard line. “You think you know what I want.”

Your determination is damn pretty, but Ahsoka was right, it’s laced with fear. Still, you begin to circle him again and he smiles behind the visor, loving that you won’t back down, even when you know you can’t win.

“You want to look for your openings. You’re not aggressive enough.”

“I’m usually--” you handily block a couple of slashes from the spear, “--trying to stay alive, not lean into a fight.”

“Yeah? And what if you have nowhere to go and the enemy keeps coming? How do you stop them?” You come in to strike him--too late--he’s already moving to block and swings the spearhead around to your neck, resting it gently on your shoulder, completely controlled. “What’s your strategy here?”

You knock the spear off your shoulder and bring your weapon up to the ready. “Mostly just trying to disarm you.”

Din flips the spear in one hand, raising it high, and thrusts the spearhead into the ground. He leaves it standing up straight, then aggressively comes at you, bearing down. “Well, I’m disarmed, now what.” You retreat from his bold, long strides, nearly running backward. “How are you going to stop me.”

You get a good couple of swings in, which he deftly blocks with the vambraces. He sees the determination in your eyes, but also the fear. He should stop, is about to, when you throw your hand out at him….

It’s like being rammed in the chest by a small mudhorn.

He goes flying back, landing near the spear, knocking the breath out of him.

Damn. That was a damn good move. He forgot that you probably had that in your arsenal. He immediately reaches for his weapon, but it lifts out of the ground and zips away from him.

As he gets his feet under him and rises, you walk up and stand over him, breathing heavy, hair moving in the breeze, brandishing both weapons like some kind of warrior goddess. “Like that.”

Din slightly short circuits here. This display of yours trips a switch somewhere in him--like starting a furnace, an engine, a whole damn star--and he grabs the spear with one hand, blocking your saber strike with the other vambrace as he uses brute force to try to either regain his weapon or tug you in close except--

--you simply let go of the spear and let him stumble a step backward, the momentum of his pull twisting him to the side. When he centers himself, he has just enough time to block your next strike.

“Good!”

White-hot admiration burns through him, but it's not enough. He wants to watch you pull that signature move again, see if he can learn to resist it, and needs to get you into a position where you’re forced to rely on it. Din easily knocks away a couple more of your attacks, then spins the butt of the spear lightning fast up and under your weapon hand, sending your lightsaber arching away from you into the grass. You retreat away from the reach of the spearhead as he swings it back around, fiercely staring him down, and he counters to keep himself between you and your weapon. One last taunt should incite you to act.

“Do you yield, little bird?”

He watches as you raise your hand and close your eyes; he digs in his heels, waiting for the push to come.

Instead, there’s a loud clang as something hits his helmet from the rear, knocking his head forward. He spins to look behind him, “What the--” nothing there. But when he turns back to you, you’ve got the lightsaber hilt in your hand.

And you’re laughing, affectionately, the afternoon sun casting a brilliant, dazzling glow around you. Damn, woman.

“Yes. Yes, I yield.”

Damn.

_________________

PART 2: YOU

The sun is getting low in the sky and you’re nervous about being late for supper with Shiari’s family. Although nobody would assume it looking at you--laying in the grass, twirling a blade of it in your fingers, watching the pastel Chalactan clouds. Your companion wanted to take a shower before heading out, and you know it probably takes some time to get the gear off and on, but even so, he seems to be taking longer than usual. You two agreed on a clever system in the Crest--a signal light on several panels throughout the ship that alert each other if one of you is occupying the refresher cabinet. Sure, there’s a sliding privacy panel, but the closet is small, no room to undress inside if you’re using the sonic. You’ve spent your fair share of time sealed up in the cockpit during his turn when he’s had to maneuver all that. But it doesn’t usually take this long. Maybe there’s a hold-up with the armor. Or he’s stalling because he’s dreading a communal meal. Or he’s simply enjoying the use of an actual sanisteam.

Or... maybe you got him riled up during the spar and he really needs to relax.

Ugh. Self-flattery. You were putting forth a pretty strong effort there and he was wiping the floor with you like it was nothing. Like a lothcat pawing at a half-dead mouse. He’s so...powerful, both inspiring and frightening; even by Mandalorian standards, the man’s a beast. If what he displayed today was only a fraction of his skill…. Stars, he must be a terrifying bounty hunter.

You realize how lucky you are to have him on your side, and it’s like being swaddled in beskar yourself; you feel completely protected, almost invincible. Although you know you can hold your own out here, now you truly know that almost nothing can touch you.

That is. Other than him.

Not that you think he would harm you. Not that you believe he could harm you. But there’s certainly no way you could stop him if he wanted to. Tucked up together in a durasteel box for days on end, you never felt threatened. Not once. Seeing what you’ve seen, do you feel different now? You can answer that before the question is done forming. Under all that beskar you know him to be a decent, honorable--even gentle--man. And now that you’ve seen partially what he’s capable of and you know--you really know--he would never use it against you…only for you...

The way he yanked that spear away from you….If you hadn’t let go, you would have gone crashing into him….

You’re suddenly very, very warm.

Maybe you’re the one that needs a long shower right now.

There’s footsteps in the grass. The open ramp of the Crest starts closing by remote. Then the Mandalorian is standing above you, gloved hand out to help you to your feet. “Ready?”

________________

Couldn’t ask for a more beautiful sunset as you walk into town, all pinks and reds in this atmosphere. And you get to see it in surround--in the sky on one side, and reflected in beskar on the other.

“That thing you do with your powers.” He speaks slow and thoughtfully through the modulator. Relaxed.

“Oh. That one thing?”

“Today. The...the way you threw me.”

“Force push.”

“It’s powerful. You should lean into that.”

Powerful. Really? Wait. There’s a smile in that statement. What’s he up to. Is he teasing you?

“Are you saying I’m hopeless with a lightsaber?”

“Well, you’re better with the Force thing.”

“It’s not… reliable. And it takes too much energy. Once or twice is fine, but I might pass out after that. Maybe only once... if they’re wearing enough beskar to weigh a metric ton.”

“Hmm. Too bad. It’s your best weapon.” That is definitely a lazy smirk in there. You’ve never seen him in such a light mood.

“I was using my best weapon the whole time.” The visor turns questioningly to you and you grin up at him. “Making you think I’m afraid of you.”

“Are you challenging me? Because that feels like a challenge.”

There is a very pleasant danger in his tone there. Huh. Looks like your spar lit his engines today.

Well. That makes both of you.

Your thrill at the possibility of him actively flirting with you is short-lived as you get a pang of something...wrong. Here, in the town center, there’s a couple of elderly folks sitting on a blanket by the fountain, sharing some food. Four kids running and yelling, kicking a ball back and forth. A trio of older students lounging on the grass, pouring over datapads. A weathered-looking man leaning up against the near side of the fountain, wrapped in a tattered, dark blue robe, presumably some vagabond. But he sticks out--everyone here dresses in more neutral colors, fabrics dyed with the materials native to the planet. There’s nothing in this environment that can produce that dark hue.

“Captain.”

“I see him.”

You take his elbow so he can lead you while you close your eyes and concentrate hard, throwing out your senses, trying to get a read. The first thing you pick up--unsurprisingly--is Din and his mixture of apprehension and alertness. But you skip past that to the man in the cloak. He’s focused on you both. And not with the curiosity of one of the older folks here. He’s got something darker brewing in him. But you’re not strong enough to see what.

The same feeling comes from another point. “In front. To the right.”

“Under the tree?”

You open your eyes in the direction that the Force is telling you to look. There’s a young man, arms crossed, sitting with his back against a tree, head covering pulled down over his eyes, seemingly sleeping in the coming twilight. “Yes.”

“Did you bring your saber?”

You nod. It’s attached to your belt as always, but hidden in the folds of your tunic.

“Good.”

Looking down, you notice his holster is empty. The confidence you had in him earlier slips and your fear ticks up a notch.

“You don’t have your blaster.”

“Can’t carry it here. There are mandates against it.”

“You’re unarmed?”

A scoff pushes through the modulator. “That’s insulting.”

Ah. Of course he’s probably secretly armed to the teeth. All the time. His whole damn body is a weapon.

At the door of the cottage, you both stop for a moment, stepping in close to confer under the eaves. “They were definitely focused on us. I couldn’t read anything else.”

He sighs. “Okay. Go eat. I’m staying out here.”

“Do you think it’s necessary?”

“I don’t know. But we knew this might happen and I’m not taking any chances. I’m not eating anyway. Go on.”

It’s not ideal, but then again, maybe it’s nothing. You hand over all trust and let the man do his job, and knock on the door so you can do yours.

__________

Supper in Shiari’s house is a bittersweet affair. Everyone seems happy and excited, ready to talk about the girl’s new adventure, but you can feel waves of heartbreak coming off her Nanni and her father.

It must be hard for the widower. Judging by the baby, he lost his wife probably less than a year ago and now he’s saying goodbye to his daughter. He’s a handsome man, dark hair and sparkling eyes…. You really hope they don’t lose their shine when Shiari goes.

Stars, the food is so good; savory and spicy, tangy and sweet. You take mental notes, hoping to be able to replicate some of it later...or at least get close. In the morning, Shiari’s family, neighbors, and friends will all bring her out to the ship, a big party to send her off. Like any six-year-old, she’s energetic and fidgeting, asking all kinds of questions about who will be there and dreaming about her next few days. Dear girl, she really should be focusing on this good meal, you do not have the heart to tell her that it’ll be missed when she’s in training. Unfortunately, another lesson to learn. Oh well. You’re certainly enjoying it enough for her. And for your partner, who’s not getting any of the sweets.

How is he doing out there? Your awareness is heavily split between the happy family scene in front of you, and the door behind, separating you from Din. You’d made excuses for him, explained the helmet thing, and Nanni still insisted on bringing out a plate. Wonder if he’s been able to enjoy any of it.

After supper, you follow Shiari to her room, and one by one, regard each of her possessions--a couple of dolls, a few small toys, some dresses, her blanket--and together you decide what must come with her and what must stay behind, giving her a moment to let each thing go. The little girl does this gracefully, calmly, wanting so badly to walk into her new life with the right attitude and fewer distractions.

Her Nanni comes in to ask if there is room in Shirai’s bag for one more thing--a crimson shawl. You don’t have to guess who it used to belong to.

“It’s okay, Nanni,” the initiate says to her grandmother. She reverently takes the shawl and wraps it around herself, more of a cloak on her small body. “I don’t have to make room in the bag. I can just wear it.”

________________

Out in the back garden, Shiari’s father stands in the darkness, looking up at the stars through the branches of the big tree.

You stand next to him in silence and wait. This is always the hardest part, but the most necessary.

After a minute, he speaks up, voice catching in his throat. “I miss her so much,” and he continues to look at the stars, can’t rip his eyes away, the metaphorical place where his wife has gone, the literal place where his child will go. “Shiari seemed to take it so easily. She really believes that her mother became part of the Force.”

“That’s exactly why it was easy for her then. Why it’s easy for her now.”

Blinking up into the sky, his strong chin and nose cutting into the night, this lovely man tries and fails to control a sob and your heart twists for him, archiving the beauty of his love and anguish out here in the starlight. “I don’t understand that.”

“Her connection to the Force is strong. Stronger than mine. She feels it very, very deeply. She most likely felt the moment her mother became a part of it. Working with the Force, in many ways, connects them to each other. She follows the Force because she is following her heart.”

His head drops to his chest, and he quietly weeps.

It’s a moment he needs, and you let him have it. Then, maybe overstepping a bit, you move toward him and lightly fold your hand over his shoulder, driving your compassion into him. “Luke is a good person. He is the son of one of the greatest Jedi I have ever known. She will be taught well and cared for. This is not forever. You will see her again. I promise.”

The healing begins to work through him, gradually bringing him some peace. “Thank you. Please. Keep her safe.”

“You have my word.”

_________________

When you leave by the front door, you nearly trip over the empty plate left underfoot. Looks like Din took some time to tip the helmet. Good. The town is dark, save for a few lanterns lining the wide path up to the center and the one near the door you’re standing at. There are a few people out and about, walking in the early evening, but none of them are the reflective glint you’re looking for. You put your spine to the doorjamb and wait; he’ll be back.

In the meantime, there’s the next few days to mentally prepare for. Shiari will be with you now on the five- or six-day trek to Ajan Kloss. Entertaining her, training her, caring for her are all things to look forward to. She’s an amazing child and, selfishly, you crave time with another force-sensitive being; it’s been years since you’ve been around one of your own. But it means less quiet time with Din, fewer mealtimes pressed back to back, or hearing the deep hum of his voice without the filter.

Maybe that’s for the best. This afternoon put you both into high gear, your own affection shifting into full-blown attraction. This is not like you. It’s not like you to be this unprofessional and it’s not like you to fall so quickly...and for someone so...brusque. When he showed up at the clinic, you were afraid he was there to do you harm, and now he’s the man whose presence makes you feel safer than anything you’ve ever known. This supper tonight is the longest you’ve been apart in more than a week and you should feel thankful for a little break, but all you want is him, hulking and terse beside you again.

Perhaps you should give him some space. Focus on Shiari.

But still. If he gave you an opening.... Blast. You know you’d take it. In a heartbeat.

A small, blinking red light catches your attention near a tree not far away, bringing you out of your thoughts and switching you into alertness. Now that your eyes are adjusted to the darkness, you can see his outline there, covering and uncovering the digipanel on his arm to signal you. You slowly stand and face him to let him know you see him, then he signals for you to make for one of the buildings down the road, go around, and he’ll meet you in back. He points to his eyes and then pats his hip. “Show me you’ve got it.” When you shift the fabric of your tunic, the metal of your saber glints in the lantern light. And when he nods and gives you the go, you go.

You head down the road, looking for all the world that you’re just leaving the house and returning to the ship, and then duck around the building without incident. There’s a small lantern back here at the alley door, and he’s standing in its glow so he doesn’t scare you coming out of the dark. As soon as you’re there, he pivots and moves quickly back toward the house through the alley and you jog along behind him.

“There’s at least four of them. Don’t think they’re ciphers, just hired bandits. They’ll know we’re here for the kid and they’ll have to strike tonight if they want her. They’ll most likely wait until there are fewer people around.”

“Then why are we waiting to be attacked? Shouldn’t we just grab Shiari and go?”

“And risk getting jumped in the street? With the kid? Even if they didn’t attack here, they’d follow. We leave the kid in the house, I take them out. Then we can grab her and get off the ground before anyone else shows up.”

“There’s four of them and two of us.”

“There’s four of them and one of me. You are going to stand down.”

“You’re going to take them. Four to one.”

“Yep.”

“Then why did you want to know if I had my lightsaber on me?”

“Just in case the worst happens. We’re going to move in the open. Keep to the shadows. Stay behind me.”

Leaving the alley, you follow him through the sparse trees flanking the circle of cottages. He chooses one far enough in the shadows, but with a good view of Shiari’s home. This is where you’ll wait. Tapping a button on his remote panel, he uses the visor, scanning the street. “I’m keeping thermal eyes on the area, but if you see or pick up anything otherwise, you let me know. When I move, you stay here. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

The next hour crawls as you sit in apprehensive silence. He’s right. It’s not a question of if they’ll strike tonight, but when. You close your eyes now and then and reach out, hoping to get a glimmer of something, anything, but no. At first you think you’re too anxious, you can’t even read Din and he’s sitting right there. And then you realize that he’s flipped all his switches off, has put all emotion in stasis, and is just a hunting machine right now, nothing outside of vigilance, all systems eyes and ears. But you keep alert. The street gets quieter. Lanterns burn out. Then, at one point, you get a hint of fear and aggression coming down the road.

“There.” You both whisper at the same time.

And in an instant, the bounty hunter is on his feet and moving in.

The Mandalorian moves through the shadows of the sparse trees on a perpendicular path toward the incoming merc, and before they meet, a whipcord shoots out, wrapping around the man’s ankles, yanking him to the ground. Din immediately digs in his heels and starts pulling the guy toward him into the shadows, but a shout brings two others out of their hiding places. The young human male from before who had pretended to be asleep under the tree and a Trandoshan female, bigger than Din, and coming in hot.

The young one throws a knife at Din, pinging off his pauldron as the Mandalorian makes a line for him, punching him in the flank hard--really hard--you’re surprised Din didn’t put his fist right through him. As the young man goes down, the woman comes up from behind, catching Din under the chin with a techstaff and lifting him off the ground, using her full force to choke him. You immediately recognize the mistake in this plan--that staff won’t be hers for much longer. Sure enough, Din points an arm up and behind him, letting loose with the flamethrower, sending her screeching backwards, letting go of the staff. It’s his now. He whips it in a low, wide arc, knocking her feet from under her, dropping her hulking frame to the ground.

This is incredible. He’s incredible. In all of half a minute, he’s everywhere at once and they’re all doomed. All three of them are on the ground now, struggling in some way; the first merc is almost untangled from the whipcord, but Din just retracts it a bit and it tightens, spinning the man hard onto his face. The other two are starting to get up--

--but something pings you, catches your attention, moving slowly through the shadows. The man in the dark cloak. Coming in from the east….but he’s not heading for the fray. He’s moving through a gap between the circle of houses….

He’s going for the back door.

Din can’t see him.

You don’t even think, you just run, hoping you can catch him in time. There’s fear rising--not for you but for the girl--no.

Push that down.

Focus.

The garden is dark, but you can sense he’s back here and you stand still for a moment, waiting to get a read on where.

A shot comes out of the darkness, just missing your head, hitting the side of the house behind you.

Kriffing kriff, he’s got a blaster. And he can see in the dark.

Well. So can you.

The lightsaber illuminates the whole garden, and you just get sight of the cloak as your enemy ducks behind the big tree in the middle, leaving you out in the open. Damn. He immediately starts shooting from behind his cover and he’s at close range. You’ve got no choice but to stand your ground, deflect the shots, and slowly move in. The blaster is loud enough to alert Din, he’ll be here any second, all you have to do is possibly get close enough for a good Force push--

--and then something hits you hard from behind, taking you down, your lightsaber goes flying, plunging the garden back into darkness. Another assailant is on you, punches you hard in the gut, winding you, but before he can get another hit in, you Force push him with so much adrenaline behind it that he smacks into the side of a house with a sickening crunch and falls moaning to the ground.

The damage is done though, it was enough of a distraction for the man in the dark cloak to move in, pointing the blaster at your head. Your lightsaber is gone and you know you don’t have time to gather the strength for another push.

Thankfully, a light comes out of the darkness. “Drop it. Or you’re dead.”

You can’t see him behind it, but Din’s steady voice is, by far, the most beautiful sound in the world right now. In the helmet’s beamlight, the man in the cloak curses as he rips the darkvision goggles off his head, the light too bright for the enhanced scopes. But the blaster stays aimed squarely at your face.

“I said, drop it.”

The man sneers, his teeth the color of his cloak. “I know you don’ave no blaster, Mando. You make a move, I shoot.”

Everyone is a still life of tension and breathing. It’s true. Din doesn’t have his blaster. Not close enough for the flamethrower. Whipcord won’t be fast enough.

Breathe.

Put your fear aside.

Use the tricks you have.

Laying in the grass, sinking your emotions deep and concentrating, you barely lift the fingers of one hand, sweeping them through the air as you imagine drawing a curtain across the man’s mind. Voice calm and smooth, “I’m not worth shooting.”

The man doesn’t turn his head from the light, but his gaze drifts down to you.

Stay calm. Repeat yourself. “I’m not worth shooting.”

Something shifts in his eyes. “You’re not worf shooting.”

You move your hand again. “You don’t need a blaster to fight a Mandalorian.”

His gaze shifts back to Din. “I don’ need no blaster to fight a Mandalorian.” He throws the weapon down in the grass, sneers, puts up his fists. Din is immediately on him, charging him, taking him down in one kick, the violence lost in the darkness as the beamlight goes out. The lightning-swift dousing of the guy’s optimism would be funny if you hadn’t just been in mortal danger.

Your job is done here. Curling up away from the scuffle and putting your face in the grass is your only motivation right now. You nurse your aching gut and let Din take care of the rest; thank stars you can count on him. And after wrapping up his punishment and securing both men, of course he’s kneeling next to you in the dark, scooping you up to a sitting position, efficiently dusting the grass out of your hair and off your tunic.

“You okay, little bird?”

“Yeah, the other one got a good punch in, that’s all.”

“Well, you did worse to him.” One of his arms slides under yours, the other under your knees. In a smooth motion, he stands, lifting, then tipping you forward so your feet come down gently on the grass, helping you stand on your own.

Ugh. The muscles in your abdomen complain about the shift. “Ow.”

“You’re going to live.”

“I know. I’m just surprised that I was able to keep my supper down.”

This makes him chuckle. “We’ll get you some ice.” But the light mood shifts when he hooks a gloved finger under your chin to bring your gaze up, and then points it in your face. “Next time I tell you to stay, you stay.”

He’s angry, but controlled, in a way that tells you he was actually worried there for a second. But when you nod a promise back to him, he pats your cheek lightly as if to say, “Good girl. You did good. Proud of you.”

Lanterns are being lit in the houses circling the garden. Now that the blaster fire and sounds of violence have died down, the curiosity begins. The back door to Shiari’s home opens and her father is standing there, lantern in hand.

Din tips the helmet to him. “You should call in the magistrate.”

___________________

Within an hour, you’re on your way back to the Crest. Din was able to detain all the assailants in varying degrees of consciousness--although the man in the dark cloak would most likely be out for days. The magistrate took them into custody, asked some questions, and Shiari’s family was able to pull some strings to be your proxies in the upcoming days of interrogations in order to get you on your way without too much hassle.

Meanwhile, Nanni understood that every minute Shiari remained here she’d be in danger, and had gone around to gather up friends and neighbors. Then she woke up her granddaughter to tell her the plan had changed and they were going to say goodbye now. It was played off brilliantly as a surprise for the girl, a starlight sendoff rather than the sunrise one she’d been told, bringing her outside to a chorus of loved ones.

So now you and your partner are walking through a wide, grassy field under a million stars, at the front of a small sea of lantern- and candle-lit faces, all of them joining in some farewell of a song, something sweet and pretty, but not mournful. You can’t understand the words, but you understand the meaning--safe travels, you are loved, let your days be happy, may we meet again.

I makes your heart ache. It’s a beautiful procession. A beautiful night. And then there’s this guy beside you. This machine with a human heart. Staying close to you, swinging his arms lazily, walking along like he didn’t just rain down hell in the middle of the street. It never gets old, the way the lights play off the beskar. You hope he never decides to paint it. Blast. You’re good and smitten now, girl. “I’m surprised you don’t want to stay and see what the magistrate finds out.”

“They’re going to keep me informed, send me a holo when they have a report. But I got what I needed out of one of them. Cheap thugs. Pirate hires.”

“Pirates?”

“Looks like the Empire’s going through third-party channels to get intel and serve rewards to anyone who brings in proof or actual targets. They’re using any backwater scum to cast a wide net and do their dirty work. The girl and her powers aren’t a secret here. It was only a matter of time.”

“So anytime we get word of a contact, it’s to be assumed others know too.”

“Yep.”

“Good to know.”

He looks down at you, his gaze sending shockwaves through you. “You scared?”

And you look up at him, sending them right back. “Nope.”

When you come to the ship, Din lowers the ramp and punches a few buttons on his wrist remote to get some running lights going inside. As the group begin to crowd around Shiari to make their final farewells, her father approaches you, tears in his eyes. You think he’s coming in to shake your hand, but he embraces you. “You said you would keep her safe and you did. You are.”

Oh, this lovely heart. “I gave you my promise and we’ll do everything we can to keep it. I’ll send you a message when we’ve arrived.”

When he lets go, you’re happy to see that even if there are still tears, there’s relief now there too. He moves to the Mandalorian, clasping the hand of his daughter’s savior in both of his own. “Thank you.”

Din simply nods. It’s fascinating that nobody ever expects him to say anything back. Power of the helmet.

When all the farewells are made, Nanni hands over the sleepy initiate, kissing first the girl on both cheeks, and then you. How fast they make you into family here. “May the Force be with you.”

Shirari mumbles a small, “May the Force be with you, Nanni,” the realization of separation finally sinking in. She bears it bravely though, continuing to wave until the ramp closes.

“Well, my girl,” you tug on her hand. “You ready to see the stars?” and there’s a renewed enthusiasm as you guide her to the ladder she gets to climb, her very own jump seat, all the blinking lights and sounds, the rise to orbit, and finally the jump to hyperspace. The stars are always brilliant, and you love watching them stretch and warp as much as she does, but they’re even better reflected in her bright and shining eyes.

But it’s still the middle of the night as far as her body’s concerned, and it only takes a couple minutes of the lulling starlight to put her back in a place of drowsiness. As much as it kriffing pains your injury, you let her piggyback as you climb back down the ladder. You show her the refresher in case she needs it, bring her to the back of the hold where there are now two hammocks--one for her, one for you. You’ll be right here while she sleeps and she should wake you up if she needs anything. Shiari asks if you’ll stay until she falls asleep, and you do, telling her about all the things she’s about to see and learn.

It’s only after she’s asleep that you allow yourself to have a small, silent cry. For her, for her father, for your own parents when they had to say goodbye. It’s never hit you like this before, but then, it’s been a hell of a day.

_________________

PART 3: DIN

Din takes care of all the outgoing procedures, sets up secure communications coordinates to the magistrate’s office and Shiari’s parents, locks in all receiving frequencies. He curses. The ache in his arm is starting to get worse and he knows he can’t just put it off indefinitely. You’ve had enough time to put the girl to bed and do what you need to do, so it’s time to suck it up and go ask for help. He’s not sure why he’s hesitating--you’re a healer, this is what you do. Maybe he’s just used to taking care of things himself. Maybe he doesn’t want to admit to you that he let himself take damage. Especially from those amateurs.

Stop it. Just get it over with.

He throws on the auto and punches in the alert codes before heading down to the hold.

One of the hammocks is heavy with the sleeping child, but he doesn’t see you until he turns all the way around from the ladder. He discovers you sitting on the floor, propped up against the weapons locker looking tired but happy. He jerks his thumb to the hammock, She asleep? You nod. Then he points to you, tilts the helmet to the side, What are you doing on the floor? And you laugh silently, shaking your head in embarrassment.

He squats down next to you so you can speak in hushed tones. “What’s going on?”

“I’m just a mess, that’s all. After Shiari went down, I thought I’d get some rest, but I couldn’t even manage to bend over and get my boots off, much less haul myself into the hammock. So I thought I’d come back to the cockpit, but climbing the ladder was too much and then I thought I’d just use your bunk, but I just kind of gave up and had to have a minute to feel sorry for myself and this is where I live now.”

“Are you kidding me?”

You continue to giggle softly, even though it obviously hurts. “I’ll get up in a second. I just had to have a dramatic moment.”

“Stay.” He stands, glaring down at you. “I mean it this time.”

You throw him a salute and he walks off, shaking his head but smiling anyway, digging in a compartment for a medikit and then in the cold storage for a cooler pack.

He returns and settles on the floor next to you, placing the ice on your belly, keeping his volume down. “Hold it there. It’ll help.” He fishes in his belt for his cauterizer and hands it to you, turning so you can access his injury and pulling his cape aside. “Do you mind? One of them was a blade-thrower. Got me in the back of the arm.”

“Oh my stars, Captain. How did I not notice this??”

“You were kind of busy with other things.”

“You’re still bleeding…” Pulling yourself up straighter to take a look, you peel the ripped and bloody fabric aside. “Because of course you’ve been using the arm, of course you have. Like it’s nothing. Do you even feel pain?” He feels you push at the pauldron, trying to get more clearance. “Can this...move somehow?”

“Feel under the lip at the top. The magnetics release is a textured button flush with the beskar.”

You slip your finger between the metal and fabric. “Well. Now I know all your secrets.”

Heat rushes to his face as the pauldron releases. Then he feels a tug as you open up the rip in his sleeve. “Hey!” “Shhh. Sleeping kid, remember? Relax. I just need more room to see...It’s this or you take the whole kit off and I can guess what you prefer.” You make the tear a little bigger still. “Well, at least it’s a clean slice, not too deep. Lucky you, I can fix this.”

“My arm or my sleeve?”

“Both. Hush.” You hand the cauterizer back, “Won’t be needing that,” and start digging in the medikit.

“There should be one more bacta patch in there.”

“Don’t need that either. Looking for the anticeptin--ah.” He watches as you break a capsule, rubbing it over your hands, then soaking a clean pad. “Not that I imagine it will phase you, but this will sting.”

It does, but he’s had worse. Pain doesn’t interest him. He’s more concentrated on the pleasure of your hand on his bicep, steadying his arm as you work. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve sat back to back with him, there’s something different about when you lay hands on him….

“Okay...That’s good and clean, so…” And then, without warning--

Your fingers slide in through the tear in the sleeve and his chest fills air and his head fills with light as he feels your skin on his for the first time.

You cover the injury with your hand, and he watches as you take a deep breath and close your eyes.

Warmth.

Warmth from your fingers, warmth from you, every fiber of him is alert to this one moment, this one small fraction of his body, his whole heart is in a few inches of skin on the back of his arm and it feels so beautiful, all of it, the sting of the anticeptin, the wound closing, your warm, smooth skin against his skin...this is...this…

...is over way too soon.

“Din.”

“Hmm.”

“That’s a little too tight.”

He looks down and realizes he’d reached out and gripped your knee. Hard.

Immediately relaxing and letting go, he apologizes under his breath.

“Did it hurt?”

“No. You’re done?”

“Yeah. I’m sorry to inform you that you won’t have another scar to add to the collection I assume you have.” You go to work repacking the medikit.

“Thank you.” He reaches back to touch the spot, not quite believing it was that easy...although he’d seen Grogu heal a nasty laceration once, and this was nowhere near that. “That’s a handy trick. I could use it in my line of work.”

“Ha. That’s what I am. A sorcerer full of tricks.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean--”

“No. It’s oka--I know. I said it myself earlier today, remember? I use the tricks I have?”

“Well, lucky for both of us, they’re good tricks.”

You’ve settled back against the locker with the pauldron in your lap. He watches your fingers tracing the backing mechanics, admiring the workmanship. You weigh the piece in your hands. “It’s actually lighter than it looks.” He allows you to take the time to get a good look at the magnetics grid on the sleeve to understand how it works before letting it seal back in place. “What would you have done tonight? If I hadn’t tricked him.”

The guy’s lucky he’s still alive. “I wouldn’t have let him shoot you.”

“What was your plan?” He turns the visor halfway to you, not quite able to meet your eyes. “I’m just curious.”

Din cocks his wrist and blue pinpoint lights come to life on his arm. “Whistling birds. Micro targeting missile darts.”

“Stars. You’re full of surprises. Would those have killed him?”

One more flick of the wrist and the set deactivates. “Yes.” Your silence speaks for you--the gravity of knowing he’s capable of easily bringing down death is setting in. He’d rather you didn’t think of him like that. And anyway. You have your own secrets to account for. “But I didn’t have to. You took care of yourself. I didn’t know you could...control minds.”

You laugh weakly, then groan and press the cooler pack into your gut. “I wouldn’t call that mind control, especially since it only works on the dimmest stars. It’s just confusion and redirection. Like spinning someone around and sending them away from you. That’s the only time I’ve ever used it for a life-and-death situation. Mostly it’s good for getting guys to leave me alone at the cantina.”

It comes out of him before he thinks. “Don’t ever use that on me.”

“You do not fit into the category of men I would turn away at the bar.” He throws you a look. “Seriously, Captain. I would never pull that on you. And it wouldn’t work anyway. You know about it now. And you’re too smart. I have no power over you.”

Din can think of a dozen responses to that, some of them sincere. He lets them go. He needs to know something else. Something he’s been wondering about. “Can you…” But he’s not sure he wants to ask this question, not sure where it will lead.

“What.”

“Can Jedi...read minds?”

“Not...really? Powerful ones can push their own thoughts into the minds of others, and most of us have Force empathy, but it’s a high skill. The best I can do is pick up really strong emotions, but it’s usually just a confirmation of what that person’s already showing me.”

“So you can tell what people are feeling.”

“Sometimes. Can’t you?”

“I’m not a Jedi.”

“You don’t have to be to understand what someone’s feeling. Even Jedi don’t use it all the time. In the end, most people aren’t that complicated, even if their feelings are.” Hopefully you’ll leave it at that. But you don’t. “Sometimes it’s just easier to ask.”

Well, he started the skirmish that led him to this point and you just gave him an opening. The question is, should he take it?

He’ll probably regret it later if he doesn’t.

“So, how are you feeling?”

He’s finally getting used to hearing your laughter as an expression of delight rather than any kind of ridicule.

“Exhausted. A little sore. It’s okay.”

It’s...not what he meant. But. Maybe that’s fine for now. He’s relieved to just keep the status quo. It’s working so far. “Well, keep that ice pack on and get some rest. You’ll feel better when you wake up.” He swivels to a kneel beside you, ready to help, “Let’s get you up so you can hit the rack.”

But then you come out of nowhere and quietly blindside him, stopping him by putting your hand gently on the crook of his arm. “But. If I’m answering honestly, I’m probably just as scared as you are.”

And even without mind reading powers, he knows exactly what you mean.

You just… went there. Just like that.

Well, he did ask for it.

His heart might actually pound its way through the beskar.

There’s a soft sound from the far side of the hold, and you both turn to see if Shiari’s woken up. No. Just shifting in her hammock, muttering something about stars.

Din lowers his voice as soft as the modulator will allow, and resumes his dangerous question from the afternoon.

“Are you challenging me?”

You obviously remember this game. “Does it feel like a challenge?” Your hand gently squeezing his arm.

“No.”

As he did in the garden just a few hours earlier, scooping you up under arm and knees, he stands and lifts you. Only this time, Din doesn’t put you on your feet.

He gently carries you the length of the hold and carefully maneuvers you into your own hammock.

Then, pressing your leg to his side, he works your foot out of one boot--delicately, tenderly--and sets it quietly on the floor.

His hand slides over to the other leg and he does the same there.

If you actually whisper a “Thank you,” or just mouth the words, he can’t tell, but it doesn’t matter. He gives one last look over your soft, sleepy smile before hitting a button on his remote to dim the lights in the hold for you. Then he heads for the cockpit, letting you get the rest you need.

________________

In the pilot’s seat, Din looks over the panel of blinking lights, realizing he really has nothing to do up here. He removes the helmet and turns it over in his hands. How many times has it covered for him when he had nothing to say? Or stood in as an intimidating glare when he’s been less than confident? He’s always been able to rely on its ambiguity before. But now...how does he make this thing reflect pride and affection?

He’s not completely sure what’s expected of him now. Or what he can expect of you. He’s never really had to navigate this kind of thing. If he’s lucky, you’ll continue to see through the visor. Continue to know how he feels. Continue to take the lead--he’s more than happy to follow you.

“If I’m answering honestly, I’m probably just as scared as you are.”

What he neglected to tell you tonight is that he was in the garden when you spoke to Shiari’s father earlier in the evening. He was doing a sweep of the area, standing just off to the side of one of the houses, and stopped to watch, hidden in the dark.

When the man wept….when you waited for just the right time to speak…. Din had never seen it from the outside, but in that moment you soothed the guy, he knew exactly the shift you were putting the father through. You, sweeping in with your aggressive truth. Tailoring your delivery to get through the receiver’s defenses. With a touch that has the power to calm a lonely heart. It’s by far your greatest trick.

He leans back and watches the hyperspace tunnel whir by for a while until his eyes refocus on his own reflection in the viewport. He turns from one side to the other, trying to see his face through the eyes of someone else, and for the first time he wonders what another person will think of it.

Because as of tonight, it’s no longer a question of if, but when. Eventually he’s going to have to show you.

Creed be damned.

This is not what he anticipated when he took this assignment.

But he’s kriffing glad he did.

________________

Artwork inspired by chapter 5 by @littlemissskuld

________

Next Chapter 6: The Survivor --->

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