#it sounds like every argument against any traveler ship | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darklordofthesimp · 2 years

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Ubiquitous (Din Djarin x Reader)

An argument leads to a confession, and a confession leads to the truth- and what is it that they say about the truth? It shall set you free.

Requested by: @roguetonorth

#29 Could you pretend, just for a second, that I mean something to you?

#52 You’re all that I have

A/N: For plot sake, the Crest is still alive!!

I don't know what this issssssss, I'm so sorryyyy.

Category: Angst, Fluffy Ending, Mutual Pining, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: None.

This was the last straw.

By that logic, you had many straws, but this time you swore that it was the last. Your Mandalorian counterpart had an infuriating knack for leaving you in the dark, it didn't matter what the situation was. If he could keep it from you, he would. It was as if he would purposely make a game of hoarding vital information to himself.

Information that could have prevented your current disaster.

Your lungs burned under the sudden stress of being chased and your legs cramped with exertion. In your defense, there's not much to get puffed out by when you're sitting in the Crest's ventilation system. A wheeze choked from your throat, where were you even running to? You had no idea where the ship was, no idea where your companion was, and no idea where to hide.

As you said, it was a disaster.

Though, you supposed no one should travel to a market alone, especially not a mechanic with their expensive tools still attached to their belt.

You had been running for minutes on end and the sound of the heavy footfall behind you hadn't let up. There was no way you could keep this pace for much longer, athleticism was Mando's thing- not yours.

Fear spiked along the length of your spine. You'd been screaming into your communicator before you had thought to conserve your breath. You'd gotten a single response from your partner, "where?"

The answer he had received was less than friendly and completely useless, how the hell were you meant to know where you were? You'd never been to this forsaken planet before in your life!

"There's nowhere to run, give us the tools, and no one gets hurt!" The slimy Trandoshan shouted from over your shoulder. You wanted to throw up and launch every ounce of stew from that dodgy cantina onto the floor. You contemplated handing them over, eventually, they would catch you and if you pissed them off enough they might not stop at the equipment.

But Mando had gotten you those tools.

They'd been a gift.

You decided against it, the man was reserved and any sort of attention and affection meant the world to you. You felt stupid for craving it and desperate for holding onto the tiniest sliver he'd allow, but you weren't going to let them have it. Even if it made you a fool.

You rounded a corner, breath rattling in your chest terribly. Chrome armor filled your vision and you choked on your spit, skidding to a wobbly stop. You crashed straight into the Mandalorian, and his arms came around you instantly to steady your shaking body. Before you had a moment to register the situation, he had thrown you behind him with one hand guiding you and the other on his blaster.

The Trandoshan and his thugs appeared around the corner shortly, stopping much smoother than you had as they evaluated the scene before them. There was a short silence as you caught your breath, peering around the bounty hunter like a shy child. You had no shame in hiding behind him, it was his job to fight and the only fighting that was expected of you was with the Crest.

They said nothing and a smug sensation bloomed across your chest. There were no parting words or threats, just a collective agreement to slowly back away from the shining hunter and you grinned at their cowardice. You ignored the fact that you had just spent the better half of the past hour running away, in your defense you weren't the one trying to steal tools.

Once the threat was cleared, Mando whirled on you, observing your keeled-over frame. "What were you thinking?"

You wheezed in offense, glaring at him from beneath your brows. Sweat beaded along your hairline, dripping down to frame the sides of your face as you tried to stand straight. "What was I thinking?"

"Yes," he crossed his arms.

"You left me without saying anything, again!" You snapped, straightening your clothes. A quick headcount of your tools indicated that they were all there.

"You aren't a child," he stepped into your space, "you can shop and get back to the ship without me holding your hand."

Your heart squeezed in your chest, embarrassment flooding your cheeks. He'd been like this ever since Grogu had left the both of you for his training: reserved, hostile, and almost resentful towards you. No matter what you did, it was never enough to thaw the ice settled over his heart.

"You're right," you nodded, voice low as you glared up at him. "It was stupid of me to expect you to communicate the simplest of things."

There was a sharp growl of frustration from beneath the helmet, so close you could almost hear the raw, unmodulated tone of his voice.

"It's not my job to baby you," he said exasperatedly, raising a finger to point at you. "It's my job to hunt and your job to fix the Crest. I'm not your bodyguard."

Your mouth dried at his outburst. This was the most he had spoken in weeks and it was to yell at you about your incompetency. If your pride hadn't been gripping your chest so hard you would have cried and then run away, humiliated. While you couldn't stop the tears from gathering along your lashes, you could stand your ground.

"You know what?" You said, voice barely a whisper. You leaned into his space but he didn't budge an inch. "Could you pretend, just for a second, that I mean something to you?"

The Mandalorian's head swayed as if you had just struck him.

"What?" The word was sharp from his mouth but it was quiet, as though he couldn't believe what he'd heard.

You sniffed, swiping your sleeve across your nose. It was a discreet attempt to hide the tears that tracked your cheeks, but you knew he'd seen them. He saw everything, even if he chose to ignore it.

"I know you miss him, I miss him too," your voice was feeble but it was loud enough to carry the point. "You still had me, Mando. I know it's not the same, not enough, but I was there."

"What-" the hunter shook his head, "had you?"

This really had been the final straw, you weren't lying. He'd cast you aside so many times, you needed comfort too, he wasn't the only one suffering. But he never saw past his own pain and he'd been drowning you himself, maybe you simply weren't enough.

You stepped away from him, raising your hands shakily when he followed you. "Maybe we should split."

"No," he said hoarsely, "no, no-"

"Listen," you interrupted, "it's okay, we had a long run and I'm only holding you back now."

You were right, the Mandalorian was capable of so much more without an onboard passenger. He had too much to worry about when it came to an extra person: your rations, your safety, not scaring you with how he handles a bounty, ensuring your wages were paid, boosting your wellbeing, etc.

No wonder he resented you.

"You'd get more done if it weren't for me," you huffed, rubbing the back of your neck as you tried to move away from him.

He still followed you, step for step, chasing every retreat you attempted. You were backing yourself further into the alleyway, the opposite of what you'd intended.

"No," it was pleading now, desperate.

"Mando," you sighed, breath quivering. "I just-"

"No."

Your back hit the wall softly, eliciting a gasp. The lighting was dim, barely reflecting from his armor and you realized that the suns had gone down somewhere between the chase and now.

His gloved hands gripped yours tightly, holding them to his chest plate.

"You're all that I have." The words trembled, broken from the darkness they came from. "Please."

Your mouth opened then shut, hovering between the two movements indecisively. You couldn't find the words to respond, heart rattling in your chest at his words.

"You're all I wake up to, you're the last person I see before I sleep," his voice shook as he spoke, pulling you towards him with desperation you'd only ever seen when he fought. "You've stayed by me even when I've done nothing right, when I've endangered you so many times."

"I'm holding you back, Din," you whispered.

"You're holding me together, Mesh'la."

You stared at him for a long moment, wishing you could see him just one more time. The truth was harder to pick out when you couldn't look into someone's eyes, but something about the way he held you told you he was being honest.

"I don't have to pretend that you mean something to me," he spoke quietly, "you mean everything."

You couldn't help the quiet sob that wracked your body and you swore his shoulders shook too. His head dropped to yours, resting against your forehead in a way that conveyed just how tired he was. The internal conflict was killing him and you were the only constant thing he had left.

"Okay," you mouthed, nodding against his helmet. You couldn't find the words to respond, to communicate just how deeply you felt, but that quiet confirmation was enough. "Okay, Din."

There was a small, broken sound from beneath the helmet. The mighty bounty hunter's knees wavered and he held you tightly, as though he was terrified you'd disappear in his arms.

"You're everything, Mesh'la." He murmured thickly, "You're all I have."

"I know," you comforted, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

Your thumb stroked his neck, then his jaw, lost to the darkness beneath the beskar. You didn't say anything about the wetness you felt along his skin.

You just let him hold you, like a man holding the last tether of his sanity, desperately clinging to his last glimmer of hope. You were his lifeline just as he was yours, but now he needed you more than ever.

Din Djarin had saved you many times throughout your adventures, never failing to protect you fiercely and unflinchingly. This was finally your chance to do the same, this broken man in your arms needed your help. As you watched his chest shudder and his head burrow deep into the crook of your neck, you knew you would protect him to your last breath.

He murmured something, it was indecipherable at first but then he repeated it.

"I love you."

And though you couldn't see his eyes, you knew he was telling the truth.

#din djarin x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin x y/n #star wars #the mandalorian #din djarin x you #baby yoda #grogu

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freedomseeker91 · 3 years

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Enough Is Enough....

Summary: When Beca and Chloe’s anniversary dinner is ruined by Theo’s extreme work schedule, Chloe decides enough is enough and takes matters into her own hands, while Beca finally takes a stand against her tyrannical manager and opens up to Chloe about some personal demons.

Rating: T for Angst/Comfort

Warnings: Implied mentions of drug use.

I’ve had this draft fic stored in my drafts folder for 2 years now and have never done anything with it. Since I don’t plan on taking it any further I’m releasing it into the wild so that it can at least breathe as it’s own stand alone piece.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. They were supposed to be at home in their cozy beach house in Malibu, enjoying a nice home cooked meal, celebrating their anniversary.

But that wasn’t the case. Yet again Theo had booked up Beca’s schedule with performances and appearances all over LA and across the US. Shipping her here there and everywhere because “exposure generates followers and followers generate money.”

Chloe had seen it in Beca’s eyes the day she received the phone call about the changes in her schedule. Having worked over time in the studio to fit in some much needed time off, it was more than a disappointment to say the least.

Beca was growing frustrated with what was expected of her, and while Chloe tried to be sympathetic knowing that it wasn’t Beca’s fault, she couldn’t deny that she had begun to grow impatient.

Chloe wanted her fiancée to put her foot down, to demand time off so that she could have some semblance of a personal life. But Beca couldn’t, she knew she couldn’t. Not because she was afraid to, but because she was contractually obliged to. She was legally caught between a rock and a hard place.

Every time she tried to push back against Theo’s attempts to fill up her schedule, he would simply remind her of the terms of her contract. The very contract that demanded at least two more albums and one world tour before it was up for negotiation.

She was simply a pawn in the business game that was the entertainment industry, and they were going to cash in on her success and popularity while it lasted, even if it was at the expense of Beca having any sort of a personal life.

Chloe couldn’t stand it any longer. She could see the toll it was talking on her fiancée, the touring, the travelling, the long hours in the studio, it was sucking the life out of Beca.

The brunette was beyond exhausted, having not had a minute to breathe since debuting for Khaled in France. For two and a half years she had been pushed from pillar to post with little to no say over anything except what she recorded.

The was the one thing Beca had leverage over, creative control. She determined her sound, and that sound was what made her a star. So much so, that Theo seemed to have taken things to the limit with regards to the business side of everything.

This system had been a massive bone of contention between Theo and Beca and by extension Chloe. The last major argument had been when Theo tried to dissuade Beca from outing herself after she proposed to Chloe.

Not wanting to draw attention to his star or possibly diminish her marketability by alienating the male market, or indeed the conservative one, he “advised” her to keep a lid on things for her own sake, to keep her image in tact.

However Beca wasn’t having it. She wouldn’t pay heed to his advice because as far as she was concerned, Chloe meant much more to her than millions of dollars or Instagram followers.

So against Theo’s wishes, more specifically behind Theo’s back, Beca had posted a loving proposal portrait of herself and Chloe from the night she had proposed, professing her undying love and gratitude to the ‘woman who had been there all along.’

It had caught the world by surprise, no less Chloe who had become aware of the post through an Instagram notification while at one of her lectures. At first she had been a little annoyed about the fact she hadn’t been given a heads up, especially when her classmates all took notice and began whispering, having not been privy to Chloe’s personal life before.

But when it finally sank in, she realised the gravity of the situation. Beca was making a statement, a very clear, bold statement. She was Chloe’s, and no contract or person or any amount of money would keep her from acknowledging the fact that she was taken, more specifically, that she was hopelessly head over heels in love.

It had endeared Beca to Chloe even more because the brunette was so willing to put her relationship above her career, however Theo wasn’t as accepting. He retaliated by making it next to impossible for Beca to have a moment of free time with Chloe, infuriating both women.

They could see through his tactics, however, Theo was such a golden boy with the label that he was able to talk his way out of problems Beca brought to their attention. Essentially pushing her concerns off as insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

He was making her a star, this boded well for everyone financially, why rock the boat over petty behaviour? But it wasn’t petty behaviour, it was straight up sabotage. Theo was making a point, he was in charge and Beca just had to accept it and bend to his will.

It was in the contract after all.

The problem was, the issues were stemming deeper than simply not seeing Chloe enough. The redhead could see the bigger picture even if Beca couldn’t. The brunettes health was deteriorating from both the stress and volume of work she was expected to keep on top of.

Beca hadn’t had a substantial amount of time off in god knows how long, she was burning herself out and Chloe was more than concerned about what would happen if she didn’t slow down. A life that subsided on little sleep, little time to eat and caffeine wasn’t healthy for anyone.

“Chlo it’s okay. The albums almost finished and no matter what the contract says, I’m done. Theo and Khaled can just suck it up.”

That very statement had been made a week ago and since then, things seemed to have gotten worse. Beca had been forced to bail on countless lunch dates, had missed dinner and now, Chloe was sat in their house in Malibu celebrating her anniversary alone while her fiancée slaved away in the studio.

It was the straw that broke the camels back. Theo had pushed and pushed and Beca wasn’t pushing back. So Chloe decided to take matters into her own hands.

Gathering up her purse and car keys, Chloe slipped out of the house and into her car, making her way towards downtown LA and the studio she had become familiar with in the early stages of Beca’s career.

She wasn’t sure what her plan of action was, her feet just seemed to move of their own accord, but she knew she had to fix the situation they were in.

All through the 40 minute drive, Chloe’s hands seemed to grip the steering wheel tighter and tighter the closer she got to the outer city limits of LA.

Her mind just drummed up an image of Theo’s face and it filled her with this white hot rage she had never felt before. Never in her life had she hated someone, and this was crossing uncharted waters of emotions for Chloe, all she knew was that her protective instincts had kicked in and no one was going to stand in her way.

Finally arriving at the studio, Chloe parked across the street and remembered to grab her visitor badge from the glove box. Lifting the laminate over her head she let it dangle around her neck, clearly displaying her studio access.

Walking into the reception area, she noted that the place was vacant and dimly lit. In fact the only presence in the building the further she went was that if the janitors. This just further enraged her.

Stepping into the open elevator she hit the button for the floor that had become known as Beca’s floor, waiting impatiently for the familiar ding of arrival.

Once the elevator stopped and the doors opened, Chloe stepped out and burst down the corridor, glancing into the glass office walls along the way to notice that everyone else seemed to have left. Not a single desk was occupied.

By the time she reached the studio, she noticed the red light above the door, but she didn’t care. Near ripping the handle off, she stepped into the room to find Beca hunched over the control system, head in her hands, Theo on the couch, his face surprised by her appearance and one or two other producers around him.

The “producers” were sat around, beers in hand with empty Chinese take out boxes littered around the table in front of them, a white powdery substance and a credit card lying idly by. Theo was nursing what Chloe could only assume was a glass of some pretentious, obscenely priced scotch.

At the sound of the door bursting open, Beca turned in her chair and Chloes heart broke at the sight before her. To anyone else there would’ve been no obvious signs that anything was wrong, but Chloe could see the exhaustion hidden behind Beca’s gaze.

It was the same look Beca would get when the weight of all the Bella’s success would land on her shoulders. The same look Beca would hold for several months as she tried to balance the expectations of her fellow Bella’s, her internship and college without collapsing under the strain.

It was a look that told Chloe that Beca was on the edge, and if someone didn’t save her, there would be no coming back. Levelling her gaze at Theo, Chloe clenched her jaw staring him down.

Chloe didn’t have to be told anything to know that while her fiancée was being worked to the bone, probably having skipped every meal that day in order to get done as quickly as possible, Theo and his buddies had been sitting back enjoying the fruits of Beca’s labour. And Chloe was done.

“Beca’s finished here, we’re going home,” Chloe said, her tone insinuating that it wasn’t up for discussion. Of course Theo wasn’t one to be told what to do or how things should play out. With a look of annoyance he put down his glass and stood up, squaring off to the redhead.

“Excuse me, I don’t know who you think you are but Beca’s work schedule is none of your business. We have a record to finish and we’re under the thumb so if you’ll excuse us, some of us have work to do.”

Chloe scoffed at this. Work, as if Theo knew the meaning of the word. The guy spent most of his day hiding behind his sunglasses scrolling through his phone looking busy while the people around him did the heavy lifting.

“Work?” Chloe sassed, “I’m sorry I didn’t realise stuffing a kilo of coke up your nose was such a chore these days. My bad.”

Theo’s nostrils flared and he made to take a step closer to Chloe, but before he could get any closer a hand was pushing back against his chest and a petite frame came into view stepping between him and the redhead.

“Lay a hand on her and I swear to God it’s the last thing you’ll ever do!” Beca threatened, stepping back to make sure Chloe was out of Theo’s direct pathway. She reached behind her and laced her fingers with Chloe’s, squeezing for comfort, and courage. Theo lifted his hand and pointed his finger at Beca.

“You sit back down and get back to work,” he commanded, and Beca flinched at the subtle dangerous tone in his voice, and for a brief moment, Chloe wondered if it was a different kind of fear that had prevented Beca from leaving for so long.

“No,” Beca whispered, swallowing and glancing down almost in embarrassment at how weak she sounded as Theo’s presence looked over.

“I don’t think you heard me right. This isn’t a choice Beca. You’re contractually obliged to fulfill your commitments. Now Get. Back. To Work,” Theo spat, his jaw clenched.

Chloe could see in Theo’s eyes that it was the drugs talking as much as his own ego, and she would be lying if she said she wasn’t momentarily afraid of what he would do, but somehow, somewhere, Beca seemed to find her voice again.

“I said... NO!” She stated, this time her voice sounding more sure. Beca glared up at Theo, breath quickening as her own temper began to flare up.

“I’m done Theo. I’m done being you’re slave, I’m done being the one carrying the load while everyone else enjoys the perks. I’m just, I’m done.”

Theo stood back in exasperation, brows furrowed in disbelief. And he huffed out a laugh at her comments.

“Do you really think this is it? Do you really think you can just walk away? I own you Beca and everything you put your name to,” Theo replied, a shit eating grin crossing his face, “you’re nothing without me. You walk away and you are done, you will never work in this business again.”

Chloe momentarily faltered in her steadfast desire to knock Theo from his perch. The consequences of what all of this would do to Beca’s career now weighing heavily on her as she glanced from her fiancée to the man who held all the cards before them.

Beca simply chuckled and slapped her hand down by her side.

“Then take it. Take it all, take everything from me, I don’t care anymore. I don’t care about the fame, I don’t care about the money, any of it. Just take it. You’re right I am nothing without you. But guess what, I was nothing before you and I survived just fine. So take it, take all of it. I’m done.”

With one last glare in Theo’s direction, Beca pulled her lanyard from its place hanging from her back pocket and flung it at the man before turning on her heel and exiting the studio, gripping hold of Chloe’s hand tightly.

As they proceeded down the corridor towards the exit they heard Theo shouting Beca’s name, louder and louder, until the distinct sound of a fist hitting a wall reverberated around them. But neither girl stopped until they reached the exit.

As they stepped outside and the late night air hit her for the first time, the panic that had been building inside of Beca’s chest finally spilled over as she tried desperately to catch her breath and stem the flow of her tears at the same time.

Chloe quickly gripped her by the forearms, leaned their foreheads together and whispered reassuring soothing words to calm her down. Over Beca’s shoulder she spotted a pap down the street and she gazed into Beca’s eyes.

“C’mon, let’s go home,” she said and tugged Beca across the street to her car, where they climbed in and made the journey back home to Malibu.

Both women were silent the entire 40 minute trip back and when they pulled up in the driveway and parked in the garage, Chloe killed the ignition and just sat there, observing Beca whose mind was clearly racing a mile a minute.

“I’m sorry,” Beca finally said, breaking the silence. Chloe just shook her head.

“Don’t be. I get it now. Bec’s if I’d known how bad Theo was, how hard he was pushing. I mean I knew he was pressuring you but Jesus,” Chloe sighed in disbelief, still not able to get over the man she saw before her a mere hour ago. But Beca simply shook her head.

“Not about that, about this,” Beca said gesturing to the house and the car, everything around her. “I promised you the world, and now we could lose everything.”

Chloe looked at her fiancée in shock, mouth bobbing up and down as she processed Beca’s words. Turning sideways in her seat she regarded the brunette closely.

“OMG Bec’s, do you think I care about all this? About the house, the money?” She asked and Beca just looked at her pitifully. Chloe reached over and pulled Beca’s hand into her lap, clutching it between both of her own.

“Bec’s I could care less about any of that. I just want you. Whether that’s in a beach house in Malibu or...or a stuffy shoebox apartment you couldn’t swing a cat in, or hell a card box under a bridge, I don’t care. As long as I have you, as long as we’re okay.”

Tears spilled down Beca’s cheeks, the weight of everything finally allowing itself to be released. Chloe reached up a hand and cupped Beca’s cheek wiping the tears away with her thumb.

“You were wrong you know. When you said Theo could take everything from you,” Chloe said and Beca looked at her confused. The redhead simply gave her a soft loving smile.

“He could never take me away from you. And you were never nothing. You are everything. And Theo might be able to take your name musically, but he’ll never be able to take it away from me wearing it.”

It took Beca a moment to register what Chloe was saying.

“Wait are you....” before she could finish Chloe was grinning and nodding.

“I wanna take your name. I wanna be Mrs. Chloe Mitchell.”

Beca beamed at the thought and glanced down to their joined hands, squeezing tightly before bringing them up to her lips and kissing the back of Chloe’s hand. They sat there for a moment quietly and Chloe hesitated briefly on whether or not to ask the next question. But she needed to be sure.

“Bec’s about the drugs in the studio...” before she could finish Beca shook her head.

“I’m not on drugs Chlo and I’ve never taken any either. Theo, he brought that stuff into the studio, I’ve never touched it,” Beca replied her tone even. She wasn’t angry at Chloe for asking the question considering what she saw.

“Okay, I trust you,” Chloe replied. She never really doubted Beca, but she could’ve easily understood the temptation considering all of the pressure and stress that surrounded her fiancée.

Beca regarded Chloe for a moment and thought about the open lines of communication they had promised one another as Beca’s profile began to rise. It wasn’t an easy topic to broach, but after what had transpired, she felt she owed it to Chloe to at least try.

“I... I have been drinking more. Like a LOT, more,” Beca starter as she swallowed around the lump beginning to form in her throat. Chloe furrowed her brow at this, having never seen Beca drink more than the odd beer or glass of wine around the house.

“On the road, or when I’ve been doing press I’ve.... it started out as a couple of drinks to take the edge off. Keep me calm. But it’s.... it’s more now. Hotel rooms, the studio, waking up in the middle of the night. I just, I felt like I couldn’t control anything and it, it helped.”

Chloe was momentarily dazed. She never would’ve suspected Beca of abusing alcohol to cope, she’d never seen it. But then again that was the hallmark of someone with a problem, the ones that were in too deep, were usually the best at hiding it until it was too late.

“Do you.... do you think you have a problem?” Chloe asked. She wasn’t sure how to navigate the conversation. She didn’t want to outright accuse or make suggestions, but her fiancée was telling her she was struggling and she needed to find a way to help.

Beca shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t know. I mean what’s the definition of an alcoholic?” Beca asked just as befuddled by the whole thing.

“Does emptying an entire mini fridge in a hotel room count or is that just a good time?” Beca asked though their was a sarcastic tone to what she said.

Chloe blew out a breath and allowed the words floating around in her head to relax before she leaned in closer to Beca, as close as the seats would allow and gripped her hand tighter.

“I think... I think you’re someone who has been under an immense amount of strain and pressure for a really long time and needed an outlet. And I think maybe that outlet has gotten to be too much?” Chloe said, the inflection in her voice rising at the end to indicate it was more of a question than a statement.

And Beca nodded because it sure did sound about right, and she glanced down at their joined hands almost ashamed of what she had to say next.

“Every time things start getting to be too much, I feel this itch to grab a bottle of something, anything, just to silence everything in here,” Beca said gesturing to her head.

Chloe didn’t need a degree in psychology to know that her fiancée was definitely on the precipice of something bigger, something potentially more harmful. But she wasn’t yet too far gone to do anything about it.

“I think, we should maybe look into some counselling, to help with the urges. Maybe they can teach you some coping strategies or something.”

Beca looked contemplative for a moment, before giving a little nod of her head. It wasn’t a reluctant nod, more a nod that suggested she was scared, but willing to make a change.

At this Chloe leaned even closer pressing her forehead to Beca’s and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“And the next time you get an itch to reach out and grab something, you reach out and grab my hand and hold on as tight as you need. I’ll always be here to support you.”

Beca couldn’t contain herself anymore as she reached across the console and kissed Chloe. Even when the world felt like it was imploding around her, the redhead somehow always found a way to make everything feel like it would be okay.

The producer was more than aware of the fact that her drinking habits were beginning to creep into the danger zone. Those urges growing more frequent and more consuming as time went on.

There was a fine line between taking the edge off and drinking to cope and Beca had stepped over the line. But it was a line she could learn to step back from if she was prepared to acknowledge how dangerous the excess was.

She was self aware enough to realise there was a difference between drinking to have a good time, and drinking to forget about her problems. The difference between wanting a drink and needing a drink was whether or not you could live without it. Needing it was when the the line had been crossed into an unhealthy relationship.

Beca was by no means living by the bottle 24/7, but it was frequent enough to make even herself question if her own relationship with the substance was healthy. And she didn’t want to become that person for Chloe. She didn’t want it to be too late to fix it.

Gazing out around at the interior of the garage, Beca couldn’t help but be reminded of the potential financial peril they had been tossed into thanks to Beca finally standing up to Theo.

“What are we gonna do about all of this? If Theo sues me, which he would have every right to, we could lose everything,” Beca said with a slight shake of her head. Chloe just shrugged off

“We’ll figure it out. And if we have to start all over again, we’ll do it. I can lose a house, I can lose cars, money, all of it.... but I can’t lose you.”

Beca gazed at Chloe, then down at their joined hands.

“Even if we’re back to living in a shoebox apartment struggling to make ends meet?” Beca asked. And Chloe simply smiled back at her.

“Those days in that shoebox apartment were some of the best days of my life. It’s where our relationship began. Anywhere with you is home Beca. Whether that’s here or the other side of the world.”

Beca gazed deep into Chloe’s eyes absorbing every word. Chloe was right, Theo could take everything away from her. But he could never take away the thing that mattered most to her.

And as they sat in that driveway relieving themselves of all the stresses that had been consuming them for some time, they both realised that that was all that truly mattered.

#Bechloe #Pitch Perfect #One-Shot #Enough Is Enough

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delimeful · 3 years

Text

you cant go back (3)

warnings: panic, miscommunication, trafficking, non-consensual drug use, suicidal thoughts, food, mentions of torture, cliffhanger, these tags make it sound worse than it is tbh

When Virgil first opened his eyes, jerked out of sleep by sharp instinctual alarm, he’d thought for a moment that he was still dreaming.

It was the same face, after all, even with how frighteningly close it was, even with a vastly different expression painted across it. He’d been confused, almost relieved-- had they gotten away after all?-- and then he’d realized just what the Deathworlder had in their arms.

He’d lunged and come up short, forced to watch as the Human kept their arms locked around Patch even as the creature made unhappy little noises he’d never heard from it before.

It was so small compared to the Human, easily tucked under an arm and managed regardless of protests. Did they have no respect for the deadly grace of the other creatures on this planet?

They’d circled him from a distance, ignoring his warning twitches and outright hisses as thoroughly as they ignored Patch, and all he could do was watch, locked in place, hoping that Human prey drive wasn’t as high as all the rumors said.

And then the Human had left, taking Patch with them, and Virgil had been left to watch their fading heat signature and pray to Seryl that whatever the Human did would be quick. For both of them.

It wasn’t that easy, of course. The Human wanted something from him, badly.

He thought he had a fair idea of what-- or rather, who-- it was.

After all, he’d seen a near-perfect mirror of them, sitting bound and muzzled in their transfer ship’s holding cell where a Human absolutely shouldn’t be. Leond and her Second had been unnaturally gleeful for rotations before Virgil finally found out about the ‘successful pickup’, namely through stumbling across it by doing the routine security and safety checks that he didn’t trust the rest of these idiots to do themselves.

They’d cut him off before he could get to a comm to tell Janus, cornered him in the tight cell block hall, and offered him a deal: his silence for a cut of the immense earnings they would make from renting out a Human to any and all fighting rings.

He remembered the way the Human’s gaze had flickered between him and the others curiously as he argued, the way they’d struggled to bare their teeth derisively at Leond, even through the bars of their muzzle and the haze of whatever they’d been drugged with. It was one of the last things he’d seen before he’d ‘made a fuss’ big enough that his own crew had tranq’d him and ditched him on-planet to die.

“You’re right,” Leond had said, face smooth in the way that meant smug satisfaction for her species. “We haven’t fulfilled our half of the exchange, have we? We took an alien from that planet, so it’s only fair that we leave one behind.”

His limbs had been defensively raised since the beginning of the argument, but Virgil had fought side by side with these people before. They knew how to guard his blind spots, which meant that they knew his blind spots.

The Human had tried to speak through the muzzle, just before he’d heard the discharge sound of a tranq gun too close to dodge. He thought it might have been an attempted warning.

It hadn’t changed anything. He’d been the only one on that ship who’d opposed the Human’s abduction, and as a reward, he was going to be slowly interrogated to death by one of their clutchmates. The level of cruel irony was like something from one of Jan’s stupid operas.

Virgil felt another shudder of exhaustion. Stars, he hoped Janus would get out of there once he realized what they’d brought back. His best friend knew better than to fuck with Humans, and the crew clearly wasn’t going to listen to any interplanetary ethics lectures, so the best thing he could do was skip town. Better to rebuild than fall with the nest.

He hadn’t slept after the Human had left, flipping to his heat sensor vision and watching all night for their return, unable to relax after one of the most unpleasant awakenings of his life. And if it meant he didn’t dream about what could have happened to Patches, all the better.

The next day had come, and the Human returned, wielding that dull stick and asking more angry questions that Virgil couldn’t understand, let alone respond to.

The thing was, given enough time and exposure, he actually would be able to understand the specifics of what was wanted from him.

Like most long-term interstellar travelers, he had a Lator implant, and the more the Human talked at him, the more linguistic patterns and trends would be picked up and catalogued, making it much easier for him to put the pieces together.

Unfortunately, time wasn’t something he had an excess of.

Janus would have figured out at least the basics by now; in addition to being better with words, he’d gotten a more recent, effective upgrade to the implant’s software. Virgil had turned the offer down for himself, knowing that they needed to save money where they could, and figuring that he didn’t really need it. His job was to defend Janus. His First could handle the talking part of their missions on his own with ease, the chatterbox that he was.

It had seemed obvious at the time. A lot of good that logic was doing him now.

The Human said something at him, flashing his bone-white teeth as he spoke. Humans didn’t have guard plates over their mouths at all, and so every time this one turned to him, he felt as though they were either acting sickeningly overfamiliar or that they might lunge forward and try to bite him at any moment. He’d carefully kept his own plates locked, not willing to expose any teeth and have it mistaken for a challenge.

The Human was waiting expectantly. Virgil took a deep breath and replied, the same as he had every time he could, though he doubted Humans had access to translator implants.

“I am not here to harm anyone. I was abandoned here against my will. I can’t understand what you’re saying,” he recited in Guard-tongue, keeping the sentences brief and repetitive for easy translation pattern recognition.

The Human wasn’t extending him the same courtesy, his own sentences long-winded and full of unfamiliar concepts that kept tripping up the Lator programming. References, probably.

There was one Human word that he’d figured out fairly early on: Brother.

Clutchmate, family, the lookalike that was probably long gone by now.

He was almost glad that he couldn’t speak coherently. As it was, he didn’t have to be the one to break the news.

Almost, because the Human was stubbornly finding new and creative ways to freak him the hell out with each visit.

First, they’d figured out fairly quickly that he was slowly starving.

Virgil had flooded his plates right to pitch on their first meeting, and hadn’t been calm enough to stop the defensive reaction since, which had quickly drained what little hydration stores he’d had left. Between the drying out of his plates and the fact that he’d gotten too worked up and blacked out for a moment during an interrogation, his fading health wasn’t exactly subtle.

He’d panicked, because any enemy knowing his weakness was generally pretty fucking bad, let alone an enemy with personal motive and ability to twist that weakness like a knife in the spine.

The Human had verbally freaked out (a regular occurrence) and vanished for a while, before returning to the barn with an entire array of items (not a regular occurrence). They’d set the items out on flat fiber ‘plates’ and then slid them into range with that stupid stick.

Virgil had stabbed a few of them on principle before realizing that this was food, aided by the Human rolling his eyes pointedly-- a derisive gesture, he’d gathered-- and eating something from a plate of their own.

At that point, Virgil had been willing to risk poison. The way he saw it, he either died, or he ate something, and either way it meant stopping the slow, aching pain eating away at the pit of his stomach.

He’d even been willing to tolerate the Human staring at him, since apparently they didn’t have the manners to not watch a stranger eat. Or that wasn’t a thing on this planet. It didn’t really matter.

After a significant amount of time spent using his auxiliary limbs to delicately maneuver Human produce and meats into inspection range, he settled for what smelled the least concerning, avoiding any that smelled or looked too bright to be safe.

(The scrunched-up look the Human had given him after he’d crunched an egg in his throat had been hard to interpret, though.)

Anything he could safely ingest, he’d eaten. After the Human left, he’d even attempted the indignity of trying to lift the bowl of water in range with wobbly limbs, though he’d almost immediately spilled the majority of it all over himself. It didn’t matter, he could pull any and all hydration from what he’d eaten, though he didn’t dare get used to it.

This wasn’t his first time above the nest, and he hadn’t fooled himself into believing that this shocking show of generosity would last. The Human had only done it to make sure that their hostage wouldn’t keel over.

Starvation and dehydration were more-than-effective methods of hands-off torture, after all, and the Human really only needed to give him enough to keep him alive.

The impending mistreatment shouldn’t have shaken him as much as it did. He had the advantage of the Human’s ignorance on how much Chelcerae ate, and his own resilience, developed from years of scraping by on the barest of rations. He was lucky, really, to be one of the species with a water-storing organ.

Still, he spent the night wondering if it was worth it to keep fighting. There was no escape, so wouldn’t it be better to go out on his own terms, before anything truly horrendous could happen to him?

Probably. The real question was: would he have the fortitude to turn down food all the way to a slow and painful death-via-starvation?

He wasn’t sure, and he continued to be resentful of the fact that he even had to make such a choice all the way up until the next day, when the Human walked in with a plate covered in everything he’d eaten yesterday and slid it over to him, simple as anything.

“What?” the Human snapped after a moment of Virgil watching them for any indication of what to do, and he’d hurriedly flickered his heat sensor eyes in hopes of placating any offense. The Human had grumbled indistinctly, but didn’t attempt to remove the plate or even threaten to do so.

The next day was the same. Though the Human continued to try and interrogate and occasionally intimidate him, the food and drink was provided without stipulation or hesitation. It was… strange.

Virgil refused to read into it. Perhaps Humans just had meals so frequently that skipping a single day would be as barbaric as weeks of starvation for Chelcerae. Maybe once the Human had enough of his noncompliance, they were going to feast on his flesh and didn’t want a stringy meal. It was impossible to know.

The generous feeding schedule was nothing, though, compared to some of the other questionable tendencies the Human had.

They traversed the grounds in and around the barn with little wariness, apparently quite confident in their ability to defend themself on the Deathworld they’d grown up on. They brushed insects and plant matter alike off their person with little care for poisons or bites.

Their body language seemed to consist of every threat display in the wayfarer guidebook, and worse, only a quarter of these threat displays seemed intentional. Virgil was constantly tense, attempting to figure out which were intended to cow him, and how to keep his own body language from worsening the damage. Any signal of terrified compliance, even the obvious tremor of his auxiliary limbs, only seemed to prompt wariness and confusion from the Human.

They’d found his helmet and immediately put it on, which had made his fuzz prickle with hope for a moment, before remembering that the reserve battery of the headset was well and truly dead. No emergency translators for the Human, and no upturns in luck for Virgil.

Maybe it was better. Even if the Human could talk to him, he would seem just as guilty for their brother’s disappearance in their eyes. It wasn’t even an accusation he could reasonably defend against; if things had gone differently, if he’d made smarter choices, maybe he could have gotten the captured Human free.

Janus would have managed it. He’d always been a quicker mind than Virgil.

It’d been three days since the Human had found him, and Virgil had barely managed to parse a handful of imperatives and nouns from someone who was basically just yelling the same things at him over and over.

“You can’t ---- the ---- ---------, you ----- --------! I ---- what I ---- and --- ----- to it!” the Human yelled, essentially proving his point. Virgil resisted the urge to let his chin drop down to his collar in exhausted resignation.

It was difficult to focus past the old pains from the fight with Leond, and the new pains from being strapped upright for days on end. Even if he could bring himself to pay closer attention, it wouldn’t make it easier to parse words he had no context for. Lator technology worked best when both parties were exchanging words, or at the very least, when there was more than one native speaker prattling on at you!

The Human inhaled to continue and then froze, prompting Virgil to slink his shoulders up slightly, something that had worked to show his non-aggression once or twice before. The Human wasn’t focused on him, though, whirling around to face the barn doors with their body rigid.

Because he’d never been good at uncertainty, Virgil flicked his heat-sensor eyes open just as another Human-sized mass reached the doors, moving in a predator’s stalk.

Well, he thought as the door creaked open, I’m screwed.

#sanders sides #sanders sides fic #alien au #humans are space orcs #ts virgil #ts roman #ycgb #you cant go back #my writing #writing #space au #sorry for the late posting my nap ran long #food tw

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genshin-impacted · 4 years

Text

close proximity // Zhongli x Reader

Word Count: ~1.8k

Notes: gender neutral reader “you”, MAJOR Pining in Zhongli’s POV, touch-starved? Zhongli, domesticity

in the long haul, this would be one part of a(n indulgent self-insert) long-fic where Zhongli finds out that you (adventurer/traveler) have been camping out in the wilderness, so he invites you to crash at his place for an indeterminate amount of time

also, happy birthday zhongli :)

Zhongli thinks that he should have known that welcoming someone so late at night into his home would invite the worst of the gossip. It only grows worse when people see that you continue to come back into his house and that you even have your own key to enter with.

Luckily, the change from your original Mondstadt attire was the decisive factor that allowed you to walk the streets of Liyue relatively unseen, for you are no longer associated with being foreign or wanted by the Millelith. Instead, you are known to be the one that now apparently resides permanently (or so it seems) in Mr. Zhongli’s apartment, and the attention is now directed toward him.

You’ve even suggested that you float down and enter through an unsuspecting open window in hopes of abating the rumors, but Zhongli thinks about the implications of entering in any way other than the front door and saves himself the trouble.

You apologize every time he closes the door on a particularly chatty neighbor, but Zhongli always waves it away. He feels more than justified inviting you into his abode. After all, he has caused you the most trouble, despite what you may think of Childe, with his plans for the harbor. Allowing you to share a space with him is nothing short of a fair trade.

The feeling is only bolstered by the fact that you moved in with only the backpack hauled on your shoulder and nothing else, with Paimon wailing about how good it feels to finally have a pillow to lie on-- much to your embarrassment. (He waves your apologies to this away as well and does not speak of how the bashful expression on your face is rather endearing to see.)

It’s been a few days since the original hubbub, and the rumors have died down after numerous explanations that ‘they are a friend; yes, only a friend, and yes, we are both unmarried and the walls are thin, but you will not need to worry about any unsavory noises, as is routine.’ It’s evident that the nosiest of neighbors believe that he is lying, but he takes his words as seriously as the contracts that bind him.

If anything, the noises that can be heard are the random bursts of laughter or the playful arguments between you and Paimon. If the neighbors expected anything other than this, Zhongli cannot find it in himself to be apologetic because he cannot remember the last time his apartment was filled with so much sound or ever be so lively. The conversations seem ceaseless at times: whether he is sharing facts about Liyue Harbor or the random story he can remember that he thinks you would enjoy or whether you are the ones sharing stories of your own home-- or simply when Paimon asks a question that takes the entire night to explain.

Zhongli likes the way his stories can make you laugh. It sounded sweet on the week's journey to Daudapa Gorge, and it sounds sweeter now in the confines of his home. Sometimes, when your laughter is all spent and your eyes wet from mirth, he sees you look up at him behind a shy smile with cheeks warm from something other than osmanthus wine, and he finds that he cannot stop watching you.

That is not to say that he is lacking in amusement. Paimon herself would be fine entertainment from her ideas and dreams and strange train of thoughts, but with your quick witted humor and easy-going banter, there seems to be no end to his smiles. Even Hu Tao has pointed out that he smiles more during work in the funeral parlor, and that it was, quite frankly, a little weird. Zhongli has no problems not letting that get to him, considering her boisterous demeanor as the head of the parlor herself.

Another unexpected but not necessarily unwelcome change is the domesticity. Zhongli has always had his own routine: wake up at dawn to watch the ships leave the harbor, head over to the funeral parlor if he has been called in, peruse (and if he remembers his wallet, purchase) the new shipments, and come home for evening tea. With your presence, he finds himself waking up to sleepy Paimon and an even sleepier you, cracking an egg over the stone stove to cook breakfast. He eats in the morning now and receives an eagerly given lunchbox for him to take around when he goes to work.

The times in which you leave the apartment differs, just as the time you happen to come back, but you never fail to bid him farewell or greet him when he comes back. You tap his shoulder to call him over for dinner, and you pat his head when you head to sleep.

With you and Paimon, Zhongli gains a new routine-- one that he grows used to at an almost alarming rate, considering how unused he is to change. It’s almost a shame that this is a temporary set-up-- just until the drama dies down when Rex Lapis’ body is finally given its respects, and you can find a place to stay without being afraid of arrest. But as he has learned recently, some things are bound to change, whether he wants to or not.

Which is not a bad thing, per say, he thinks to himself, as he cuts through the onions you have asked of him. If there is anything his time as Zhongli has taught him and of his journey with you, the beauty in many things is that they do not last-- which is why it is ever more important to enjoy it while it does.

“Wow, you really don’t get bothered by the onions, huh.”

Zhongli chuckles, carefully cutting the onions for the stirfry Paimon has requested to eat tonight. He would have suggested eating at Wanmin Restaurant, but a grimace from you when you look at your wallet convinces him to suggest a home cooked meal tonight instead. “It is one of my many talents, it seems,” he says as you put your hands on your hips defiantly.

“You’re going to be cutting all the onions under this roof,” you announce, walking behind him to turn on the stove. “Ack, I can feel myself wanting to tear up just from walking past that. How do you stand that, Zhongli?”

The smell of sesame oil permeates the kitchen nicely when you pour it into the wok, the sizzling a rather pleasant sound to accompany it. “Aren’t you going to tell me where the onions come from?” You ask as he dices the volatile vegetable.

He turns his head ever so slightly at your question, surprised. He prefers to tell you inane, though fun facts and stories he thinks you would be interested in, but he is surprised every time you come to him for things about Teyvat or of Liyuen culture. Though, he would be lying to himself if that does not please him. “Is that something you would be interested in hearing?”

“Yeah,” you say, slightly distracted as you take out the ingredients from the cupboards, “I mean, Paimon and I can never find them in the wild, so I figured it doesn’t really grow naturally… so it must be from a farm?” He sees you wave a wooden spoon in question. “But where? Oh-- by the way, are the onions ready? The wok's ready."

“Ah, the onions are actually grown in the villages north of Liyue Harbor,” Zhongli replies, finishing the last of the dicing on the cutting board. “Though most of farms focus on exporting rice, there are some that farm mainly onions-- which is where you see most of the wares being brought in--”

“Oh shit, I put the fire up too high-- Zhongli, I’m going to grab the onions!”

“Ah, yes, apologies, here--”

He does not realize you are right behind him until he feels your body press against his for a moment, your hair brushing against his cheek as your arm reaches out for the cutting board. He cannot help but feel himself tense, only able to turn his head slightly just to see your face as close as it has ever been to his.

“Sorry, sorry,” you say quickly, taking note of his surprised expression. “Nice cutting-- okay, time to cook--” The moment is brief as you rush to slide the onions off the board and into the flames, if the crackling is anything to go on.

But he finds that he cannot stop thinking about how ticklish your hair was on his face or how warm you were. He remembers the longest embrace in your trembling arms and of your trailing fingertips on his shoulder for a wound that does not exist.

The kitchen is at a comfortable temperature with the stove going on high, but it is by no means hot by any standards. Yet Zhongli feels his ears burn.

“Zhongli?”

He should set the table, he thinks, but for some reason, he feels an ache in a chest every time he thinks of doing anything other than feeling your warmth again.

“Zhongli?” You ask again, shaking him from his thoughts. His hand curls into itself in a moment of panic as he turns around, wondering if his distraction was obvious. If he were not a God himself, he would have thanked the higher beings that you didn't notice. “Sorry,” you say instead, “I interrupted you last time. What were you saying about the onions? Something after onion farms?”

“Ah, yes, ahem,” he starts again. “Most of the wares the Second Life sells is mainly from the villages themselves, and…”

You continue to indulge him as Zhongli speaks about the farmlands of the north and about the mountain trade routes in the east when the two of you set up supper. He tries not to think about the way your fingers brush against his when he passes you a bowl of rice or about the way your bodies press together when you wash the dishes.

(Touch-starved.

He is touch-starved, he finds out much later down the road, when he is able to hold you in his arms without needing to ask. It is why he wishes your hand would linger on his shoulder when you call him to dinner or why he finds himself relaxing at your touch.

Or why he had started hoping that you would never decide to leave.

It seems almost too obvious now, in retrospect, but Zhongli does not mind that he is constantly learning something new about what it means to be human-- not when it means he can finally hold your hand walking down Liyue Harbor and squeeze your hand and feel you squeeze back.)

#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #zhongli #zhongli x reader #genshin impact imagine #my writing

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rainydaydream-gal18 · 4 years

Text

Bad Batch x Jedi!Reader: Ghosts

(Author’s Note: I’m baaaacccck! I’ve had a rough few weeks and found almost no inspiration or motivation to write here, but I woke up this morning and felt like a new person. Thank you for waiting and for continuing to read, like, comment, and reblog!

Anyway, this was a request I received moons ago, and I just wanted to say to the Anon who requested that I did not forget about it and I’m so sorry for the wait. For real, thank you for the request, and I hope you like it.

OG Request: Can I request a bad batch and reader who was their sister, they were also a Jedi. But then order 66 happens and the bad batch tries to kill her but she escaped after being shot by crosshair. She ends up working with the ghost crew and meets up with them during rebels, she's almost scared of them. She also tears up seeing how much older the are

Warnings: blaster wound, some angst, fluff ending)

Got your back,” you growled, using your lightsaber to block some incoming shots. Hunter fired his blasters at the group of oncoming droids that headed toward you.

Wrecker was plowing through the enemy squads like it was nothing, giving an enthusiastic yell here and there. He paused to give you a thumbs-up with a gloved hand, and you grinned back. Crosshair was picking them off from his position off the immediate battlefield. He blasted one right in front of you.

“Nice shot!”

Tech was handling things just fine on his side. You moved past him to cut through a few droids nonetheless and exchanged nods of appreciation.

Just another day with the Bad Batch, the rogue squad that had come to be your family over the course of the war. You had adjusted to living life on the wild side- dangerous missions and poor odds. The group managed to get through each one, and you grew stronger.

This mission, to invade and destroy the Separatist base from the inside out, was a particularly risky one. But like the others, this one was going rather well.

Or it had been. Until Tech alerted Hunter of an incoming comm that was rather urgent.

You didn’t see who the transmission was from. You caught a glimpse of the blue form displaying on Tech’s comm before having to deal with an oncoming droid. You planted a thermal detonator and somersaulted away so it could blast the last of the droids, and you’d be ready to check in with your squad about the comm.

As the battlefield went dead silent after the fall of the final droid, there was a shift. That was the best way to describe the feeling. Something just wasn’t right. You glanced over to see Hunter and Tech standing perfectly still as they received the message. That’s when it hit you. Whatever it was, it was deadly, and you knew you needed to get your squad out of there.

You turned fully toward them, lips parting in the beginnings of a warning about the shift in your feelings. You could only hope they’d listen to you and get out in time without an argument. Your voice was cut off at the sight of three visors facing you with blasters aimed your way.

“Guys?” you called, eyes flickering to each of them. “Hunter? What’s going on?”

Two more visors, Crosshair’s and Echo’s, joined them. Cross kept his rifle ready at his shoulder, aimed at you as well. That’s when you realized they weren’t in danger. They were the danger.

“The jedi are traitors to the Republic,” Hunter’s voice echoed in the space between you. “By order of Sidious, they are to be executed for their crimes, and that includes you.”

“W-what?” You grasped your lightsaber tightly, not wanting to raise it and alarm them further. “I haven’t done anything. We’ve been fighting for the Republic. See those droids?” You nodded in that direction. “I cut them up myself with my lightsaber to protect the galaxy. We did it together.”

“Stop trying to reason with us,” Crosshair hissed. “You’re...a...traitor.” He hesitated, body quivering for a moment as his visor looked to the ground. Whatever cloud of confusion had settled on him, it was like he tried to fight it.

“It’s me,” you said. “It’s __________.”

Hunter’s body shook again before he aimed the blaster at you with resolve. “You heard Sidious, boys. Order 66 must be carried out.”

Searing pain traveled through your shoulder as you made a run for it, causing you to stumble. You spared a glance behind you to see the Bad Batch giving chase. Crosshair had actually shot you. A different kind of pain exploded in your chest at the betrayal. Even though you knew this Sidious was behind it all. Even though you knew it wasn’t the real Crosshair. It still hurt.

Despite the physical and emotional agony, you kept running. You deflected more blaster shots with your lightsaber, using your abilities to leap into the nearest ship. The presence of your closest allies began to fade as you took off, leaving to shoot at the vehicle to no avail.

Fortunately, you and the squad handled dangerous missions on your own without too much Republic assistance, so you were able to get into space without encountering any other soldiers. When things quieted down and you were faced with the blur of stars and planets outside the viewport, you shrank back in your seat from the weight of grief. For the first time, you allowed yourself to grieve. The life of a jedi was by no means easy, but you were trained for years to not give into such strong attachments to avoid the dark side’s pull.

This time, you let the tears fall for your squad. You let the sob rip through the lonely ship. It was a relief to cry, but not enough to dull the pain. It was like a fresh wound, raw and stinging.

“Crosshair, Hunter, Wrecker, Echo, Tech…” you cried their names, demanding an answer from no one in particular. Just then, a beep sounded amongst the ship controls that alerted you of an incoming message. You sniffled and answered, eyes widening at the sight of Jedi Obi Wan Kenobi.

“...I regret to inform you…”

- - - - - - - - -

“__________? What are you doing?” Ezra called. “We’ve got to go!”

You glanced his way from several feet away, holding up a hand as a signal for him to wait. Something felt off about this place. It was a feeling you hadn’t felt in a long time. A long time.

“Is this a jedi thing?” he asked, walking over. Despite being quite skilled and talented for one so young, he was still very early in his training with Kanan. Nothing could quell his curiosity, though.

You nodded. “There’s something...someone...here. I think I know them.”

“It’s just an old ship,” he shrugged. “It is a scrapyard, after all.”

It was a good point. The place looked rather abandoned to the naked eye, but you could see beyond appearances. There was more to this ship than just a heap of metal. Something felt oddly alive about it.

“I’m going to check it out,” you said.

“But Hera said-”

“Ezra,” you interrupted with as patient of a tone as you could muster. “I need to do this. I’ll be right back.” You took a few cautious steps forward only to hear him walking behind you. You peeked at him over your shoulder to see a determined expression on his face.

“If something really is going on, I’m not letting you go in there alone.”

“Ugh, fine,” You pretended to be annoyed, though deep down you were glad he was coming along. Something stirred inside you. You sensed a presence that you hadn’t in years. Could it be…? No, it couldn’t.

“__________?” The all-too-familiar voice called. A face popped out from the old ship. Even among the wrinkles and white hair, you recognized a piercing set of brown eyes. Your own eyes widened as your instincts took over, and you turned to bolt. “No, wait!”

“Stay back!” Ezra warned, hands raised to the figure that emerged from the ship quickly. A much taller figure stepped out, and this fellow threw his head back and laughed.

You froze in place, taking in the aged faces before you. None of them held the same conflict in their gaze as they had the last time you were with them. They held their hands up as a gesture that they carried no weapons.

“_________, it’s alright,” Echo called. “We mean you no harm.”

“Please, don’t go.” Hunter’s tone sounded so pleading; it made you want to cry. You did not sense any evil intent on their part. It was a good sign that they were no longer under Emperor Palpatine’s control. Over the years, you discovered what exactly had happened to your squad. Old Republic files you’d hacked revealed that something known as Order 66 had occurred, and you had pieced together the horrible plot to overthrow the jedi. Like the others, you had to stay hidden- even from the Bad Batch.

“How do I know this isn’t a trick?” you asked hesitantly.

Tech took a step forward, and you gripped the handle of your lightsaber as a warning not to approach. His eyes flickered to the weapon before he took a step back. “After Order 66, the new Empire retired us. I had quite a bit of free time, and while doing some research, I stumbled upon a report: it told me all about these biological chips.”

“And we removed them!” Wrecker said. He turned his head to the side, his pointer finger tapping on a scar on the bald skin. By then, you started walking towards them. You couldn’t believe how they had aged so much. You were in front of Crosshair first, reaching a hand up to touch his weathered face. He didn’t tense like he used to every time you accidentally brushed against him. As a matter of fact, he even smiled a little. Age had worn down his tough-guy act.

“It’s...good to see you,” he said.

Then, all at once, the tears started flowing. It was like you picked up right where you left off all those years ago. You threw your arms around him, and after a few moments of crying into his shoulder, you felt his arms come up to hold you comfortingly. “Cross...I missed you so much!”

“I missed you too.”

“Hey,” Wrecker grunted. “I missed you! Don’t I get a hug?”

You laughed through the tears and turned to give him a hug only to be lifted off the ground in a familiar, enveloping embrace- the kind only Wrecker could give. He set you down laughing with you, and you pulled Echo and Tech into a little group hug. They both smiled widely, Echo chuckling, as you pulled them tighter. Then, you were faced with an aged Hunter who looked conflicted. You could feel his warmth and happiness to see you, but he also carried guilt. You quickly wrapped your arms around him, and he hugged back.

“__________,” he murmured. “I’m...sorry-”

“Not another word,” you interrupted. “It wasn’t your fault. None of you are to blame.”

“But-”

“Not another word,” you insisted, flashing him a smile. He returned with a handsome grin that showed the old Hunter even through his aged appearance. It brought more tears to your eyes. “I’m so glad we all found our way back together.”

“Um, __________?” Ezra spoke up. He gave a shrug, confused about the interaction.

“I’ll explain,” you told him. “Bad Batch, this is my friend, Ezra. Him and I are members of a crew that does what it can to mess with the Empire.”

“Oh yeah?” Wrecker asked. “As soon as our chips were removed, that’s what we started doing.”

“Really?”

“Indeed, we’ve made significant progress,” Tech said.

“Well,” you sighed, resting a hand on his shoulder plate. “What do you say we regroup and mess with the Empire together?”

“I think…” Hunter stroked his chin in thought. “I think that sounds like a great idea.”

#clone wars #star wars: the clone wars #bad batch #star wars the bad batch #clone wars the bad batch #bad batch x reader #bad batch reader insert #star wars rebels #star wars reader insert #star wars #the clone wars reader insert #clone wars x reader #jedi!reader #bad batch x jedi!reader #tech #crosshair #hunter #echo #wrecker

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oonajaeadira · 4 years

Text

The Mandalorian Tarot: Major Arcana

If you’re following me, you know this is a Mandalorian obsessive account. I love the man, I love the show, I write a Mando-fando that is all about pining and touch. I tend to go all in when I have an interest.

Another one of my interests? Tarot. A friend challenged me to Mandalorify the major arcana. And because Jon and Dave know their stuff and are good with archetypes (which is all tarot really is), it was an easy fit.

YOU GOT MANDO IN MY TAROT. YOU GOT TAROT IN MY MANDO. TWO GREAT TASTES THAT TASTE GREAT TOGETHER.

But. I can’t draw, so I’ve dreamed them in words and included the Rider-Waite-Smith deck illustrations that I would riff on if I could.

READY? LET’S PLAY.

(All tarot illustrations by Pamela Colman Smith. All Mandalorian images property of Star Wars/Disney.)

UPDATE! @heathenashtattoos has taken up where I cannot and is making these cards a reality! I will post them individually and come back to link them to this post as we go.

0 THE FOOL = THE MANDALORIAN / IT IS MADE! --->

The story of the tarot is the Fool’s journey, the arc of becoming. So it makes sense to me that Din would be the fool. Fits even better, since he has tremendous Fool energy in his himbo tendencies, just rushing forward into situations without a lot of planning--he’ll deal with it when he’s in it--ready to rely on others to show him the way or guide/help him to the next step.

If I could draw: Din on the cliff, with his jetpack on, meaning he has no fear of falling. Instead of the bindle-stick the Fool carries, he’d have his pulse rifle slung over his shoulder. Instead of the dog nipping at his heels, Grogu. And, of course, the landscape would be Tatooine/Navaro-esque.

~~~

1 THE MAGICIAN = LUKE SKYWALKER , IT IS MADE! --->

The Magician is someone who is still learning to bend the laws of magic/the Universe, but very adept with their tools. Since Luke is only a few years into his Jedi training at this time, he makes a pretty good Magician.

If I could draw: Luke in his blacks, holding up his lightsaber. The Jedi symbol would replace the infinity sign.

***

2 THE HIGH PRIESTESS = AHSOKA TANO / IT IS MADE! -->

High Priestess is further along the path of her magic than Magician, and her knowledge is more intuitive, her skills more effortless. Where the Magician is still learning the balance of light and dark, the High Priestess knows the value and pitfalls of both. It was always going to be Ahsoka.

If I could draw: Ahsoka sitting cross-legged in meditation mode, but with eyes open and a knowing smile. Instead of two pillars, she holds her lightsabers up and parallel to each other.

***

3 THE EMPRESS = PELI MOTTO / IT IS MADE! -->

The Empress is the mother figure, the energy in the universe that provides all that is needed and embodies the energy of creation. I can see the argument for Omera being the Empress--mostly because she is a mom and she’s soft and a lot of people see the Empress as a soft female figure, I get it. (And if I were to do a minor arcana, girl would show up as one of the Queens for sure.) But in the end, I gave it to Peli because she’s a recurring character, more relevant in his story, and if Din is the Fool, Peli is more an Empress to him. She’s able to be the provider of his particular needs; services to his ship to get him up flying, contact and location information, and she’s always willing to care for Grogu whenever she gets the chance.

If I could draw: Peli sitting in the dock, against the R4 unit, holding aloft a spanner and surrounded by her pit droids.

***

4 THE EMPEROR = BOBA FETT / IT IS MADE! -->

The Emperor is all about authority. And all I gotta say about Boba is BIG DICK ENERGY.

If I could draw: Just put him on the Jabba throne and let him lounge like a badass.

~~~

5 THE HIEROPHANT = THE ARMORER / IT IS MADE! -->

The Hierophant is the keeper of traditions and a spiritual guide. As the leader of the covert and keeper of the Way, The Armorer fits.

If I could draw: The Armorer, framed by her forge, holding aloft her tools, with Mandalorian acolytes. Instead of the crossed keys at the bottom, let’s just have a mythosaur skull.

***

6 THE LOVERS = FROG LADY AND FROG HUSBAND

This should be obvious and I will fight anyone who says it isn’t the right thing to do. I will die for this.

If I could draw: I would actually depart from the Smith depiction and just draw them embracing or holding each other by the arms and staring into each others’ eyes. Some kind of glowing background? Maybe the egg tank?

***

7 THE CHARIOT = THE MUDHORN

Oh. You thought I was going to say the Razor Crest, didn’t you. Don’t worry, I have plans for our beloved craft, but it ain’t here. The Chariot can be a ride, yes, but it’s about victory. Sometimes it’s about the victory over your inner “beastly” natures. To travel to the next phase in the journey, the Fool must take on the beasts that drive the Chariot and claim dominance over them, and when he does, they will carry him to the next level. Since it’s the victory of the beastly mudhorn that brings Din to his bond with Grogu and becomes his signet, Mudhorn for the win.

If I could draw: Again, I’d probably play on Smith’s imagery, put the charging mudhorn in the middle, and replace the rams with Din on his knees brandishing the vibroblade and Grogu in his pram with his Force hand up.

***

8 STRENGTH = CARA DUNE

Don’t come at me about including Cara. I am glad Gina got shown the door and I lose no love on that bigot. But. Cara is not Gina and to cut her out is to cut out Jon and Dave’s creation and I won’t do it. I actually love her a lot--she’s got her flaws, but she’s sassy and strong and solid, and I would happily accept a piggyback ride from her any day. She’s also a major player in Din’s story and deserves a spot in it. Strength comes after the Chariot--once you’ve conquered the beast within, you have confident dominion over it and it becomes a companion or a tool for your use. Cara is one with her toughness, she’s used it to do some good and bad shit in her past, and she continues to wield it effortlessly and fearlessly. She is absolutely this card.

If I could draw: I would put her maybe sitting on top of the downed ATST. I’d replace the infinity symbol over her head with the one on her cheek (Rebel Alliance).

~~~

9 THE HERMIT = KUIIL

The Hermit is a loner, yes, but in his solitude he looks within, learns from all he’s been through, and becomes wise. He holds aloft a light of wisdom and truth. This was always going to be Kuiil.

If I could drawn: Just our buddy, looking out over the Arvala-7 landscape, holding aloft an in-universe working lamp. No need to get fancy. He would want it to stay simple.

***

10 THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE = IMPERIAL SYMBOL AND STORM TROOPERS

The Wheel is fate. You win some, you lose some. Sometimes you’re on top, and sometimes the Wheel crushes you beneath it. You are helpless to its roll and where you’ll land. Storm Troopers are such a sad bunch. They are keepers of Imperial Law on the ground. On a good day, they capture a Rebel or hold off an attack. On a bad day, their Moff just blasts them to make an example.

If I could draw: The wheel would just be the Imperial symbol and there’d be Troopers on and under it. Maybe the one on top is just standing there, looking authoritative. The one underneath has been blasted. Some Wheels have two more figures--one on each side--and I’d add those too. The one on the down-going side would be falling, arms flailing, blaster shooting (if only sound were available, there’d be a Whilhelm scream), and the one on the up-going side would just be dangling by one arm, along for the ride.

***

11 JUSTICE = COBB VANTH

Well, it just feels right to make the Marshal into Justice. But it’s not just a literal translation of making sure the right thing gets done and the bad guys are punished. Justice is about wiping away emotion and making decisions with bare truth, looking at every side of the situation and understanding what is really there. And I think Cobb fits this well. He doesn’t want to give up his armor because of what it means for the protection of his people. But he’s willing to consider it, if there’s another way he can protect them. Emotionally, he doesn’t want to deal with the Tusken Raiders, but he does it because he can see it’s the best course of action. He flies into battle with the Krayt Dragon. He gives up his armor without a fight. He makes a fair trade and sees the balance in it because he walks away from the emotion and chooses the best course of action. Cobb Vanth for Justice, errybody.

If I could draw: Cobb in the Fett armor, but with the helmet at his feet. In one hand, a bottle of spotchka. In the other, the Tusken mushroom drinky thing; he’s holding them with equal balance.

***

12 THE HANGED MAN = MIGS MAYFELD

The Hanged Man is not just about a dude who’s hanging upside down. (If that was the case, I would have just gone with Gor Koresh and called it a day.) Hanged Man is about changing your perspective to see things in a new way so you can grow. Many times, this growth also requires sacrifice. Over the two episodes we see Mayfeld, we know he goes from Imperial sharp shooter, to traumatized deserter, to merc, prisoner, and exonerated friend. He’s seen some shit, given up a lot, and he’s willing to see how he can be a help to others and find redemption for himself.

If I could draw: Hear me out. Take the image of Mayfeld hanging upside down from the Crest hatch into the prison ship. Mirror that above with an image of him in his Imperial Ground Transport gear. Flip it all upside down so bad Mayfeld up top, good Mayfeld on bottom, images mirrored but inverted, hence “looking at things a new way and getting everything a little topsy-turvey.”

~~~

13 DEATH = MOFF GIDEON

Death is about transformation, so it’s not always the most sinister card. But Death does not discriminate. It comes for us all, constantly stalking, and it will strike you down to serve its needs. You need to face Death to get to your redemption. But really, Gideon is our big baddie here, so why the hell not.

If I could draw: I would forgo the Smith illustration and go for the Marseilles tradition on this one. Gideon and the Darksaber replaces Death and the scythe.

***

14 TEMPERANCE = IG-11

Temperance is the transformation that comes after Death. Once Death has chopped your physical being into pieces with his scythe, Temperance is there to take all your pieces and put them back together into something new and better. It’s also a card that asks you to re-evaluate your priorities and see if you can find better motivations than you previously had. IG’s death and reprogramming speak loudly to me on this.

If I could draw: IG pouring the tea.

***

15 THE DEVIL = THE CLIENT

Here’s another baddie card that’s all about your worst faults, about excess and giving into the stuff that will eventually kill your soul. The Client holds on hard to the Empire, doing whatever he’s ordered to do to be one of the top dogs. And in the end, it doesn’t matter. Gideon takes him down like he’s nothing.

If I could draw: The client, wearing his Empire bling, with chains around Doctor Pershing and a rough-looking Storm Trooper.

***

16 THE TOWER = THE RAZOR CREST

I don’t know about you, but Chapter 14 killed me. And not because the Dark Troopers flew away with Grogu. We all knew Din would never stop at getting him back. But when the Crest was destroyed, it was like someone punched me in the soft parts, and I made a lot of severely anguished noises. The Tower is the most tragic card in the tarot. It’s when forces beyond your control make a very big (and usually negative) impact in your life and everything changes. You are left to pick up the pieces and survive any way you can with the skills and resources you’ve been blessed with.

If I could draw: Just that moment of the ray hitting our beautiful Crest, just as it begins to break apart, maybe with Din, Boba, and Fennec watching in horror in the foreground.

~~~

17 THE STAR = GROGU

The Star is hope. It comes after the biggest tragedy in the deck to tell you that not all is lost. There is always something there to live for. C’mon, kids. In this series, there was only one choice.

If I could draw: Just Grogu. Maybe drinking his soup. Or maybe he’s levitating his metal ball overhead, reaching up to it with a smile on his face. *coos*

***

18 THE MOON = BO KATAN KRYZE

We all like Bo Katan, sure. But remember my Clone Wars/Rebels fiends, she was Death Watch, and they were terrorists. She sided with Maul to take over Mandalore. Sure, she’s come a long way and her path is a bit more honorable now, but she’s got an agenda, which makes her hard to trust. Since the Moon is about more feminine energies and has themes of illusion and deception--things look great in the moonlight, but maybe not as they really are--Bo Katan’s our girl.

If I could draw: Head and shoulders profile, double-imaged so you see her face, but her Nite Owl helmet superimposed in profile over it. Nite Owl signet on the bottom. Possibly flanked by her two Nite Owl cronies.

***

19 THE SUN = GREEF KARGA

Everything's sunny when Greef’s around! He’s the feel-good gramps that’s going to make any situation A-Ok! If you’ve got a problem, Greef can sort it out...or he knows someone who can! The sun is always gonna shine on you and take you back.

If I could draw: Just Greef smiling and being cheesy with the halo of the sun around him.

***

20 JUDGEMENT = FENNEC SHAND

This card traditionally shows the resurrected rising from the grave, ready to be judged. Fennec’s got a lot to answer for in her life, but she is being given a second chance, and my number one girl crush is going to do new and wonderful badass things with it.

If I could draw: I’d either just show her opening her gut pocket to show her new works, all full of aura, with her looking down at it reverently. OR I might do a scene of her being rescued by Boba.

~~~

21 THE WORLD = THE HELMET

Din’s helmet is the world he lives in. But it’s also a symbol of The Way. The World represents completion, a wholeness of self and being, the end of the journey. And since Din is our Fool, his journey is an exploration of his morals and honor, what it means to walk the way of the Mandalore, and what the meaning of the helmet is for him. He may choose ultimately to keep it on and go all-in on Mandalorian-4-lyfe (Child of the Watch style), or he may understand that the helmet is just a symbol and the honor was in him all along; he can wear it or not wear it and it’s all the same.

If I could draw: The World usually depicts a circle or sphere of some kind, the symbol of perfect completion. The helmet is close enough, so it takes up the center. Traditionally, there are four symbols in the corners that give more meaning to The World, and I would replace them with The Razor Crest, Grogu, the Mudhorn Signet, and the pulse rifle or blaster. These represent his home, his foundling, his clan, and his religion, all of which make up more of the whole; what it means to him to be Mandalorian.

~~~~~~~~~~

Challenge accepted and faced.

Adira dops her witchy mic….

#the mandalorian #mandalorian #tarot #mandalorian tarot #star wars #din djarin #luke skywalker #ahsoka tano #grogu #bo katan hate gang

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barnes-dameron · 4 years

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In The Cards

*not my gif

The Mandalorian x reader

Word count: 2k

Summary: While traveling with the Mandalorain, you stumble across an older woman who claims she can read your fortune. But what happens when she sees your ever brooding companion in the cards?

A/N: My first attempt on writing for Mando. Thinking about writing more for him. Hopefully it’s good.

***

The constant hum of the Razor Crest’s mechanisms filled your head to the point of insanity. It never really bothered you before, but after being on the ship for more than two weeks without a single stop, you grew sick of the thing. Of course, you kept this all to yourself. You wouldn’t dare to voice your actual thoughts with the Mandalorian in earshot.

Though he remains his usual reserved self, he’s been ever so kind to you in his own way. By that, you mean he’s provided you a place to sleep and food to eat while you looked after the child. That’s where it pretty much ends concerning his generous hand. At times, you felt like a burden. He rarely ever talks to you, and regards you with hmmm’s or single worded answers. Because of this, it grew a bit lonely. You wanted to reach out to him, to talk to him or have him open up a bit, but you were always afraid on how he might react. Would he disregard you? Would he get angry at you for pushing the unspoken boundaries? Would he drop you off somewhere and never turn back? It was always those gnawing doubts that cause you to hesitate and choose not to say anything.

The clang of boots hitting against the latter’s metal rungs drew your attention away from your own thoughts, causing your head to turn towards the source. The Mandalorian towered over your sitting frame, casting his shadow over your figure. The gleam of the light against his beskar armor made him more menacing compared to how he usually looks.

“We’re docking soon,” he said, his modulated voice escaping the helmet.

“Where?” you asked, ever prying whenever the opportunity presents itself.

“A small moon,” he replied.

“Why?” you asked again, craving for more interaction since the Child has yet to speak.

“We’re low on provisions,” he huffs out, obviously annoyed with the interrogation. “You’re staying here.”

“What? No,” you tried to reason. You needed to get out: to stretch your legs, to breathe unfiltered, clean air, to see some sort of natural light instead of the artificial one. “Please, I need to get out of here. I think it would be good for the Child as well. He needs a change of surroundings as much as I.”

Though you couldn’t see his face, over time you have become an expert on reading his body language. The slight tilt of his helmet, the gentle clench of his fist, and change of his stance told you that he was conflicted but reluctant.

“Fine,” he said, ending the conversation there.

You watched him as he walked away to another part of the ship. You couldn’t help but feel a pang in your heart. It happened whenever you finished talking with him, and you constantly wondered why he did the things he did.

***

You decided that the warm sun settling on your skin was a sensation that you would cherish whenever you feel a chill in the ship. You welcomed the warm weather that the small moon provided, and enjoyed the spacious outdoors. On one side, the Mandalorain strode with the intent of intimidating the salesman that surrounded you in the marketplace. On the other, the Child followed the two of you in his pod, looking at everything that passed him with wonder in his eyes. You too looked around, observing the many faces and species of people that bustled about.

You followed the Mandalorian, abiding to his strict orders to remain close to him at all times. It was a little annoying and a bit condescending at first, but upon seeing how big the crowd is here, you finally understood. You stopped when the Mandalorian started to haggle with a merchant, who seemed to not buy his intimidating warrior look. Not finding interest in their little argument, you turned your attention to other products that the merchant was offering.

When observing a seemingly peculiar fruit, you felt a strange sensation creep upon you, starting from your lower back to your neck, causing you to shiver. A faint whisper of your name grabbed your attention. The gentle noise sounded like it came from right beside you, but there was no one around you. You heard your name again, causing you to turn around in instinct. An older woman matched your gaze from across the way, a smile creeping upon her face causing her mouth to crinkle at the corners. You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, as the woman beckoned you to her. You looked over at the Mandalorian, who was still arguing with the merchant and the Child still at his side. Shaking your head, you made your way to the old woman at her booth.

“Ah, Y/N,” she greeted, giving you a toothless grin. “I’ve been calling you.”

“How do you know my name?” you asked, putting your guard up at this stranger.

“How can I not know it?” she countered, before pointing a bony finger towards the Mandalorain. “He’s been muttering it ever since he arrived.”

You looked over at your beskar clad companion, who hasn’t even noticed your absence yet. You turned your head to the woman, a question upon your lips, but you were instantly silenced when she held up her hand.

“But that’s not why I called you over here,” she said, pulling out a small box. “I called you over here to give you a gift.”

“Me?” you asked. “Why?”

“Are you always so full of questions?” she countered again, raising an eyebrow. “Now, pick three cards.”

You looked down as the woman fanned out a bunch of ornate cards, faced down. Putting aside all the questions and doubts in your mind, you picked out three cards only to have them snatched away by the woman.

“Perfect,” she said, putting away the other cards and laying out the ones you picked on the small table before you. “The gift I’m giving you is me telling your fortune.”

“Really?” you said, doubt coming again.

“More questions, huh?” she snapped back. “Well, the three cards show three things: the past, the present, and the future. Now shut up, so I can read.”

You sighed, and watched as she flipped the first card. You looked at the symbol on the card, it having no meaning to you at all, but your interest was piqued when the stranger hummed.

“The warrior and the peacekeeper,” she observed. “Interesting.”

You were about to question her, but bit back your tongue, not wanting to get scolded at by her. You thought back to the time when you met the Mandalorian. He was arguing with a merchant on your home planet, somewhat similar to now. The merchant pulled out a blaster, and upon seeing the Child, you threw yourself in front of it, trying to reason with the both of them in order to prevent any sort of violence from erupting. The issue resolved itself, and the Mandalorian asked for you to accompany him for the purpose of watching after the Child. He figured if you could talk your way out of that predicament, you could talk your way almost out of anything. You decided to keep your mouth shut, and watch her flip over the next card. Another symbol, but it still met nothing to you. You watched the woman press her lips into a tight smile, meeting your eye.

“I can tell you want to ask a question,” she chuckled. “Good for you for keeping your mouth shut. And for that, I’ll answer your question. This one means unspoken love.”

You opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Your heart quickened its pace, as heat bloomed in the center of your chest. You didn’t know how to interpret that. Was the Mandalorian in love with you? Were you in love with him? But that’s crazy, you two barely talk. Yet, you always feel whole whenever he’s close. You feel warm whenever he touches you, even if it’s short, gentle gesture. And you can’t deny that you miss him when he leaves for bounties.

The woman was about to flip the third card, the card that will tell the future. But as if it was instinct, you reached out and stopped her hand. She looked up, and she was met with your determined gaze.

“I don’t need to know,” you said. “You have given me enough already.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but instead the call of your name came to your ears first. But it wasn’t from her voice, but from the automated voice of your Mandalorian. You turned your head to see him stalking towards you, the Child’s pod trailing behind him. He reached out, grabbing your arm and pulling you away from the woman. She looked at the card, and gave you smile and a wink before you were whisked away.

“I told you to stay close,” he hissed, picking up his pace towards the Razor Crest.

“Well, you never said how close,” you countered, knowing you weren’t helping your case.

“You knew exactly what I meant,” he snapped, before stopping dead in his tracks. He downcast his head a bit, sighing. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you,” he said, a bit lower compared to his previous statements.

Your heart plunged down to the floor as your head began to swim. Guilt washed over you, but the second card’s symbol flashed in front of your eyes. You didn’t have time to even mutter out an apology; the Mandalorian resuming his fast walk towards the ship.

***

You pulled the blanket closer to your body in hopes that the warmth will force you to sleep. But every time you close your eyes, you see that damn symbol. It should’ve made you happy but the true meaning still eluded you. The symbol wasn’t the only thing that plagued you from sleeping, however. The woman read the third card, and smiled and winked. What did that mean? You would’ve felt better if you and the stranger both didn’t know. Yet there was someone out there who knew your future.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ignore the symbol and even out your breathing. Maybe if you focus on your respirations, you would get bored and fall asleep. Nothing worked. Repositioning, blanket, no blanket, pillow, no pillow, nothing helped you and hours have already passed by. You were about to get up and walk around to exhaust yourself, but were stopped when you heard the Mandalorian’s heavy footsteps. You quickly put yourself back to your cot, pulling the blanket over you, and closing your eyes. You had your back to the door, waiting for him to leave.

But instead, the familiar swish of your door opening reached your ears. He was coming into your room. Did he know you were up? You listened as he stepped closer to where you were at. You furrowed your brows when you heard a small hiss of air. What was that? You didn’t have much time to think about it before you felt the edge of your cot dip. Your heart began to quicken, but you kept your eyes closed, continuing to pretend to sleep. What is he doing? You felt a hand brush against your hair, causing you to stiffen your back and hold your breath.

“You scared me today, but I’m glad you’re safe,” he whispered, this time his voice was unfiltered and his breath fanning the side of your face.

You nearly melted at the sound. It was raw, yet smooth. Then, you felt a pair of lips press into your temple. You shut your eyes tighter, relishing in the moment, before he pulled away. The gentle kiss lasted about five seconds, yet you could still feel the warmth it gave. The kiss even lingered much to your delight, like a phantom pair of lips. The cot raised, the Mandalorian getting up from his spot. The click of his helmet going back into place was echoed off the metal walls, and the door swooshed closed.

You couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. Well, now you know. You didn’t need to see your future written on that card. You could see your future clear as day, and he just placed a kiss on your head.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #star wars #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #mandalorain #fluff

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kanerallels · 3 years

Note

OKAY OKAY ROUND TWO OF THIS! Kanera fix it or Kanera and waffles! Whichever works <3

*has no self control* *writes my first fix it* This was hecking fun! I hope you enjoyed it!

Pairing: Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla

Word Count: 2,455

Tags/Warning: rated T (for time travel! *insert Hulk gif here*) and also near death

This wasn’t how Kanan wanted things to end.

He'd wanted more time. He'd wanted to explain things to Hera, to tell her how much she meant to him.

But things had moved too fast for him. Kanan was too late.

He felt the heat of the fire from the fuel pod singing the tips of his fingers, and concentrated on pushing it back with all his strength, his hands shaking slightly and his face twisting with the effort. The fire billowed high above him, but Kanan wasn’t afraid. Just full of regrets.

Behind him, he heard Hera scream his name, her voice full of raw desperation and fear. Kanan knew, without even needing to look, that she would run towards him and she did, her steps barely audible above the roar of the flames.

Turning without looking, Kanan diverted part of his concentration and caught her in her steps, holding her back with the Force. He felt her struggle against the grip, panic and fear pulsing through her.

Slowly, on some instinct he didn’t understand, he turned to face Hera. Maybe it was because of how much he ached to see her. Maybe it was to give her one last glimpse of him. Kanan sensed her desperation, her fear, how much she wanted to reach him.

But he couldn’t let her. There was too much at stake. So with a quick thrust, he sent her flying back to where Ezra was waiting, ready. His apprentice caught hold of her, holding her back. Kanan felt a flicker of gratitude-- he could always count on Ezra.

An odd tingling sensation swept across his eyes, and for a moment he thought he was crying. But crying had been impossible ever since Malachor. Since he’d been blinded.

Even as he thought the word, it was like a cloud was swept away from his eyes, and he could see. Kanan had no idea how, but he accepted it calmly, as he’d accepted his fate.

His gaze locked onto Hera first-- Hera, clad in an orange prisoner’s jumpsuit, a look of complete horror and fear in her eyes, with the slightest hint of surprise and awe as she looked at him. Kanan took her in, drinking in the very sight of her. She was older than she had been when they’d first met, and had only grown more beautiful. And Kanan had only grown more in love with her.

Behind her, holding her back, was Ezra-- Force, Ezra. He was so tall, so grown-up looking. Kanan was well aware he’d only ever pictured the little boy from Lothal, and he felt pride stirring in his heart. Stay safe, kid, he thought. You know what to do. I love you both.

And so he released his hold on the flames and used all his power and strength to send the ship that held Ezra, Sabine, and Hera flying away from the fuel depot. It would be enough. It had to be enough.

They would be safe. And they would keep fighting. Hera always did.

That was Kanan’s last thought before the flames swallowed him.

But it wasn’t his last thought.

Even as the fire swirled around him, he heard a strange whoosh, and the sound of boots impacting on metal, and suddenly the fire was gone. And Kanan was somewhere else entirely.

“Did it work?”

A young male voice came from behind Kanan, stunned but excited.

“Of course it worked, idiot, he’s not dead and we still exist,” said a dry female voice that sounded… bizarrely familiar. Almost like--

Kanan turned towards the sound and someone tackled him to the ground, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Sorry, sorry-- eyes closed,” the young man ordered. “If you look, I’ll tell Hera.”

“What does that even mean?” Kanan demanded-- although it was a fairly compelling argument. Trying to shove the young man off of him, he said “Who are you? What are you doing?”

“Saving you, you dumb--”

The young man cleared his throat loudly, cutting off the woman. “We were sent here to save your life.”

“What?” Kanan’s jaw dropped, surprise flashing through him. “Wha-- no, I was supposed to die. It had to happen, to save Hera and Ezra and Sabine--”

Letting out an exasperated sigh, the woman said, “They’re FINE, trust me. Well, other than the fact they think you’re dead.”

The young man groaned. “Okay, you should probably stop talking now. I’ll handle this.”

“You’re not much more diplomatic than me!”

“Everyone’s more diplomatic than you, Depa.”

“Depa?” Kanan asked, a frown knitting his forehead.

He heard his two rescuers freeze, and a muttered curse. “Yeah,” the young man said cautiously. “That’s her name.”

“That was my master’s name,” Kanan said, his mind racing. There was no way that could be a coincidence. Sure, there were probably other people in the galaxy named Depa, but--

“You can probably stop sitting on him-- he’ll behave,” Depa said dryly. “Right, Jarrus? That means keep your eyes close, and NO PEEKING or I’ll punch you out.”

“You can’t punch him out,” the young man said with a sigh.

“Why, because he’s an old geezer? I’m not afraid to hit an old man.”

Kanan sensed the young man rolling his eyes. “He’s not even that old right now! Okay, I’m gonna let you up-- please keep your eyes closed.”

The young man scrambled off of him, and Kanan slowly rose to his feet, wincing. He’d been burned, he could feel that much-- his hands, the back of his neck and his face especially. But somehow, impossibly, he was alive.

“I-- thank you,” he said. “I don’t know how or why you saved me, but thank you.”

“Someone had to,” Depa said, her voice surprisingly sincere. “And Force knows you needed help.”

“True,” the young man agreed. “But we don’t have all day here-- we need to get you back.”

“Back?” Kanan asked.

“Back to Hera and everyone else,” the young man elaborated. “If you follow us, we can get you out of here and back to them. They should be expecting you. Hopefully. We’re pretty sure Ezra warned them.”

“Reassuring,” Kanan said, keeping his eyes shut. “Which way are we going? And where are we, exactly?”

“This way,” Depa said, giving his shoulder a slight nudge in the right direction. As Kanan started walking, she added, “And we’re in some dumb alternate dimension.”

“It’s a world between worlds,” the young man corrected from ahead of them. “And it was really hard to get here. You wouldn’t believe all the stuff we had to do to get here. But it led us to where you were, which makes it worth it.”

“Why?” Kanan asked, releasing the question he’d been turning over in his mind. “Why did you come to save me? Why you in particular?”

He heard the young man’s footsteps stutter, like he’d paused in his steps. “Oh. Um…”

“Subtle, Jacen,” Depa said sarcastically.

“Jacen?” Kanan felt a grin cross his face. “So that’s your name.”

Jacen let out a sigh. “Nice one, Depa. Look, D-- Kanan. You’re… really important. To a lot of people. And they couldn’t just lose you if there was something that could be done.”

“So we did it,” Depa said matter of factly. “As you do. Oh, we’re here! This is your stop.”

They came to a halt, and Kanan sensed… something. Like a light at the end of a hallway, beckoning him forward. “And this is where I’m supposed to go?” he said warily. “It’s safe?”

“Trust me,” Jacen said. “She’s on the other side. Hera is. Your family is waiting for you.”

Kanan nodded slowly, his mind spinning. Despite the obvious strangeness of this whole thing, the way it had caught him off guard, there were a few things that he had a strange feeling about. Like he was two steps away from putting something together, something incredibly important. “Wait-- before I go through there. Will I be able to see?”

“I-- oh. No,” Depa said, her voice soft, almost shaken. “You never could after Lothal. That was the last time.”

“Then I at least want to see the faces of the pair that saved my life,” Kanan said. “If you’re alright with it.”

“I’m not sure--” Jacen began.

“Oh, shut up and let him,” Depa said, her voice exasperated. “What’s the worst that could happen? Besides, I-- I want him to.”

There was a short pause, then Jacen sighed. “I know. Me, too. Okay, go ahead.”

Kanan’s eyes flicked open. He was in what looked like outer space-- pure black, only broken up by strange white lines outlining paths. And, every now and then, circular doorways. “Huh,” Kanan murmured, his gaze sweeping across the place. And then it landed on the duo standing in front of him, and his eyes widened in surprise.

They were both a couple years younger than him. Jacen was a tall young man, tan-skinned except where it was green, especially along his pointed ears. His long hair, tied back in a ponytail, and scruffy goatee were a deep shade of green, and his eyes were almost an almost disturbingly familiar shade of turquoise.

Depa was a young Twi’lek woman with green skin, pink patches here and there. Her eyes were brown, and widened slightly with shock as they met his. “He really does have your eyes,” she said, her voice stunned.

“Wow,” Kanan breathed, any doubt in his mind swept away. “Are-- are you two-- Wow. Words fail me.”

Depa let out a snort. “Same here. But about that haircut. Mom was right, it really is awful. Worse than the one Jacen gave himself when he was eleven. It was really bad, be glad you didn’t see it.”

Kanan chuckled, then glanced at Jacen. “I-- and you two came here to save me?”

Jacen shrugged. “We wouldn’t exist if we didn’t. Well, I would, but Depa wouldn’t, and that’s a downside. Kinda.”

Depa punched him in the arm, and Jacen let out a yelp, darting away from her as she took another swing at him, and Kanan could only shake his head because of what he was watching. “This is unbelievable.”

“I mean. Not that unbelievable,” Jacen pointed out, a smile crossing his face that Kanan had seen a thousand times in the seat next to his own.

“Wow. You look… just like your mom. Both of you.”

Jacen’s eyes went wide. “R-really? Um. Everyone says I look like… you.”

“That is Hera Syndulla’s smile right there,” Kanan said, and he knew it to his core. “Looks just like hers. But yeah, I can see our resemblance. Well. For now.”

The smile faded off of Jacen’s face, and he said in a low voice, “We can’t stay.”

Nodding, Kanan said, “I know. I should probably get going, too. Just--” he paused, looking at his children for the last time. “I’m proud of you two already.”

“That is so typical of you,” Depa said, rolling her eyes in a completely Hera movement. “Do you have any idea how many kids you’re gonna adopt? Hint-- it’s a lot.”

“No spoilers,” Jacen ordered. “We should go. But before we do--” he turned to Kanan. “When the time comes, tell Ezra that he doesn’t have to be you. He has to be him, and no one else.”

“Oh, and don’t worry,” Depa said breezily. “You’ll find him eventually.”

“Wait, what? What does that mean?” Kanan demanded.

“You’re about to find out,” Depa said with a wink, and that, Kanan knew, she’d gotten from him.

Leaning forward, Jacen said, “She’s your most infuriating child. Yes, more so than the Mandalorian.”

Kanan shook his head, grinning. “I can’t wait for you two to come along. I really can’t.”

Shrugging, Depa said, “You might not have to wait that long. Now get out of here, we’ve all got places to be.”

“Right.” Kanan turned towards the doorway, which was a blank white, and glanced back at his kids one more time. “May the Force be with you,” he told them.

“You always say that,” Jacen said with a slight grin. “See you soon, Dad.”

Kanan nodded, then stepped through the doorway.

Everything was dark as he stumbled out into what was some kind of clearing, or something. But he felt the sunlight on his face, and knew why it was. His eyesight was gone again, and he was okay with that.

A shriek cut through his thoughts, and he jerked his head up as someone shouted his name. “Kanan!”

It was Hera, her voice holding shock and joy and love, and Kanan heard her run towards him. But this time, he was running, too, and felt her slam into him. “You’re here,” she choked out, a sob shaking her body. “Ezra was right. I didn’t think--”

Kanan cut her off with a kiss, pulling her closer as she kissed him back. Breaking away from the kiss, he whispered, “I love you, too.”

Hera let out a shaky laugh. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to hear those words, love.”

“I-- wait.” Kanan froze. “How long was I gone? How long since the fuel depot?” Panic raced through him.

“Only three months,” Hera assured him, clearly catching his fear. “You’ve missed a lot. There’s some things we should talk about.”

“I bet,” Kanan muttered. “Okay, let’s go talk.”

Hera stepped away from him, but caught hold of his hand so she could lead him. “Right this way, dear.”

Kanan relished the sound of her voice as he walked with her, willing to wait through whatever they had to talk about next.

Well. Almost willing. “There’s… one thing that I have to ask you,” he said. “There was this weird thing that happened while I was gone-- it’s a long story. But something that happened made me think-- it might be stupid, but I just need to ask--”

Cutting him off, Hera said, “Just ask, love.”

“Right.” Taking a quick breath, Kanan asked, “Are you… pregnant?”

He felt her stop in her tracks, shock radiating through her. “I--” Hera paused, then let out a sigh. “I was planning on telling you myself, you know. Not sure I should be thanking your Jedi instincts on this one. But… yes. I’m pregnant.”

Holy. Kriff. “I’m gonna be a dad,” Kanan whispered, the words surreal but beautiful. They were real. I actually saw my kids. Which means-- Jacen.

A smile slipping across his face, he bent down and kissed Hera again. He knew things had to have changed, and he had a lot to catch up on. But he was with the woman he loved, and he had a lifetime to look forward to. They could handle it together.

#kanan jarrus #swr #star wars rebels #hera syndulla #star wars #kanera #kanera is love kanera is life #jacen syndulla #depa jarrus #kanera oc child #swr fan fic #111 followers celebration #this is late but i had to publish it before kanera week. i had to!#but it's also the last celebration fic! go me!#sorry it took so long #kanan lives au #it was dope. the end

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spvce-cowboy · 4 years

Text

gentle things

ch. 2 of i’ll be here in the morning (the mandalorian x fem!reader)

previous- ch.1: “a strange beauty”

next- ch.3: “reunion”

rating: mature

8.5k words

warnings: mutual pining, masturbation (f), alcohol, descriptions of gore

summary: after a few months on the Crest, you find yourself growing closer to your new companions.

a/n: the gay agenda is finding a way to slip a dolly parton song into a star wars fanfic, i rest my case.

Most mornings you wake to the child’s soft cooing. Occasionally, the sound is met with a low, modulated voice, that murmurs incoherent phrases in response. It somehow puts your heart to rest before you even remember where you are.

It’s strange, you’ve been a resident of the Crest for a handful of months now and it sometimes still takes you a few moments each morning to reorient yourself. You blame it on the strange limbo of hyperspace—it always throws you off for at least a day or two, and you swear your dreams are more vivid after. Sometimes you wake up panting for no reason at all.

You’re adjusting pretty well. A bit strange having a roommate/boss who doesn’t acknowledge your presence beyond the occasional but respectful nod. But it’s way better than you could have possibly imagined when you first started turning the idea over in your head. Granted, that was when you were about elbow-deep in his chest cavity, trying to fish out pieces of the shoddily constructed weapon that broke off inside him. You needed the first way out that presented itself to you, something you and Am’ile both agreed with, and well, when opportunity strikes or whatever.

Your first evening on the Crest, you asked the Mandalorian where you should sleep and he just shrugged, handing you a single, scratchy blanket with a “this is all I have.” Later, when you pass his bunk as he’s taking a nap, he’s curled in on himself on a bare cot and you realize that threadbare piece of fabric was literally all he had. You don’t bring it up, but something in your chest softens towards him after that. There’s a new quilt folded neatly on his bunk by the time he returns from his first mission.

Your second day onboard, you found a metal table in a junk heap and pushed it against one of the walls in the engineering bay. You spent the better part of an afternoon figuring out how to weld it to the floor. The medical supplies went on top, then you pushed your pillow and your rolled-up mattress underneath. Sure, there was technically a second cot in the Crew’s quarters, but you wanted to give the Mandalorian his privacy whenever possible. Besides, as long as there wasn’t too much turbulence, your set-up was pretty great.

After a few missions, you’ve visited enough markets to buy an ample supply of blankets, sweaters, and pillows to keep you comfortable on the floor of the ship. It’s freezing most nights, especially in hyperspace, and cocooning yourself in as many warm things as you could manage helps stave off both the chill as well as the occasional home sickness. The collection you’ve amassed thus far is in a various mis-match of pale jewel tones that remind you of Am’ile’s house. You didn’t realize that until you’d piled them all together on your bed and you couldn’t help but laugh at yourself a bit.

The child loves your soft things, happily snuggling up with you for naps while waiting for the Mandalorian’s return—though you suspect he’s just grateful for the new company. A consistent presence while dad’s away. You’re happy to give that to him.

The new routine is comfortable, the company is nice, the work is relatively easy. And, stars, the things you get to see. It’s honestly more than you could have ever asked for.

When your eyes blink open it’s already around eight in the morning. You’ve landed on Nevarro where the Mandalorian has already been gone for a day, attending some kind of “extended business meeting,” as he put it. Yawning, you eventually roll out of bed and stumble into the fresher, blearily rubbing the sleep out of your eyes with the spray’s cold water. Stepping out, you wrap your towel around yourself. In the tiny metal mirror suspended over the sink you pat on some lotion onto your face, eyes still heavy.

Reaching for your toothbrush, your knuckle grazes one of the Mandalorian’s facial razors. You wince, flicking your hand before examining it. A tiny nick. Sucking on it for a second to stop the blood flow, you glance at the Mandalorian’s side of the cabinet.

It’s strange to see the most banal traces evidence of what he is, who he is, behind the all that beskar. Like the facial razors—to think he’s in here, maskless, shaving his face, while you’re playing with his kid or whatever just a few steps away. To think he takes a shower every day—er, well, you’re not sure about that one, but at least when he’s on the Crest—stepping out and wrapping a towel around his waist in order goes about his little tasks.

You swallow, removing your hand from your mouth and grabbing your toothbrush before your mind can wander anywhere else. You brush your teeth particularly well that morning.

The day is pretty typical from there. After feeding both yourself and the child breakfast, you settle on the floor of the hull with the small metal ball he’s obsessed with. You place him a few feet in front of you, he sways slightly on both feet before plopping down to mirror you, hands stretched forward in an demand to be put in your lap.

“Let’s do some of the exercises, yeah?” You know you’re essentially just talking to yourself as you hold the ball in the air, but you might as well make the effort anyway. Am’ile was no stranger to kids like him, or at least that’s how she put it—something about her people and some other group, the specifics completely slipped your mind. She didn’t really elaborate and you knew not to press.

Even though you don’t know much, you do try to mimic Am’ile’s drills-disguised-as-play at least a few times a day. He only seemed to do what you asked during those sessions when you weren’t looking, distracted by cleaning or studying whatever book you’d picked up hours later. You would always find the little ball in strange places, definitely not where you’d last placed it, and certainly out of the child’s reach.

At least it was good to know he was partially pretending to not listen to you. You could work with partially.

The kid has been fussy since waking, refusing to focus on any of the things you were trying to prompt him to do. Yesterday, you spent a bit too much time at the markets with him—growing sick of protein bars, you initially set out trying to find something closer to tasting like home. Really, you just liked getting out of the Crest so you could see all those people.

You’ve amassed a collection of language dictionaries, trying to do some fast learning and even faster practicing to get your way around. Sometimes the vendors are kind and help you stutter your way through disjointed sentences in their native tongue, others just huff and immediately switch to Basic as soon as you start talking. You don’t mind either way.

The marketplace as a whole is new and exciting, the clatter and clamor of movement, laughing and snarling, voices raised in argument and lowered in the smallest exchange of intimacy. So far removed from the quiet slopes of Am’ile’s home and—

You don’t let the rest of that thought happen, quickly scooping the kid up and wrapping him to your chest with a long swath of fabric.

“I’m goin’ a little crazy in here too, little guy,” you mumble, pulling your satchel over your shoulder. “Your dad should be back in a while—let’s try to find a contact for supplies until then, yeah? Shouldn’t be too hard.” A total lie, it was way more difficult to find what you are looking for than you initially thought. You were particularly looking for a cauterizing instrument that was a bit more sturdy than the glorified cigar lighter the Mandalorian was currently using. Besides basic med-kit stock, it was nearly impossible to find anything more advance under the radar.

Yesterday was half-heartedly spent searching the markets in search of someone who might be tapped into Republic supply runs, which rendered you, predictably, empty-handed. Now you were on to your second best option, asking around the closest cantina where you could find the instruments you were looking for for without raising too much attention.

Okay, so maybe the Mandalorian specifically told you to keep out of the bars when you’re traveling without him. But you managed just fine on your own yesterday in an arguably more crowded environment. You’ve also dealt with… far worse than that hunk of metal could ever possibly imagine. You’re more than capable on your own. Still, you make sure to strap a dagger and a blaster to your belt before heading out.

You make quick work hurrying to the cantina, making sure to cover your head with the hood of your tunic and conceal the little one as much as possible. Basic survival instincts usually warrant drawing as little attention to yourself as possible, being a young human woman traveling alongside a small green wizard creature is pretty much the opposite of that.

He, predictably, doesn’t take very well to the concealed swaddle you’ve confined him to, and the two of you are in a constant back-and-forth of you attempting to wrap him up and him making quick work of wriggling out of any cover tactic you try. If it weren’t for those damn ears your life would be so much easier.

The bar has the quiet hum of activity, occasionally interspersed with a loud chatter of conversations rising to some kind of boiling point. You maneuver yourself to the counter and try to get the attention of the bartender, holding the kid to your chest until he squirms his way upwards and settles with his chin on your shoulder, one of his ears slipping out of the head covering you’d fashioned and thwapping you in the neck. You’ll deal with that in a second.

You’ve only just caught the bartender’s attention when the doors slam open. The clamor of the cantina quiets momentarily, and you see everyone shift slightly to eye whoever just entered. The two new patrons seem to be in the middle of an argument, voices low in secrecy but tense with frustration.

“I’d know that green mug anywhere.” With that you finally turn, heart dropping with anxiety. It’s the Mandalorian and a companion, a human man. The man’s voice, a deep bellow, is warm and inviting in a way that shouldn’t make you freeze completely as he addresses the kid. He then looks you up and down, pausing as the Mandalorian continues stomping forwards. You freeze anyway. “Ah—this is that girl you mentioned? Your caretaker?”

“She’s a medic,” the Mandalorian sharply corrects the man without moving to look at you. He quickly returns back to whatever conversation was initially at hand as the man continues his brisk stride towards a table at the back. There are three people already seated there, but by the time the Mandalorian arrives they have all left in a scuffling hurry. Neither of the men acknowledge it, just immediately slide into opposing sides of the booth. “Karga, this is ridiculous--I’m not a Republic spy, why would there be this many hoops on a bounty you’re just handing out?”

“I’m not just ‘handing it out,’ Mando, I’m giving it to you because I know you’re the most capable,” the man, Karga, addresses the Mandalorian then directs his attention towards you. “Come here, girl. Let me get a good look at you, I’m curious.” Turning to the bartender, he barks out an order for spotchka. You walk towards the table. There’s too much attention on the three of you to resist, you wouldn’t want to make things more complicated for the Mandalorian anyway. The bounty hunter’s voice almost immediately overrides his, low but gritty with anger as you slide into the booth beside him.

“I can’t—Karga you know I’ve never done something like this. This high-profile. Going deep-cover for a job isn’t something I can do.”

You feel Karga’s eyes on you, it’s brief but piercing. You busy yourself by looking up at the woman who serves you a small glass of the bright blue liquid, quietly thanking her.

“It’s all the fobs or nothing. The signal will be broadcast in a few hours’ time—they won’t expect something like this to be conducted semi-publicly. Keep monitoring the broadcast, but save that fob for last,” Karga places three fobs in the center of the table, then slides a forth a few inches removed from the rest. He can tell the Mandalorian isn’t convinced—stars, even you can tell he isn’t convinced. Karga heaves a sigh and makes a stab at reassurance. “You can figure it out. You’re the only one I can trust to get this done. The most capable.”

The Mandalorian’s hand slams down on the table, you jump, quickly looking between the intense but even staring contest going on between Karga and the infuriated bounty hunter. Slowly, and with more than a bit of melodrama, the Mandalorian drags the fobs under his hand towards him, slipping it into his pocket without breaking eyes from Karga’s.

He turns heel so quickly his cape whips behind him. You scurry after him as fast as you can manage.

You can still feel the frustration steaming off of the Mandalorian the whole walk back to the Crest. You keep quiet, trailing behind him by a few steps—you desperately want to ask what was wrong. Your mouth stays firmly shut.

Boarding the Crest, the Mandalorian immediately scales the ladder into the cockpit. After a few minutes you feel the Crest shutter into the air, quickly shooting into the empty sky and then hyperspace. You sigh and grab a book, turning the kettle on to make some caf and settling in your bed to an eye on the kid as he toddles around the expanse of the hull.

Hours later, when the child has exhausted all possible forms of entertainment, usually consisting of live wires and exposed paneling that you tug him away from, he begins to get fussy in a way that means he’s tired but refuses to sleep. It starts with the occasional whimper that quickly crescendos into a full-blown fit. You know all the warning signs at this point.

The little terror had a bit of a habit of doing this—once the Mandalorian and you are in the ship he refuses to fall asleep unless you two are in the same room. A part of you knows this is a symptom of separation anxiety—which you in no way can blame him for, given the circumstances of their bond—but the cockpit is just about the last place you want to be.

It’s not that you’re scared of the Mandalorian, or anything. It would just be… incredibly awkward with the mood he’s in right now to attempt to lull his kid to sleep in his presence.

“Listen, buddy, your dad is super grumpy right now so—" The child just starts crying even louder, little fists balled up to pound futilely against your chest, trying to push you away. “Okay okay okay! I get it. I get it.” You sigh, biting your lip and looking down at the kid, then up at the ladder. The kid starts screaming. “Yeah, yeah. Alright.” You begin the climb up.

“Hey, sorry he’s being a little sensitive again,” you say as your head pops up onto the pilot’s deck, miraculously managing to pull yourself into the room with one arm holding the squirming kid against you. The floor seals shut behind you once you haul yourself over the edge.

The Mandalorian just grunts in response and continues flipping through radio channels, seemingly growing more frustrated with himself the longer it takes for him to find the frequency Karga directed him to. He’s in the pilot’s chair, back turned to you, shoulders hunched in concentration.

You settle into the copilot’s seat, resting the kid on his back on top of your legs. He settles almost instantly, big eyes no longer filled with tears.

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you tickle him lightly until he starts giggling, then scoop him back up into your arms, allowing yourself to slide back in the chair a bit. You stare out into the bright darkness of space, blinking back at the stars as the child coos gently in your lap.

“A coded civilian station, is he fucking crazy?” The Mandalorian mumbles to himself in his continued litany of abuses he’s slung Karga and the greater universe’s way since returning to the Crest.

The longer you’ve been here the more he’s started to do things like that, just talking into the air without the expectation of a response. You begin to think that that’s just the way he acts when it was just him and the kid. Though you’ve noticed that he has been cursing way more than he did when you first met. That might be a little bit your fault. Oops.

You look down at the child and rub one of his ears, leaning down to press a kiss at the crown of his head. His little three-fingered hand catches your hair and pulls. Wincing, you resist the urge to jerk your head back. Instead, you extend the pad of your index finger and lightly wiggle it against his button nose. He sneezes and lets go almost immediately.

You let out a triumphant “ha!” then shake your head slightly and twist your face in a playful scowl. The kid resumes his giggling, batting at your hands when you try to tickle his tummy.

Glancing over at the angry hunk of beskar seated beside you, you notice he’s paused with his hand hovering over the radio’s controls, his head turned slightly towards his right shoulder to silently regard you and the child.

You quickly divert your gaze back down to the kid, resuming rubbing his ears as his eyes slowly, devastatingly slowly, ease shut. Only to snap open again with a playful babble, hands reaching up again for the free entertainment of the hair still attached to your head. Shit. You sigh. The Mandalorian goes back to flipping through the channels.

More static and garbled languages you’ve never encountered before. You try to ignore the pounding of your heart—that was probably the longest you’d ever seen him grant you any kind of attention—and keep trying to lull the child to sleep. As quietly as possible you try to stand, scooting around the copilot’s seat to gently bounce the kid in the limited space to the back of the cockpit. He’s quieted significantly, just enough that you could probably get him to sleep on your own, as long as you don’t jostle him too much on the descent back into the hull. You’re about to head down the ladder when—

The Mandalorian pauses momentarily on a channel that’s playing music. The opening swell of the first verse is unmistakable. Your chest fills with a certain warm feeling, pounding with memories you had long since tucked away.

“Wait,” you say it without thinking. Without even processing that the words left your mouth. “Wait, could you go back? That… that song…”

Wordlessly, he clicks back to the previous station. The cabin is filled with the music, a warm and bright voiced female vocalist smoothly intertwined with her male partner. The melody is plucky, something you could dance to—and have, more than once—and it’s overly saccharine in its pure, absolute joy in itself. But you suppose the cheesiness is part of the charm. You relish in it regardless.

You do something to me that I can’t explain. There is a memory that surfaces just as quickly as it disappears. You couldn’t have been more than four. Your father, spinning you around by your pudgy forearm. It’s his laugh you remember most of all, something boisterous and full-bodied. You are dancing around the kitchen of a home you can’t remember, the floor dappled with light from the pieces of stained glass your mother had dangling from the windows. Hold me closer and I feel no pain. You smile to yourself, bowing your head down at the little one, quietly murmuring what lyrics you remember, rocking your hips in a gentle little dance. It works, the kid is fast asleep by the last chord.

The song ends, the disc jockey begins speaking in yet another language you don’t recognize. The Mandalorian quickly turns the volume down, lest it wake the child. He has reflexes fast enough to startle you, luckily your jolt does nothing to bother the baby in your arms. You gently place him in the pram, hovering beside the pilot’s seat. You slide the shield doors shut to keep out the noise and step back.

“Thank you, Mandalorian,” you say it softly, but you can see his helm bob slightly in a nod of acknowledgement. You take a deep breath and begin to head towards the ladder as he resumes flicking through the stations.

“Hey,” the Mandalorian says your name. You pause for a moment, then turn. He clears his throat—the sound comes out as a rough crackle over the modulator. If you didn’t know any better, you would think he sounds a bit nervous. “You can uh… you can just call me Mando, you know. The full thing is a bit of a mouthful.”

You blink once, then nod. Turning heel you, mercifully, scale back down the ladder with as much grace as could be mustered, despite your shaking hands.

That night, when you touch yourself, you shove the blanket he gave you against your nose and mouth. To keep quiet, you tell yourself. It smells like his soap.

Days after the radio incident, you can’t help but occasionally find that you’re singing the song to yourself as you go about your chores. It just seems to pop in your head as soon as you open your eyes, and it’s just stuck there, but you’re not very mad about that.

Mando has landed on some bitterly cold planet that was made up of little more than ash and a thick red fog. He had left late last night/early this morning to start his hunt, telling you in a little scribbled note to expect him back in two days’ time. He has really bad handwriting, it’s strangely amusing.

You decide to deep clean the hull: washing the floors, doing laundry, organizing what meager new supplies you were able to gather from Nevarro. As you did, you sang to yourself. Out loud. Just for the pleasure of it.

Your mother taught you kulning, as was tradition for the young girls on your home planet. Your father taught you the low-bellied croon of the casino singers. When things were still good, you would sing for your parents friends at the parties they would throw and your father would play the piano. You wish you had more memories like that. It’s hard to recall anything through the foggy barriers of the past fifteen years, it makes something in your chest ache to even try.

Am’ile’s radio was for emergencies only, not wanting to draw unwanted attention with the signal. It has been ages since you’ve had access to one, ages since you’ve heard music that didn’t come from your own mouth. That was why you’d started the nightly calls at Am’ile’s because before that grassy little planet… well, speaking was barely an option. You’d seen too many girls hurt for things far less than murmuring a tune.

To sing in the way your mother taught you, with the whole of your body. To make yourself so boldly known. It was all you had ever wanted.

You start putting together dinner for you and the kid as the day winds down. Mando had a barely functioning hotplate that you were able to make the best of, having bought some fresh produce at the far more hospitable planet the three of you were stationed at the previous day.

The stew cooks while you finish up the rest of your work, slicing bread and setting up a little dining area for your and the kid because, frankly, why not go all-out? It’s good to treat yourself to the small, gentle things. Even when on an unforgiving rock hurtling through space. Especially then.

You hop in the fresher while you wait for the meat to get to the proper temperature, twisting your body to keep your hair out of the water’s blast. In the enclosed space, you feel a less self-conscious and allow yourself sing a little louder than the under-the-breath, partial-hum you’d managed throughout the rest of the day.

You don’t hear the hull opening between that and the fresher’s spray.

When you turn the water off, you recognize the sound of the last few mechanisms of the hull door stealing itself back in place. Anxiety settles in quickly as you dry off. God, please let it just be Mando please. There’s the sound of something heavy being thrown against a wall. You wince.

A low voice. “Pretty little bird you’ve got singing in here, just for me?” Then a wet crack. “Mother fuck—"

Your heart lurches in your chest as you quickly pull your clothes on, cracking open the fresher door to peer out into the hull. Mando is standing over the body of a target, now crumpled to the ground, holding a bleeding headwound with two long, thin hands. He nudges the bounty with the butt of the weapon he had presumably just used against the man’s skull. The man gives a choked moan, completely incapacitated.

“Do you…” your voice sounds far too small. You blink, inhaling and starting over. “Do you need to bring him in alive or do you need my—"

“The carbonite will stop the bleeding,” Mando’s voice is gruff. You nod, even though his back is turned to you, watching from the safety of the doorway as he leans down and lugs the whining body into the chamber. Once the bounty is sealed away, you step back out into the open.

Mando pushes past you almost without recognition, limping heavily.

“Hey—hey!” You trail behind him, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches. “Could you at least let me do my job?”

He regards you for an extended beat, then readily sits. It’s more of a controlled collapse.

“Is it your leg?” You ask, kneeling beside him and helping him peel off what armor you can. He shakes his head.

“It’s just more of a bruise I—my side, my hip. Onto the top of my leg.”

You nod slowly. “Okay, can you get to the fresher yourself or do you think you’ll need help? You have to rinse off before I treat you.” There’s an almost clay-like layer of red dust on his clothes and armor. It would be impossible to treat him properly without getting most of it off.

He wordlessly extends a gloved hand for you to help him up, you oblige—albeit struggling a bit with his weight. Once standing, you hover beside him on his limping walk to the fresher until he gives you a short: “I’ve got it.” You back off, returning to tend to your dinner while you wait.

When he emerges again he’s only wearing a sleep shirt, his mask, and a towel, the fabric held at the hip by his clenched fist to expose an already bruising thigh. He sits on a crate with an audible wince, easing himself back to lean against the wall slightly.

Your throat constricts as you move to his exposed side, but you try to breathe evenly enough to maintain an air of professionalism. Which gets increasingly difficult when he, with another sound of sharp pain, pulls up his shirt to reveal a series of small, shallow punctures traveling up his flank and over his hip that slightly weep with a mixture of blood and the cold water on his skin. He holds the shirt, just below his pectorals with his opposing hand, allowing the towel to drape over his lap while still revealing the side you need to work on. You can see the faint cut of his abdominal muscles, tracing south alongside a thin trail of dark hair leading--

“Shotgun pellets,” his voice stops your thoughts before they can get any worse. You’re partially thankful. Glancing up, you furrow your brow in confusion. He clarifies, “they’re a uh… a projectile type weapon. He was fighting dirty and desperate.” You nod, looking back down. The worst of the spray was able to score the skin right above his hip, but most of it had just bounced off his quad, leaving a series of raised, purpling welts. It was superficial at worst, but still not the best to look at. He seemed to read your mind. “Beskar was able to deflect them for the most part. I’ll be fine, just cauterize the worst of it.”

“The more you use the cauterizer the more of a chance you have of the scar tissue getting infected, you know. That’s some business you want no part of,” you say, digging through your kit for a pain ointment and the bacta you were able to refill on Nevarro. The more you looked at it, the more foolish of a blow for him to have taken it becomes. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you’re doing this on purpose,” you’re muttering it to yourself before you can fulling think through the implications. When he doesn’t say anything, you glance up at him. “That was a joke.”

“You need to work on your material, then.”

You laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you get to work. It’s easier to feel more confident around him the longer you’ve acclimated on the Crest. You have a bad habit of using snark as a defense mechanism. The more you work with Mando, the less you’re able to keep that up. It feels nice, you can relax slightly when you’re given the reassurance of him reciprocating the conversation.

You finish pressing the last of the bandages against his side. “The pain stuff I used should start sinking in soon, it might burn for a bit beforehand but it’ll get better after a few minutes.” He nods, pulling the towel tightly around his waist before standing and limping back into his quarters. He returns, fully dressed, putting a little more pressure on his leg than he did before he left. You quickly, desperately, find a way to conceal your staring.

“Hey—I have a surprise for you,” you turn to the kitchenette, busying yourself by testing the stock with a messy sip. It’s not… the best thing you’ve ever made in your whole life, but it’s the closest thing to the meals you made with Am’ile that you’ve had since you left your old home. It smells lovely, enough to have filled the hull with the smell of the herbs you used. “I thought it was just gonna be me and the womp rat so I made dinner, if you wanna eat with us that is.” You pull out the bottle of wine you bought from one of the storage drawers, a slight heat rising to your cheeks. You hold it up triumphantly anyway. “I really just needed an excuse to buy this for myself. But I totally understand if you’d rather eat upstairs by yourself.”

“Thank you,” he says hesitantly. “I’ll… I’ll stay while you eat. I can take mine to the cockpit once you’ve finished.”

“Would you want to have a glass with me, at least?” You hold the wine bottle by the neck at your side. He’s grumpy. Part of you wants to find some way to fix that, knowing it would be hard for you to let yourself enjoy the rest of the night with him fuming over something just upstairs. “I’ll cover my eyes. It’ll be like when I brought you your meals, while you were fixing the ship. No peaking. I promise.”

He takes a moment, before nodding slowly, for some reason you’re kind of surprised he agrees. Maybe that’s why your smile is so big. Maybe it was the fact you’d already cracked the bottle open for a few sips before taking your shower, the warmth of it at the bottom of your stomach making it much easier to playfully prod at the bounty hunter. Probably a mix of both.

You kneel beside your bed to gather another pillow, placing it across the makeshift table you’ve fashioned out of two crate and one of your blankets. You turn to bring the rest of the food to the table, three wooden bowls and a plate for the kid. You’re in the middle of separating the meat from the broth for him when you glance up at Mando, who is still standing exactly where you last saw him. He points to the tuft of fabric you had placed on the floor for him.

“What’s that for?”

You’re not sure if he’s serious or not. “Um, comfort?”

He doesn’t say anything, just cocks his helmet slightly to the left.

“Alright, old man,” you roll your eyes, refilling your cup . “Suit yourself.”

Mando pauses for a second longer before easing himself onto the pillow. He says your name softly, almost to himself. “This looks… really great. Thank you.”

“Well I wouldn’t take it to heart too much, chrome bucket. I was planning on hoarding all this for me and the kid. You just came back at quite the opportune moment,” you grin cheekily up at him before tearing your piece of bread and dipping it into the broth.

He reaches across the makeshift table and picks up his cup. You’ve repurposed the tops of two of his thermoses to make them. He examines it in his hand for a moment before speaking.

“Were you singing that song that was on the radio, yesterday? When I came in?”

“Yeah,” you laugh, shaking your head to yourself as you reach over the table and grab the cup in his hand to fill it with the wine. “I haven’t heard it in ages, you know? Any music at all, honestly, but especially that song. It was one of my dad’s favorites,” you detract before either of you could linger on that last statement. “It’s been in my head all day. I was meaning to ask you, when it comes to the radio—it probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to listen while you’re on the job, yeah? Tracing signals and all that?”

Mando mulls it over for a second, accepting his cup from you and staring down at it. “I’m not sure. Better safe than sorry, but I could ask around about getting a uh… one of those new portable ones.” You don’t want to tell him that those newfangled portable radios have been a thing since you were in the cradle—something about his technological obliviousness was oddly endearing. “I’ll ask around and see if there’s some kind of blocking signal we could install. If you’d like one, that is. I’d like to take a sip, now, if that’s okay?”

You nod, immediately putting your hands over your face. You know you could just squeeze your eyes shut like oh, maybe a normal person might? But to be honest, it was a little funny to do. To act this silly in front of one of the most effective killing machines in the galaxy, who you have somehow convinced to attend a quaint family dinner. Might as well mess around a bit with it, yeah?

You hear the hiss of the mask resealing but you don’t remove your hands from your eyes. “It’s good wine,” he remarks. “You can look now.”

Removing your palms from your face, you blink your vision back to clarity, reaching for your cup again. Your mouth is already growing warm in the way that let you know that when Mando meant good he also meant strong. You have to agree.

“The people on Am’ile’s planet would make this crazy strong liquor out of these peaches that only grew in the valley where we lived. The village that was closest to us got super wealthy off of the stuff--honestly I can’t stomach anything too sweet anymore after it, spent an equal amount of time coming up as it did going down, if you get what I’m saying.” You screw up your face at even the thought of the syrup-like drink. “The orchards were super beautiful, though. The tallest foliage in the valley and they were maybe only a few heads taller than you. All types of critters living in the roots—that little one loved it.” You gesture to the child, who was grabbing as much of the dish’s meat as he could in his stubby three-fingered hands. The rest of his plate remained untouched. “Am’ile and I used to take walks through it all the time, especially when I first got there. It was too dangerous to go into the forests by yourself so I would spend ages in the orchards if she wasn’t putting me to work, just for a change of scenery.” Your mouth kind of just keeps running. It just feels so… nice, to talk to someone without having to try and stutter your way through a new language. That and the liquid courage in your cup made you unapologetically chatty. “She had so many little trinkets and things from her travels as a Republic medic, but only like ten books tops, all on medicine. I literally have the things memorized at this point, they were the only things to read.”

“You could go back at some point, if you want. When there’s a lull in jobs I could probably drop you and the kid off, spend a few weeks with her while I keep hunting,” Mando casually picks up his glass again, and you automatically cover your eyes with your hands. You’re still smiling, just with a little weight behind it.

“No, no that’s okay. Am’ile would get in too much trouble with the locals, for good reason. It isn’t safe for them and—to be honest, Mando, I don’t think the kid could take being separated from you for that long,” you pause for a moment. “But that’s incredibly kind of you to offer, thank you. I mean that.”

His mask hisses back in place. You ease the index and middle finger of your right hand to peer at him playfully before lowering your hands again. It’s a gentle spar between the two of you, an easy rhythm to settle into.

“Your med-station,” he nods towards your table/bed set up, looking particularly messy in comparison to the hull you’d spent the day cleaning. “It’s…”

Your heart drops, ready for the scolding. “Ah—uh, I’m sorry.” You look down at your plate—even if he couldn’t see the heat rising to your face, you try to hide your embarrassment by stabbing at another bite of food. You glance up at him sheepishly. “It’s the only place on the Crest that’s tucked away enough, I didn’t want to get underfoot.”

“No, no.” He shakes his head. You swallow. “I like it. A good idea. It’s like a reminder whenever I leave, not to do anything too stupid.”

“Oh, well,” you’re not sure why that catches you off guard so much. You honestly had no idea he even processed your presence since you’d first moved in besides the occasional medical assistance you provided. “I’ll make sure to put the more intimidating syringes front-and-center the next time I organize it.”

And he laughs.

Well—so, okay. It’s not a full laugh, more like a few low releases of air, but there’s a clear smile behind it that you can definitely hear. It’s enough to have you slightly grinning to yourself the rest of the meal.

By the time you’re finished, you’re a bit hazy off the wine and incredibly sleepy. You lean back slightly and yawn, looking at where Mando has settled the kid on his lap. “Sometimes I wish I could just snap my fingers and he’d just go to sleep. There’s too much energy in that little guy.”

“I can take him for the night,” Mando is currently engaged in a gentle dance of keeping the little one’s hands away from the food you’ve portioned for the bounty hunter. It’s more amusing than it should be. “If you could just help me take this upstairs I’d be more than happy to.”

You nod, clamoring to your feet and grabbing his bowl as he climbs up into the cockpit with the kid. You follow and place his dinner on a clear spot on the console.

“Where are we going next?” You ask, glancing over the control panel as if you had any idea what all those flashing lights and strange looking scanners meant. You should really pick up a flight manual at some point, just for the basics.

“The last fob,” Mando sighs. “Canto Bight. This—this is going to take a while, just warning you now. I still have no idea how I’m going to pull this off.”

You nod, yawning. You’re still a bit tipsy. “Okay, well, I think I’m gonna go to bed. Good luck brainstorming.” The food sits warm and heavy in your stomach. It’s been a long time since you’ve felt this full. It’s nice.

He gives a small nod acknowledging what you said, then goes back to grumbling down at the control panel, pushing buttons and examining scanners. You lean down to kiss the kid goodnight from where he’s babbling in the co-pilot’s seat, then climb down the ladder and change into your night clothes, setting the lights in the hull to night-mode as the Crest rumbles into the sky. Climbing into bed, you wrap your biggest blanket around yourself, the chill of hyperspace already settling in the air.

You have a dream. A bad one. One you’ve never had before and don’t know if you’d survive again if you did. It starts with you already crying. It’s one of those full-body, hiccuping sobs that usually rouses you from your sleep before things gets too bad.

Mando is gone, so far gone not even the comlink your finger is hovering over would be an option. You know this because the dream starts with him calling you. When you answer, there is only the sound of a hard, driving rain.

You’re holding the child against your chest and he’s screaming into your ear but you know if you actually lift him away to look at him he’ll disappear into the rain, too, so you drop the communicator and turn and there’s blood all over the floor and you have to clean it, you do. You have to so maybe he’ll come back and so you’re here, mopping up the blood on the hull’s floor as the child wails the loudest you’ve ever heard him cry and you try to choke out reassurances through your own crying because.

Because the gore is on your hands and your elbows and on you and on the floor once its gone it’ll be okay it’s so dark but it’ll be okay and streaking across the front of you and your face where you’ve tried to wipe it away please go away because it looks just like when.

Looks just like when.

You wake up in the middle of screaming, gasping for breath, one hand pressed against the top of the table above you and the other curled into the mattress. It’s the first time that’s happened, waking up like that at least. The dreams are different each time and occur at different frequencies, but they always crescendo at the same point. Usually you just wake up, eyes slowly sliding open and fixing to whatever is directly in front of you as your vision slightly blurs. How banal it usually is, how banal it feels, adds to the cruelty. You’re mostly still able to go to sleep after, at least there was that.

Not this, though. This is that hand-scratching-at-your-own-throat kind of terror, the kind you’ve usually only seen in the holo-dramas. You haven’t had a nightmare like that for so long, so maybe the surprise of it is what made it so much worse—that it wasn’t just you. Maker, you can still hear the child’s squalling in your ears. That sound of raw, primal terror that—

You feel your stomach lurch. You scramble to the fresher, emptying the contents of your stomach into the toilet.

Half anxiety, half afraid to close your own eyes, the dull thrum of raw energy does little to calm itself once you manage to shove the door of the fresher close. You let the metal rim of the toilet cool your face as you sniff, scooting back to lean your back against the wall, pulling the sleeve of the sleepshirt you’re wearing up your palm to wipe your eyes.

A low voice says your name urgently. You look up, dazed for a moment, before the door is cracked open by four broad-knuckled fingers. Your hand flies out, catching the handle before Mando is able to pull it the rest of the way open. He barely has time to get his hand out of the way before you slam it shut again.

“I--sorry,” you croak. “Please um… please don’t come in here.”

“Are you okay?” His voice is rough with sleep. You cup your hands over your knees and lean your forehead down to rest against them. When you don’t answer, he speaks again. “Was it, was it about before? Before Am’ile?”

“I—I haven’t, for so—I haven’t… Before… It was…”

“I know. She told me, it’s alright, I wouldn’t have asked I just… I thought it was something you didn’t want to talk about but I--”

“I’m not a charity case,” it sounds snappier than you intended it to and has absolutely nothing to do with anything he’d just said. At this point you’re just talking to yourself, it seems like he knows that. “That’s not why Am’ile pawned me off on you. I’m okay, I didn’t need her supervision anymore. I’m, I’m okay. It’s taken a long time but I am now so I don’t know why--”

“No,” and he says your name forcefully, cutting you off before you can continue. He repeats himself, this time softly, before: “It’s alright.” Does his voice sound… warmer? Even through a layer of reinforced steel? “I want you to feel safe, here. Comfortable. I don’t care, it’s okay. I just thought you were hurt.” He clears his throat. “I have them too, the dreams. So you, you don’t have to worry about hiding it. Them.” You don’t know what to say, so you say nothing at all. Closing your eyes, you lean the side of your face into the door separating the two of you. It’s so silent on the other side you think he’s left, so when he speaks again it’s all the more surprising. “And she didn’t pawn you off. I need you. Here.”

Something in your chest does a complete backflip. Your stomach is fluttering so ferociously you have to clear your throat before continuing. “Okay. Yeah, um. Thank you,” you wince. “I’m gonna freshen up and then get the little one out of your hair—er, beskar.” Idiot idiot idiot.

“It’s alright, you didn’t wake him. If you want I can… I can sit with you, until you fall asleep.”

“Okay.” You say it softly. “That would be really nice, actually. Thank you.”

You quickly brush your teeth, then open the door the door slowly. Stepping into the hull and closing it behind you, you pad back to your mattress. He follows a few feet behind you quietly—it’s moments like these you’re grateful for his reserved nature. You don’t have the energy to try and brush things off by filling the silence with mindless chatter.

Kneeling beside your mattress, you wordlessly offering him an armful of your pillows. In the low light of the Crest’s night mode, the beskar helmet looks nearly featureless, save for the gleam of light that arcs up its surface as he looks down at what you’ve offered him.

“Could you—” your voice breaks. Heat rises to your face as you clear your throat again. “Is it okay if the kid um… slept with me? It was… some of it was about—”

“Yeah, of course,” Mando takes one of the pillows from the top of what you’ve offered him, tossing it at the ground of the opposing wall and then slipping out of sight as he goes into his bunk. He returns with a the child, standing above you as you crawl into bed, wrapping you blanket around yourself, setting up the pillows as you normally do for the naps you take together, preventing any accidental rolling-over. Mando crouches to place the kid beside you, then stands and settles where he’d dropped the pillow previously. You take a moment to look down at the child, running a thumb over the edge of his ear, before kissing his soft forehead where you normally do. He wrinkles his nose in his sleep, making a soft sound and twitching his ears before wiggling slightly to resettle. You rest your head back on your pillow. The specifics of the dream are already starting to drift away. It’s a small mercy, but it’s enough.

“Hey, Mando?” You lift your head, the low light reducing the man to a dark, featureless outline.

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if… um… would you mind if I just touched your hand? Just so uh… if I wake up I can know you’re there?” As the words spill out of your mouth, an unbearable heat rises to your face.

There’s the sound of him shifting, getting to his feet with a grunt. Then he’s right there, sitting with his back to the wall, just a few inches from the top of your head. Tentatively, you reach out your hand, resting your index and middle fingers against his palm. And it’s his palm, His palm, warm but rough with callouses, resting on the floor beside his extended leg just for you to be able to close your eyes, even for a little bit.

It takes a while but it works. Right as you drift back to sleep you think you feel his hand gently wrap around the fingers you’ve offered him. You really think you do.

a/n: thank you all for the engagement thus far !! it really means so much to me.

that said i am .,..... beyond excited about the next chapter for two reasons of equal importance: fancy parties and Very Jealous Mando. my favorite things 😌

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din and grogu #mando and grogu #grogu #reader insert #i'll be here in the morning #i'll be here in the morning ch.2 #fanfic #star wars fanfiction

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mcfreakin-bxtch · 4 years

Text

Playing with Fire

Part Five of the Just this Once Series

Warnings: Smut (no actual smut tho guys sorry), Masturbation (f), Teasing, Language, Dirty talk, Terrible Star Wars knowledge

Word Count: 2.3K+

Summary: A tease through the links and a bet fulfilled.

A/N: This chapter is a little short, but I hope you all enjoy! This may seem a little anti climatic and messy but that’s on me guys, that’s my bad. Also this may seem different in tone if that makes sense? The next one will be more smutty goodness but with some injuries (and yes i used another random star wars planet don’t kill mee)

You’ve finally figured it out.

After about a week of travelling to your next destination, it finally occurs to you to just play at his own game. You know—fingering you in a crowded cantina, smirking to himself while you struggled to stay quiet in that fucking booth...

But first, you must say that Edis is a strange place. Rain falling at every hour with apparently no signs of ever letting up, and the humidity is unforgiving—how Mando is handling it in all that armor and padding, you’re almost too afraid to ask, because there’s just no way that he’s comfortable, and an uncomfortable Mando can lead to a grumpy one.

Maker you’re grumpy yourself if you’re being honest. The Child has been restless lately, like the heat is getting to him as well, and that’s been taking a toll on your (already) poor sleep schedule; Mando tries to help, but there’s only so much he can do. However, it has given you the chance to think of the perfect payback for your little deal—or bet is a better word—and you gotta say, you’re a little proud of yourself for coming up with this evil—and small—tryst in the first place.

If it’ll work the way you want it to, time will tell.

“Were you even listening?”

The modulated crackle startles you from your thoughts. You turn in the pilot’s seat, making contact with the visor and the stiffness of his posture confirms your suspicions—he’s hot and grumpy.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Lost in my thoughts.”

He doesn’t acknowledge it. “I’m leaving. They should be nearby, and everything should work out as long as you and the ship stay hidden.”

Like anyone could. Mando isn’t messing around on this one—well, the man doesn’t mess around with anything, actually—and he’s made damn sure that not only are you available with a few weapons nearby (some hidden, of course, just in case), but that the Razor Crest is shadowed by towering trees a bushes in this small part of the rainforest; it’s nearly impossible to even see the gunk through the one of the thickest part of the forest. If anything finds you, they most likely won’t come back alive.

“Okay. Good luck.”

He gives you one nod and the cape whips as he turns around, strutting towards the ladder as you follow behind. Mando checks on the kid—sitting up in the middle of the haul with a few little toys surrounding him—and gives him a gentle caress of his floppy ear before using his vambrace to open the ramp. He doesn’t give you a glance back, and that’s okay with you, but you can’t deny the slight stinging in your chest when he disappears into the foreign planet.

“Alright little guy,” you say with a grunt as you plop down on the floor next to the Child. “Let’s figure out what to do.”

***

Ten days.

Mando has been gone longer on bounties like this, believe or not, but that still doesn’t ease your increasing anxiety when the com link stays silent; you suppose you’re used to the quickness of his updates.

Today, after hours of entertaining the baby the best you could, you can finally settle comfortably in the pilot’s chair… but now what?

Sleep, your body says, because what else is there really to do? Don’t, your mind tells you, because you have the baby here alone on an unfamiliar planet and anything could happen. A part of you wants to go out and check the foreign terrain. One look shouldn’t hurt—

“Hey,” his voice speaks through in statics.

You quickly fumble with the com, feeling like a clumsy mess when you almost drop it in your haste; he’s caught you by surprise, for about the hundredth time.

“Y-yeah. Yeah I’m here,” you stammer.

“Not so close,” he tells you, annoyed and tired.

You wince and pull your hand back from your mouth. “Sorry. Good news, I hope?”

“Yes. And no. It’ll be at least a few days before we’re out of here.”

That sucks.

You suspect that the quarry is indeed with him by the short words, and that’s okay, because with your plan now in the front of your brain, fresh anew like the first time you cococked it in the wake of sleep, washing your quick irritation away, your chance is finally here.

“Mando,” you say as sweetly as you can—your heart skips a beat when there’s a moment of silence. “They can’t hear me, right?” you continue before you can find out if the com is dead or not.

This is incredibly risky. Even a little unfair of sorts, given that he’s technically working right now, and that leaves no room for games or distractions—the moment is just too good to pass up.

Another minute goes by. You sink in your chair in disappointment, ready to admit defeat.

“Not now.”

Yes.

“This was part of the deal, Mando,” you remind him. “And I’m already starting to get wet.”

That isn’t a lie. The slickness of your arousal is starting to seep from your core—fourteen days (counting the week it took to get here) is a long time, and as long as you can get him to keep talking, this will work beautifully for you.

A pause. “I can’t…”

“I’ll do all the talking,” you lick your lips and slink down comfortably, sliding your hand along the length of your neck, imagining it’s his hand wrapping around your throat. “You just listen. You can do that, can’t you?”

You wait, and for a split second you’re afraid that, yet again, you’ve done something wrong. You really have to start working on that.

“You don’t—”

“Okay.”

Maker. Maker okay.

“I uh—” what were you going to say to him when you thought of this in the first place? “I… you know what I think about when you’re gone?” You know he can’t answer much, not without giving himself away, but you pause anyway for dramatic effect. “First, I imagine you stalking towards me like you always do… like I’m one of your bounties.”

Your pussy quivers in excitement as you close your eyes and picture him doing just that, sliding your hand down to your chest, groping your covered breast and trying to mimic the same amount of pressure he applies to them—you really wish it was his hand instead.

“Then you cage me in, leaving me with nowhere to go. There’s a specific type of exceleration to it. One that makes things even more… exciting.” You pinch your nipple and whine, loud enough to give him a good show—Stars you hope that quarry can’t hear you through the baskar bucket of his. “You like to drag it out, to watch me shiver in anticipation, and fuck if I don’t like it either.”

You can hear the light breathing through the comlink. A spark of victory, early victory, runs through your body and straight to your pussy, neglected and hungry for any type of friction.

“And then,” your hand slides further down to the waistline of your pants, fumbling with the buttons. “You touch me. Softly, at first, because you love to tease—” a barely audible sigh interrupts, bringing a cheeky grin to your lips. “—and I think you’re an ass man, because you never miss a chance to lay your hands on mine.” Your fingers slither their way under your panties; your inner thighs twitch at the first brush of your finger against your aching clit, and more slickness escapes your cunt. “And you ghost your fingers over my breasts, down my stomach, over my hips where you like to grip them tight, to my dripping pussy…”

Not a peep from the com. You’re surprised he’s kept his composure. You shouldn’t be, yet a part of you is.

“And,” you go on with a moan. “When I feel your thick fingers paw at me, rip my clothes off and fuck my pussy deep, getting me ready for your big cock while your teeth scrapes against my neck—oh fuck…” The curse slips from your lips without warrant; your fingers buried in your pussy like you’re explaining to him. “My fingers are not the same—” you bite down on your lip as you curve your fingers, delicately trying to find the spot Mando finds with precision. “They don’t make me feel as full as yours do. But I’m still fucking myself with them, Mando. While you’re out there, and I’m in here… it sucks, doesn’t it. Having to stay quiet when all’s you want to do is fuck me until I can feel you for days and day after, your cum leaking from me, and who knows, maybe I won’t even let you cum.”

“You will,” he nearly growls, and that’s an early sign you’re in a world of trouble when he does get back. “That’s part of the deal.”

“...What...deal…”

The faint voice cuts in annoyingly, and Mando shoots back with a decent threat that’d make you terrified for your life; again, it’s probably wrong that it does nothing to deteriorate the fluttering of your wet muscles.

“Keep going,” his tone leaves no room for argument.

Your fingers move faster. “I think you should be a little nicer to me,” you sigh dramatically. “You’ve been gone for so long, leaving me all by lonesome… you like to do this a lot I’ve realized, leave me high and dry. But you might have a chance to fuck my face if you’re a good boy.”

You have to stifle your giggle at the last bit.

“Yeah, you’d like that,” you coo. “And I’d swallow every drop.”

A barely audible exhale filters through the link. You’re right there with him, your face scrunched in concentration.

“I’m happy as long as you’re inside me,” you continue on with delight. “You’re an asshole sometimes, but you can fuck.”

Mando sighs again, this time feigned with theatorical frustration—well in his case, it may be truthful, but it sounds more for the quarry’s (and yours) benefit than the latter.

This is more of an ego boost for him more than anything as well, if you think about it, but as long as you get him riled up and you cum, that’s enough for you. So you curve your fingers the best you can given the compromised position and flick your thumb against your clit, images of his gloves sliding down your pants in the cantina playing through on repeat. This time you moan louder for your own amusement, imagining him struggle; it’s sweet, sweet revenge.

“And?” He asks suddenly—calm and steady.

His voice, even modulated like that, makes your muscles twitch as the coil in your lower stomach boils to a tight flame, and the sloshes of your fingers slinking in and out of you adds to the euphoria clawing through your core.

“Your cock,” you whimper. “Stretches me out so good every time. You’re so big, Mando, so thick in every way and it feels amazing. I bet you miss the way my sweet cunt clenches around you.” You bite down on your lip to hide a groan, wanting to hear his response as your fingers move even faster, scratching against the itch. “Don’t you?”

Your pussy flutters around your fingers at the first scrape against your sweet spot (finally!), and—well fuck, you’ve never seen much of him to actually picture what his cock looks like driving in and out of you at the verioucious pace he usually chooses, so this is a little bit difficult than you thought it’d be; as long as you keep fucking yourself like this…

“Yes.”

Your breath shakes as you exhale. “Shit I wish you were here right now,” you rub your clit harder. “I-I want you to fuck me so hard when you get back, Mando. Want you to—hmm—to grab me so hard that I have bruises the next day. Use me. And you’d come right in my tight little pussy, isn’t that right?”

You don’t expect him to answer this time. Not when you’re so gone in your little cheraid and your pussy clenches harder and harder until there’s nothing but white noise tying you down to this moment.

“Fuck. Fuck I’m so close.”

You try to conjure the feelings Mando gives you—the feel of his hands, pressing down all over you, fingers leaving indents in your skin, his mouth on your neck, biting down on the sensitive flesh until you’re marked; the drag of his cock along your slick walls until there’s tears in your eyes and you can feel him all the way to your cervix.

“Mando,” you whine, then bite down on your lip again; the Child certainly doesn’t need to hear this. “I… I need to hear you. Say something, anything.”

“Go ahead,” gruffer, close to a grunt—your pussy gushes at that. “Now.”

The command is clear, and it’s not going to take you that much to ride the waves of your orgasm starting to crash down over you. Your moans and whimpers trapped behind tight closed lips and your fingers covered in your juices, it takes a few more curves of your fingers and tight circles on your clit to feel the hard and delectable clench of your inner muscles.

“Yes,” your body trembles. “Oh Ma—” You hide the rest of the plea behind a muffled scream as short bursts of pleasure sparks through your entire body, your fingers trapped in the squeeze of your cunt as more juices flood down the slope of your ass, milking every drop of your orgasm.

After a few long moments your tense muscles relax and deflate, relieved and satisfied. Though, the only problem is that it is short lived, an orgasm small enough to hold you over until the real deal comes back. Speaking of…

“Mando?” You breathe. “Still with me?”

“I’ll be there soon. Be ready.” And then nothing.

Chuckling to yourself, you wince as you slowly pull your fingers out, wiping your slick covered fingers on your pants.

And now you wait.

For however long that’ll fucking be.

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #fanfic #the mandalorian imagines #pedro pascal

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somedrunkpirate · 3 years

Text

Aware || Geraskier Ficlet

Read on ao3 here, or continue below.

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Jaskier is a mess of bandages.

He’s lying on the bed, limp— asleep. His chest rises with a shallow rhythm that Geralt tracks despite himself.

There are bloody rags all over the floor. More blood in drops leading from the door to the bed. Geralt’s hands are red, cold and wet.

But Jaskier is resting now. The work is done. The stitches; moments of frantic focus, feeling every second as it slips past Geralt’s fingers.

Jaskier is a mess of hidden wounds. Geralt doesn’t know if it is better this way— to not see the slashes in his chest, the long slice across his forehead. White strips of fabric, and then grey and brown when the innkeeper ran out. They’re clean though. She swore on her mother’s grave when Geralt growled out the question. She’d helped him when Jaskier’s body could not be held up alone. Wrinkles set in tense concentration. Quick responses to snapped orders. He doesn’t know when she left. He didn’t notice—

He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t noticed. He hadn’t been watching—

Jaskier is a mess. Fuck. He’ll be so mad when he wakes. Dirt caked in his hair, grime on his arms and hands. His shirt is unsalvageable, his pants stained and scuffed. Geralt doesn’t know for certain if it will wash out, and somehow the lack of answer — because Jaskier will ask — makes his hands clench into fists. He could ask the innkeeper. He should get water to— to clean Jaskier up, just a little, while he rests. He should— He should’ve—

Jaskier is wounded, hurt. It isn’t a novel phenomenon. Trouble smells his presence from a mile away. Monsters, witches, rival bards. “Bait,” Geralt said once, “that’s what you’re good for.” Jaskier had laughed. Geralt doesn’t see the joke in it anymore.

Because it was alright before. He got hurt— he got fixed up, end of story. There is danger to be expected traveling at a Witcher’s side, and Jaskier took the risk with that knowledge at hand. There were moments where Geralt wished him to be gone— to not have come with him, to stay out of the way, stay safe — but it was alright, because Jaskier is stubborn, and would likely find many more dangers on his own accord. At least Geralt could keep him in sight. At least he would be aware of what lay ahead and could prepare for it. There are dangers to wandering with a Witcher, but there is safety too. A sword and unnatural senses, keeping the worst of the world at bay.

So he should’ve seen it coming.

There is nothing to blame— no monster, no wild hunt plot. Jaskier had not gone off the path, followed him despite warnings, or otherwise played the fool and got himself into danger. They had not even been on contract. Just passing through, on their way to a nearby village.

It had been a beautiful summer day and it ended in blood. There is nothing and no one to blame but Geralt.

Jaskier’s head twitches slightly. His breathing hitching once and then again. A soft rumble of a cough. Geralt can see it hurts him— his face contorting in an open way only unconsciousness would allow. But he doesn’t wake from it. Geralt holds still, arms crossed, pressing them against his own chest to keep himself there. He wants to— he wants to go over and check. One more time. Just once. He shouldn’t. He should leave— for a little while. Thank the innkeeper. He doesn’t remember her name.

Geralt stands at the door, stuck and watching until night falls.

Jaskier doesn’t wake.

So he checks. Just once.

A hand laid gently on Jaskier’s cheek. Clammy skin warns of fever.

“It will cool soon,” Geralt murmurs. He lets his finger trail the red blush, feels the shape of it as it pulls in air. In and out. “Just rest, Jaskier. Rest and be well.”

A knock, sharp on the chamber door. Geralt pulls back as if burned. He reaches for his sword, swearing under his breath. Distracted, again. Unaware, again.

“Can I enter?”

The innkeeper.

Geralt takes a breath, sheaths his sword. “Be quiet, he is sleeping.”

She takes it as permission, even though Geralt isn’t sure he meant it that way. The idea of another person here, while Jaskier lies vulnerable, makes his skin itch. Even if she was the one who helped him. As if she is any danger.

The door opens as silently as it can, but the squeaking noise doesn’t stir Jaskier. She pushes it closed with her hip— hands full with a tray of food.

Geralt frowns at it, conflicted. “He’s sleeping.”

The innkeeper frowns back. “This is for you.”

Her words are final. Geralt says nothing. He’s not the one that needs care, but explaining that to her seems a waste of time. He’ll save it for when Jaskier wakes. It shouldn’t be too long now.

“How is he faring?” she is saying, while rounding the bed to put the tray on the side table. Hands freed, she reaches out to pluck on Jaskier’s bandages.

Geralt almost growls at her for it, but he swallows it down. He grits his teeth and says, “Fever coming.”

“Hmm.” Now her fingers are on Jaskier’s face. “Some wet rags will do him well. I’ll get them for you.”

Geralt manages to speak only when she finally steps away from the bed. “Thank you.”

She turns and then looks at him— eyes flicking up and down with a quick intensity — and puts her hands on her hips. “And when I return, you will go wash yourself—”

Geralt is already shaking his head.

“—in the river.” She dips her chin and adds, “This is not an argument, Master Witcher. I allowed your entrance because it was an emergency, but I do not want you tramping dirt and blood all over my establishment. I will watch him while you’re gone, if that is what you’re worried about. Not that he’ll be going anywhere.”

Geralt swallows, his jaw twitching. He wants to refuse, but there is nothing he can say that isn’t I can’t bear to leave him now. There is nothing that she would understand. And he should go. He shouldn’t allow himself to indulge in this. That heavy, sluggish feeling that has been growing within him for months now. The one that rose and rose, filling him up from the inside so that nothing else would fit beside it— not even the sound of a bow being drawn, an arrow being loosed, until it was too late. He should leave it here, sticky and dark, rip himself from it so that his mind is uninhabited by useless thoughts that hold his attention and keep it there like an anchor to a ship, stuck, heavy, impossible to drag along unless the chain is cut through.

So he nods, and steels himself.

The first steps feel like molasses. His ears are yet filled with the sound of Jaskier’s breath, but once he nears the door the volume lessens and with it his chest tightens. He has to check— he must check, just once— but he continues. Pulling himself out of the room, cutting the chain. Until he can only see the slightest hint of Jaskier’s form and then that is gone again.

It hurts to continue walking, but Geralt is used to doing exactly that. So he pushes through until he’s left the inn— left Jaskier— far behind.

New sounds fill his ears. The river, trickling between rocks; nightingales, singing up to the moon; the wind, blowing between leaves and grass. And yet somehow Geralt barely hears any of it. Jaskier’s breathing might be gone, but other sounds take up their place; the clang of sword against sword, the cursed orders of the leading brute, Jaskier’s gasped “Geralt!” just before he slumps to the ground.

Geralt lets them haunt him while he washes. Jaskier’s blood swirling in the crystal clear water. He watches it go and then sits, for just a moment.

Another memory— earlier, just before. Another sound. Laughter, like a chime. Geralt doesn’t remember why anymore.

But it had been beautiful— a beautiful summer day, traveling together. Just passing through. The feeling had been there— everywhere, warming him, being called forward by that laugh until he was filled with it. Geralt had been focused, attention anchored, to Jaskier’s joy.

He hadn’t heard them coming.

It was a simple trap, really. Only a small trench covered by bushes, enough to fit seven men if they laid on their stomach. Bandits, the garden variety. The kind that is exactly stupid enough to attack a Witcher and expect to live.

In all likeliness, the arrow was meant for Geralt. He’d been the true threat— they would have expected Jaskier to co-operate easily. But something had gone wrong, or their bowman just could not aim. And it had hit Jaskier instead.

The laughter cut silent at once.

Geralt had killed all of them, of course. They had attacked together and Geralt had taken them out one by one and then dropped to his knees by Jaskier’s side.

For one endless moment, he’d seen the blood spreading over Jaskier’s chest and thought, It’s his heart. They hit him in his heart.

But it wasn’t. The arrow had struck him, but got stuck on his fucking journal— the foolish words a blessing for once. The blood was coming from slashes that he’d gotten in the fight— Geralt not fast enough to protect him. He’d been hit over the head and knocked out cold. He was bleeding profusely but it wasn’t his heart. There was a chance.

The thing inside Geralt had roared and grown several more sizes in the time it took to reach the village with the unconscious body of Jaskier in his arms. By the time he got him inside, there was a moment where he almost couldn’t let him go— couldn’t stand to put him in the bed. But he had to, so he did.

Geralt breathes in and steps out of the river, pushing the memories away. That was long enough. It is time — he needs — to go back.

Just to check. Just once.

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vibratingbones · 4 years

Text

I am at your side

Words: 4k

Tags: Angst(?), argument, fluff

FemaleReader x Galadriel

As her maid, it is your duty to report informations to Lady Galadriel, even if they might break her...

First Age

It was such a beautiful morning. Autumn offered its shimmering colors, red and golden leaves contrasted with the whiteness of the early frost on the grass.

You were standing at a window on the Menegroth’s Palace, taking some moments to appreciate the beautiful landscape of Beleriand before going back to your work.

You were Lady Galadriel's maid, the one who organised everything around her so she wouldn’t be interrupted in her duties by something trivial. You were at her service to anticipate every need she might have and to provide a solution to any problem she might encounter in her everyday life.

Needless to say you were constantly by her side and a great trust had built between the two of you over time, so much that you were introduced to the other members of the court as not a mere servant, but her lady companion. You take great pride in this and in your abilities in your work.

Your gaze was fixed at the sunrise, progressively illuminating all the realm of their Royal Highnesses Thingol and Melian.

With your eyes closed and your arms opened, you take a deep breath of the early fresh air and let the mist caress the skin on your face as it fades away before the sun.

You were glad to be able to move here with your Lady. Due to your trade you didn't really have the occasion to travel around the world. You were delighted to hear Lady Galadriel required your presence during her residency in Menegroth, and you were determined to make this stay the most refined experience for the both of you. After all, not everyone got the chance to learn from Queen Melian in her own city.

It had been almost a year since you both moved to Menegroth, and though at first, Lady Galadriel dedicated all her soul to her duty, you could say that her beautiful enthusiasm had slightly... faded.

She still assumed her charges with great rigor, but you could see that her heart was not there anymore.

It wasn’t your place nor your right to ask her about it ; if she wanted you to know she would have already told you. You knew the best way to help her out was to do your job properly and you were determined to do it impeccably.

Luck was on your side as the royal couple had to gone to inspect the Girdle of Melian, the work schedule of your Lady is reduced. She could take a day off to enjoy all Doriath had to offer and relieve some stress.

When you opened your eyes again, Arien’s ship illuminated the realm before you and her light slowly reached the Palace. It was now time to get to your work. As you walked away from the stone arches to the stairs, you started thinking about the morning of Lady Galadriel. A hot cup of tea in a cold and relaxing bath would be perfect to start her day.

You walked down the stairs and corridors, your feet following the rhythm of an old melody the King Finrod once taught you.

He was always nice to you when you were young, and even as a king he seemed so approachable and open minded. But still, he was an odd character. He always seemed pleased, whenever the circumstances were and you find his...interest for mankind misplaced. You didn't hate humans, far from that, but the less they interfered with the Elves, the better the both species lived. Everything was fine in the royal family before Princess Lúthien met that man... Berin? Beran? It didn’t matter. King Finrod also seemed to have him in sympathy and it worried your Lady, but there was nothing to do about it. You just hoped her older brother was alright, with his oath to accomplish.

You finally reached the kitchens. Everyone has already started their work and you had to prepare the light meal while trying to avoid all the agitation. You almost got hit by a plate on your head, but a quite fair waiter flew to your rescue and you avoided a catastrophe... But not a sideslip on the floor... With some condiments... With the waiter.

“Dear Lord! I am sorry Miss, this platter is truly heavy and I couldn’t concentrate on obstacles on my way, I should have paid more at—”

You stopped him with a gesture of the hand. Obviously he was new on the job. It was pointless to start a scene in front of his colleagues. Even if his clumsiness had just ruined your dress.

“It's alright, boy. Just remember to watch where you’re going and always distribute the weight correctly,” you said, rearranging what was left of the items on the silver surface to illustrate your words. He watched how your experienced hands moved to learn from them.

“Here! Just like that,” you added with a comforting smile. He smiled back at you with embarrassment and gratitude before his boss called him back to hearth with vehemence and he flew away to his task. You watched with amusement until his superior glared at you, clearly inviting you to get back on track.

While you were gathering some fresh fruits in a cup, you couldn’t help but to observe her methods to lead the brigade of servers, and Valar... You thought you were hard with your subordinates, but you have room for improvement! Maybe you should borrow some of her methods... No, your subordinates would hate you for sure.

The poor boy, thanks to this little misadventure, had caught her attention and she was ready to scold him at every minute mistakes he could make, barking at him in front of all their teammates, who had the decency to mind their own business. You guessed that perfection and adamancy are prices to pay to be able to serve the greatest people in the world. It reminded you of your own debut as a maid—how many times had you had to keep your jaws crushed closed in front of your superiors? Too many for your taste, to be honest, but you were the boss now, thanks to the discipline and the abnegation they taught you. It was hard, but it was worth enduring.

Before you left, you glanced back at the servant and the barking butler. She was still harsh but demonstrated more efficient ways to navigate through a crowd with weight. You smiled to yourself. He would be alright. He just needed time to gain some experience. And you, you missed time to change your clothes. Bad luck ; it would have to wait. You had already run out of time, and picked up the pace.

On your way, an ellon between some columns caught your eye. The Lord Celeborn. You had already noticed Lady Galadriel’s interest in him, and his in her. Or rather, you had "unintentionally" overheard a conversation where he admitted it to one of his friends. And you were maybe, or maybe not, the reason behind some of their encounters in some strangely convenient, quiet, intimate places.

He surely didn't suspect a thing from you ; you know how to make yourself transparent next to your Lady. But you were almost certain that she knew.

She just let you plot. Surely it amused her : she once told you that your sneaky side reminds her of her cousins, some redheaded twins. She went quiet when you implied you didn't have the pleasure to know them. You didn't try to know more.

You would have loved to learn one or two other things about Celeborn, but you were already late and in a messy state. How unlike you!

While you traveled through an unreasonably huge room near the entrance, you heard the sound of a massive wood door slamming against a wall and a bunch of rushed footsteps. You overheard some hushed and stressed voices among the clatters of armor. Had something happened to their Highnesses? If so, your duty would be to inform your Lady, so she can advise for the future.

As you got closer to the entrance, some other attendants and companions of the nobility were already gathered with some guards, undeniably those who have just returned. The moment you reached out to them, the leader of the patrollers was silencing the little crowd, a broad smile on his face.

"Peace! Peace, please. The divine providence has given us back our Princess!"

Murmurs and prayers of relief browsed the assembly. At last, the Princess was finally home. You also felt relieved. The eight of months of worries and sorrow will finally be removed from the shoulders of their Royals Highness!

The captain hushed the group again, with a more concerned expression.

"You! Go find the healers and conduct them to the Heir and her human consort. They have been injured during their journey. You! Take a horse and gallop to the King and Queen, hurry!"

The Princess was injured? Assuredly it's not a pleasant thing, but she was alive and with her loved one. The House of Thingol was now safe… So why did you feel a pressure in your throat? When you looked at the captain, you felt a deep unease, as if he would add something terrible. You waited, holding your breath.

He seemed to seek someone in the crowd with a concerned gaze.

“Is someone here under the order of the Lady Galadriel?” he asked.

Valar… Here we go. You cleared your throat and responded with a confident voice.

“I am!”

He spotted you in the multitude and started approaching you while the others followed his orders. You straightened your back, to give an assurance. He guided you away from the other and you asked under your breath.

“What’s the matter?”

He looked at you dead in the eye and replied.

“Miss, it is about her brother. Something happened to King Finrod…”

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

You felt sick, your feet guided you through some corridors to Lady Galadriel's apartments but your vision was blurred. You couldn't stop thinking, so much information swirled in every direction in your head…

The Princess, the silmaril, the tea, your dress, your Lady, the oath... King Finrod… You felt the nausea rising in your throat.

How?

Why?

Your head spun so much you had to take support on the wall, the heart right behind your lips. How were you going to announce this to Lady Galadriel ? Her dear brother. They didn't deserve this fate.

The rest of the court has been warned the Princess was back, but the truth about King Finrod was confidential, at least for now. You distinguished yourself from the opulent cheerfulness and felicity with your pale face. All the songs of gladness couldn't reach your heart, closed by the truth.

Now, stay focused! You had to inform your Lady. What kind of aid faints while giving news to their master, as bad and terrible as the news could be?

As you get back some senses, a light tune reached your ears. The crowd in the Palace was singing in joy and among every melody in existence, they have chosen the one Finrod taught you. What were the odds…

You finally reached Lady Galadriel’s door, heavy hearted. As your hand was about to knock, all the past few weeks with her instantly flashed in your mind. Her odd affliction who grew up so suddenly, tainted her fëa. And now this…

You took several seconds and a deep breath before knocking. You waited again for several seconds before hearing a response.

“Come in.”

Her voice was firm as always, but a little muffled. You swallowed and entered the room with the most neutral face you could feign. You definitely couldn’t step in with a huge smile like nothing happened, but you couldn’t alarm her either.

You found her in a chair by her balcony. You were glad it was oriented to the waterfalls of the mountains and not to the inner garden were everyone was singing, at least you had some privacy.

“Good morning, milady. How is the view today?” you asked, walking to a table to serve the tea.

Okay, you surely had more inspired lines before.

“It’s nothing new,” she replied.

She, also, had better comebacks.

You observed her while you brought a cup. Seated on a low chair, she silently observed the horizon. Her complexion reflected her exhaustion, with darker tones under the eyes and waxen cheeks. She hugged herself, and you mentally traced the circuit of veins under the skin of her arms that were now visible.

The blond of her hair was now dull, you remembered from the last time you groomed her mane: the comb emerged with many wires of fallen hair, which is highly unusual for elves. You tried to inform her casually, and she then refused to be curled by someone else than herself since.

Your throat twisted more at the sight of the elleth who once was an unwavering lady.

Even thought she was able to disguise her state under a mask of dignity and fool everyone else, inside her room, in the intimacy of her private cocoon, you could only watch the diminishment of her health. Day by day you saw her fading with a constricting feeling of helplessness.

“Are you well?”

Her question brought you back to reality, you realised you were standing next to her, silently staring at her while she waited for her cup. Now that her face was turned to you, you could see the fatigue in her eyes…

"I'm sorry, my Lady. I'm fine… " you answered, "... While you savour your tea, I will prepare you a bath for you to relax."

You desperately needed time to clear your mind and prepare yourself. This was also her last peaceful morning before long, she deserved some time for herself before you broke her heart definitively…

"Wait."

You stopped dead on your tracks.

"My Lady?"

"Stay with me, I would enjoy some company this morning."

Without a word you filled an empty teacup and took a chair beside her.

"Thank you. My tea always tastes better when I drink it with a friend," she added with a sweet but low voice.

You gently clattered your cups and admired the colours of the waterfalls under the morning sun. You just took a cup for the act, to please her, but felt like you could never take a sip of it. While you both remained silent, you could sometimes hear the sound of footsteps rushing towards the hall with some giggles. You played nervously with your goblet, knowing that you couldn't keep the truth from her eternally, that you should tell her now before she hears it from someone else in a far less convenient situation…

But you couldn’t…

You were out of words.

Everytime you tried to tell her, your words got stuck in your throat or disappeared the moment they reached your mouth.

How could you possibly tell her that her beloved brother, the most gentle soul you had come across in your millennium life, was dead? His body was buried so far away, she wouldn't be able to mourn him at his sepulchre…

You looked at her, to engrave her vision in your memory. She looked so frail at this moment, would the news finish her off? Would she lose her will and seek to join him?

And you? Would you be able to endure it? To lose her?

After the death of the brother, could you handle the loss of your Lady?

Your...

oh...

so dear...

Lady

Your sunshine.

A gentle touch on your cheek wakes you up from your trance.

Your gaze was still fixed on Lady Galadriel, as she brushed off a single tear rolling out of your eye.

“Talk to me, my dear. What happened? You are usually so jovial, but your fëa is submerged by shadows today.”

You couldn't help but to rest your head in the warmth of her palm.

You were deplorable, she was the one who lost her brother and she was the one comforting you. You clenched your jaws and removed all your tears with the back of your hand.

“My lady, I am sorry to present myself to you in such an inappropriate state.”

You take a deep breath as you rose up from your seat to gather yourself.

“My Lady, I do have something to tell you!”

Your own words seemed to strangle yourself, but you were able to keep an assured voice.

“This morning, her Highness Princess Lúthien came back with her human consort to the court, safe and sound."

You were about to continue when you saw her cower. Somehow, this information seemed to trouble her immensely.

You watched her shudder, unsure how to continue this conversation now.

And then…

It just clicked in your mind.

Your eyes widened, dead silent before your sudden realisation.

"You knew..."

———————

She looked up at you, with a silent pleading in her eyes.

You didn't want to believe it, but it would explain everything.

"You knew… He would never return, and you just let him go."

"I did not just let him go!" she replied with a voice filled with anger.

She let a frustrated sigh escape but remained calm.

"I did know what was going to happen. I foresaw it the day he described to me his first encounter with mankind."

You just sat in silence on your chair again. You didn't want to interrupt her.

"I warned him his passion towards mortals will harm him, but he just stayed still with the most elated smile I have ever seen…"

She looked right in front of her, reviving the instant, as if King Finrod was really there with you.

"He just said: Let it be, sister, for if it is my destiny to die at the side of men, I will take it as an honor.He was so confident, so determined. I knew I wouldn't be able to make him reconsider… I'm sure you know it is impossible to say no to him when he makes up his mind...”

Oh yes, you knew.

“It happened such a long time ago… I even convinced myself my vision was nothing more than a projection of my fears and not a fragment of the future. I even.... managed to forget about it. Until he announced to me about his oath.”

Her voice cracked while speaking of this... accursed oath. You started to sense the ire slowly rising in your veins. Why did she had to suffer all of this ?

"Everything came back in my mind with such force. I tried to convince him one last time, but… I knew I wouldn’t succeed. For his destiny was already decided… his death was for a greater good that I can't see yet."

She stopped, out of breath, as if speaking required too much energy.

You both jumped out of your skins when some younglings started to bange at all the doors of the corridors while gigglings and yelling about the return of the Princess. It looks like celebrations revealed the most silly side of the younger generation.

Lady Galadriel stood up to regain a certain composure, her gaze at the horizon.

A strange silence between you hung up in the air after the laughs of the younglings, deafening and stifling but it was still more comfortable than the reality of your situation. You had the childish thought that if you didn’t speak about it then it wouldn’t be real anymore, that you could open the door of her apartment and King Finrod would have been behind it the whole time, just wanting to surprise his cherished little sister.

Alas, reality has rarely resorted to such niceties. Happy endings are for old melodies.

Surely this is why we sing them…

"It pains me greatly… Never again I will wake up to his harp morning practice. He loved so much to see his city awakening under his notes. Never again he will come to me to aid him with his accounting." She chuckled a little. "He hated it!"

"I know! I spent several sleepless nights helping you because he couldn't help falling asleep while working on it," You added while joining her side on the balcony. "I am sure we both know the economic state of his kingdom better than himself!"

You both laughed at those memories.

It felt right, it felt… liberating.

But she quickly became silent again.

"When we were children, he promised me he would guide me to the altar the day of my wedding if our parents couldn't… He already had his costume ready, way before I found my soulmate."

Indeed, it sounded just like him.

"Now I would have to descend the aisle alone. It is the only promise he won't be able to accomplish."

Tears fell down silently from her exhausted face.

You were sympathetic to her but you couldn’t fully understand the depth of her pain and distress for none of your loved ones had died. You could only imagine what she was going through and offer her warmth and little comfort.

"It pains me so much it is killing me. I can feel it, deep in my flesh. It started..."

“... when your brother died,” you guessed.

“Yes. The very moment he passed away, his voice reached me. I heard his wail in my sleep and his last scream keeped me awake for the rest of the night until you came in the morning.”

You remembered. You found her sitting on her bed oddly straight and tense. Her gaze was fixed in front of her, but seemed lost to the void. Her ailment started to appear the day after. You scolded yourself for not investigating more and accepted her excuse of a "bad night," even if she wasn't properly lying.

To be awakened by a loved one's final call must be the most dreadful experience.

"I still hear him, you know? Everytime I close my eyes, his pleading haunts me. Every night, his cries reach me." Her voice began to be more erratic and she began trembling again. "I see him in every shadow, I catch his silhouette in the corner of my eyes but he is never here when I turn my head."

She was fully crying now. You had never seen her like that, in such distress.

So you overstepped your position and took her in your arms. You held her in a tight embrace to support her, for she could not fall apart.

"Please my Lady, calm down."

She did not respond at first, but you finally felt her arms around you, pulling you even closer as if you were her last grasp on reality at this instant.

"I see him everywhere. I know he is not here, but I can not let him go…"

You stayed silent again, while wanting to say something. Anything. But words are vain in those moments. Only time is able to cure such wounds… If they could heal at all. So you just held her tighter and let her head rested on your shoulder while feeling her tears soaked through your dress. She buried her face in your neck.

You weren’t sure how much time passed that way and you just started to cradle her gently. You were certain it was inappropriate but you feel like if you didn’t have to follow the protocol and the etiquette for once, it would be now!

You listened to her, made her sure you were attentive to her pain and offered the warmth of a presence.

However, you were not prepared for what she was saying next.

"I am sorry…"

Her voice was so low and hoarse, you were not sure of what you had just heard.

"For what, my Lady?"

"For my lack of bravery… I have to be strong for my people, particularly now, with the chaos that is to come. But… I feel so helpless! I can't clearly see the threat which rises upon us, I have not been able to prevent the death of my brothers… …”

You moved away from her, incredulous, and locked your eyes to hers.

“You are brave! Braver than most of us, many could not do your duty as well as you did under mourning. Don’t lose faith in yourself. We are all with you… I am with you.”

You took a step back and knelt before her. She watched you quietly in confusion.

“I wish to reassert my loyalty and take an oath of allegiance to my Lady.”

Head bowed and right hand closed over your heart, you started to declaim your vows with an assured voice.

“Here, I swear on my head I shall faithfully perform my duties to the best of my abilities. I shall never embarrass or bring shame over the House of my Lady and her Blood...”

You raised your head to see her face with a sight full of determination.

“But above all, I swear to follow you everywhere, in Light as in Darkness, in Arda as in oblivion, in honour as in infamy. To be faithful to your Person and your Name, and to never leave your sight at any given time during our earthly lives and beyond death.”

Galadriel listened to you respectfully, her tears drying while she regained her composure.

She silently gave you her hand, which you kissed and brought to your forehead almost religiously.

“Rise up.”

You obeyed, now determined to protect and serve your Lady at all cost and your instinct told you that it will happen sooner than you could imagine.

She observed you quietly as she was taking the measure of your words. She placed a chaste kiss on your lips to seal your vows.

You secretly wished the kiss was more lingering, but you kept it for yourself.

“Thank you,” she responded.

Her breath was still short, but her voice had regained her assertiveness.

You both turned back to the waterfalls, the songs slowly reached your ears again now that the emotion started to come down.

In fact, everything seemed more clear now. You felt lighter, as if a blindfold had been removed from your eyes as the fog dissipated under the rays of a morning sun.

You had now faith in the future.

At the side of your Lady, together, you felt confident you could face anything destiny had prepared for you.

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

Specials thanks to @arofili for their help during the entire process ! ❤️

This is my first fic, constructive criticism will be much appreciated :)

#vibratingbones #fanfic #silmarillion #galadriel #x reader #Galadriel X Reader

135 notes · View notes

discoscoob · 3 years

Text

Praise Him | Loki x Female Reader

Loki (Marvel) x Doctor Who

Getting tired of the tension on his ship, the Doctor threatens to take you all home if you don’t go on an adventure with him but the TARDIS gets thrown off course and you end up trapped in a hotel where the personal fears and bad dreams of every visitor are hidden behind each room.

Part Twelve | Part Fourteen | Chapter Index

Words: 8.8k

Warnings: death and angst

Read on AO3

A few days had passed since your argument with your auntie and you had spent the whole time avoiding her. Loki knew all the perfect places to hide in the TARDIS, which he had found when he was avoiding you after the Dark Ages. The pair of you had been enjoying each other’s company completely undisturbed, until the Doctor grew tired of the tension on his ship and called an intervention in the control room.

“This can’t go on any longer. I am taking you all on an adventure.” The Doctor had said once he managed to gather you all together.

“Thanks but I’d rather not.” You attempted to decline, you didn’t mean to sound rude towards the Doctor, you realised he was only trying to help and you appreciated that, however you couldn’t pretend everything was okay while Donna kept scowling in Loki’s direction the whole time.

“You can all either come on this trip with me or I can take you all back home right now, your choice.” The Doctor shocked all three of you with an ultimatum, knowing none of you would want to give up the freedom of space and time travel and return to your mundane lives.

The Doctor also knew that you had to consider your relationship with Loki, where would the Doctor take him, what was ‘home’ to Loki? Would he return him to Asgard or would he take him back to Earth with you? Technically he was still on the run from the TVA and staying put on one planet would likely only make it easier for them to track him down. You knew you couldn’t risk getting separated from Loki just to avoid the awkward tension with your auntie.

“You can’t do that!” Donna argued against the Doctors ultimatum.

“She’s right, it’s not fair.” Loki agreed with Donna who scowled at him as soon as he spoke up.

“I can. This is my ship and I can decide whether or not I will allow you to stay on it.” The Doctor threatened to display just how serious he was, practically daring any one of you to call his bluff. “So what will it be? An adventure or home?”

“Fine.” You were the first to yield, Loki and Donna looked at you with surprise but they knew that going home wasn’t an option. “We’ll go on an adventure.”

“Brilliant!” The Doctor celebrated his small victory with himself, “this might be exactly what you all need.” He optimistically assured the three of you as he pulled down the handbrake and sent the TARDIS into turbulent flight.

***

You all leaned over the brown wooden bannister of a red carpeted stairwell to look up and down at the many floors above and below you, the distinct scent of a hotel filled the air. So far your interest hadn’t been spiked and from the looks of it, neither had Loki’s or Donna’s as they wondered what sort of adventure could have been found on a seemingly abandoned hotel on Earth.

The only one who seemed excited was the Doctor, who enthusiastically bounced up the stairs with a wide smile on his face, but it didn’t usually take much to impress the Doctor.

“This could be the most exciting thing I have ever seen!” He said with genuine delight and you thought even that was a bit of an overreaction even for the Doctor, as he ran almost two flights above you.

“What’s exciting about an empty hotel on Earth that looks like it has a three star trip advisor rating at the most.” You asked, already wondering if you could call it a day and return to the TARDIS.

“Because, my friends, this is not Earth.” The Doctor told you as he leaned over the bannister above you all. “This has just been made to look like Earth. The craftsmanship involved... can you imagine?”

He ran back down the stairs towards you, now he had managed to grab your interest as you all wondered where you actually were.

“Then where are we?” Loki asked as the Doctor ran passed you all and you automatically followed after him, you were stood in front of the TARDIS which stood between two rows of stairs on the stairwell, against a wall.

“I don’t know, something must have yanked us off course.” The Doctor vaguely answered. “Look at the detail on that cheese plant!” He gasped as he stroked and sniffed the leaves.

“Why would someone mock up an Earth hotel?” Donna asked.

“Colonists perhaps,” the Doctor suggested as he turned back around to face you all. “Trying to recreate a home away from home, like when ex-pats open English pubs in Majorca. Whoever did this I am shaking their hand or tentacle or paw or... fin.” The Doctor trailed off.

“Have you seen these?” Loki spoke, drawing your attention to a bunch of framed portraits which were neatly lined along the walls above, below and alongside each other in thin gold frames.

“Look at the labels underneath. Commander Halke, defeat. Tim Heath, having his photo taken. Lady Silver-Tear... Daleks, I hope there aren’t any of those here.”

“You have encountered Daleks?” The Doctor looked at Loki with interest.

“Not personally, but they’re always attempting to invade the nine realms.” Loki answered while you and Donna kept looking at the portraits and reading the labels.

“What do they mean?” You wondered out loud.

“I don’t know. Let’s find out!” The Doctor was already running away in search of the lobby before anyone could ask anything else.

When you reached the abandoned reception desk of the hotel lobby, you could hear elevator music quietly playing on repeat and the Doctor hit the gold service bell, immediately giving you flashbacks to the TVA and when you looked around you realised the hotel had a strikingly similar dated decor.

You screamed and jumped back with fright when two strangers leaped out from around the corner with a battle cry. One of them, a woman dressed in blue hospital scrubs, swung a broken off chair leg at the Doctor, who managed to duck out the way just in time. The other one, a man with a head of messy curls and wearing thin silver framed square glasses, held a lamp upside down and waved it around wildly in front of him.

“What was that for?!” The Doctor cried as he moved behind your auntie for protection, while Loki was already pulling you behind him.

“Blimey, chill out!” Donna shouted at them.

“Why are you swinging about a chair leg?” The Doctor shouted from over Donna’s shoulder.

“Who are you?!” The woman in scrubs demanded.

“We’re back in reception.” The man next to her commented and you noticed the way his voice trembled as he looked around with wide eyes and you suddenly felt very uneasy.

The woman in the scrubs hesitantly stepped towards all of you and looked at each of you in the eyes.

“Rita, be careful, yeah.” The man told her.

“Their pupils are dilated. They’re as surprised as we are. Besides which, if it’s a trick, it’ll tell us something.” Rita told the man as she returned to his side.

“I’m the Doctor,” he said as he calmly stepped around Donna, “these are my friends,” he extended his arm towards the three of you and introduced each of you by your names.

“You with the glasses-“ The Doctor approached the curly haired man.

“Howie.” He introduced himself.

“You sounded surprised to be back in reception. Why?” The Doctor ask.

“The walls move, everything changes.” Howie answered.

“The corridors twist and stretch, rooms vanish and pop up somewhere else. It’s like the hotel’s alive.” Rita continued.

“That’s quite enough of that.” The Doctor stepped towards the old radio and flicked the switch to turn off the repetitive elevator music.

“And it’s like huge, with, like, no way out.” Howie added.

“Have you tried the front door?” You asked.

“No, in two days it never occurred to us to try the front door. Thank god you’re here!” Rita sarcastically answered and you frowned.

“Right. That’s not good.” You heard the Doctor say and you looked in his direction to find he had pulled the front doors open only to reveal a white brick wall completely blocking the exit. He walked over to a pair of shut curtains and pulled them open to reveal no window just another brick wall. “Definitely not good.”

“It’s not just that. The rooms have... things in them.” Rita explained.

“Things? What sort of things?” The Doctor asked.

“Bad dreams.” Rita answered hesitantly, almost like she was certain he wouldn’t believe her.

“Doctor, I think we should leave.” Loki suggested.

“I already told you, there’s no way out.” Rita reminded him.

“We have a ship.” Loki smugly smiled.

“Wait, how did you two get here, then?” The Doctor asks the pair.

“I don’t know, I just started my shift. I must’ve passed out, because suddenly I was here.” Rita answered.

“I was blogging, next thing, this.” Howie said.

“So people are being snatched from their lives and dropped into an endless, shifting maze that looks like a 1980s hotel with bad dreams in the bedroom.” The Doctor concluded.

“But you have a ship, we can finally leave.” Howie pointed out, sounding relieved.

“Yes we do, follow me.” The Doctor once again sped off back towards the TARDIS and the rest of you rushed behind to keep up. “We’ll all get into the TARDIS, I’ll do a planet-wide diagnostic sweep and then I’ll return you back safely to the exact moments you got snatched away...”

The Doctors voice trailed off as he stopped in his tracks in front of an empty space where the TARDIS once stood. He held his arms out and felt around like he was checking it hadn’t somehow turned invisible but you could tell there was absolutely nothing there.

“Don’t tell me the TARDIS has gone.” Donna sighed.

“Okay.” The Doctor muttered, still stunned.

“Where is it then?” She asked.

“You told me not to tell you.” The Doctor turned around looking genuinely confused.

“Don’t get clever with me.” She warned him.

“What’s a TARDIS?” Howie asked.

“Our way out. And it’s gone.” Loki groaned.

Suddenly you heard the elevator music from the lobby begin playing again by itself and the uneasy feeling spread deeper through your chest.

“Okay. We all just need to remain calm.”

The Doctor could sense how you were all on edge, “Rita, are there anymore of you?”

She glanced at Howie and down the stairwell before she looked back at the Doctor, “Joe, but he’s tied up right now.”

“Doing what?” The Doctor asked.

“No, I mean he’s... literally tied up.” She clarified.

***

You all slowly entered a large room, one by one, that was filled with round tables covered in white cloths. Around each table, there sat identical creepy ventriloquist dummies, their chins lifted up and down as they all laughed.

Once you all entered the room, their laughter subsided, leaving you in complete silence. Slowly their heads began to turn by themselves, as they followed you with their large, vacant, painted on eyes.

You felt as though you had been dumped straight in the centre of a horror story, the eerie atmosphere of the room sent dreadful shivers through your spine and quickened your heart rate.

Loki had immediately sensed your trepidation and secured his arm around you as a form of comfort as he whispered in your ear reassurances that they were just puppets and could not hurt you and he would keep you safe. You had leaned into Loki’s hold in pursuit for more of his comfort.

Neither of you had noticed the way your auntie was observing your interaction from behind the pair of you, for once she wasn’t looking at you with judgement but with contemplation instead, Loki’s behaviour seemed natural and genuine, she still didn’t trust him but she appreciated the way Loki had managed to sooth you.

In the centre of the room, a dazed man sat at one of the tables, with rope across his chest which restrained him to his chair. He stared blankly ahead, as if he hadn’t even noticed anyone enter the room, as the Doctor tentatively approached him.

“Hello. I’m the Doctor.” He introduced himself.

“You’re going to die here.” Joe answered bluntly.

“Well, they certainly didn’t mention that in the brochure.” The Doctor muttered. “Is Joe there? Can I have a quick word?”

“Oh it’s still me, Doctor, but I’ve seen the light. I lived a blasphemous life, but he has forgiven my inconstancy, and soon he shall... feast.” The way Joe spoke reignited the shivers down your spine.

“You’ve been here two days, what’s he waiting for?” The Doctor asked as he pulled out one of the chairs and sat opposite Joe.

“We weren’t ready. We were still raw.” Joe smiled.

“And now you’re what? Cooked?” The Doctor guessed.

“If you like. Soon you will be, too. Be patient. First, find your room. There’s a room here for everyone.” His eyes shifted over to you, as did the dolls heads and you shuffled closer into Loki’s side.

“Nothing else matters anymore. Only him. It’s like these things.” Joe looked around at the puppets which surrounded each table. “I used to hate them! They make me laugh now.” Joe began laughing to himself.

“Gottle o’ geer! Gottle o’ geer!” Joe cheered as his laughter increased and the dummies began joining in again, their slack jaws chattering up and down.

“You should go. He’ll be here soon.” Joe told the Doctor.

***

You had all returned to the reception, the Doctor had managed to find a stack barrow, to wheel Joe around in while keeping him tied to his chair as the Doctor went over his plan.

“First, we find the TARDIS. Quick thing before we go. If you feel drawn to a particular room, do not go in, and make sure someone else can see you at all times.” The Doctor instructed.

You ended up searching through the hallways of the hotel, they were decorated with a red floral carpet and white floral wallpaper, all the numbered doors to the different rooms were white and between each door there was a wall lamp, which kept the hallways bright, since there were no windows to let in any natural light.

You and Loki walked side by side at the back of the group, Rita was pushing Joe in the stack barrow, by now he had some duct tape over his mouth to quiet his nonsensical ramblings. The Doctor lead the group at the front and Howie was muttering to Donna about his theory on how whole thing was a conspiracy, she didn’t appear convinced but she just smiled and nodded before she stepped on ahead to walk beside the Doctor.

You suddenly heard a school bell ring as a man stepped out of one of the rooms in front of the Doctor, dressed in a white vest and white shorts with a whistle around his neck.

“Hello?” The Doctor spoke.

“Have you forgotten your P.E. kit again?” The man yelled, the Doctor had no answer as he glanced around in confusion. “Right, that’s it, you’re doing it in your pants!”

With that the man stormed back into his room and slammed the door behind him, the Doctor looked around at all of you in silence and you realised that must’ve been someone else’s bad dream.

“Hey! Don’t!” The Doctor shouted as he ran past you and Loki, you both jumped out the way and watched as Howie opened one of the doors to a room before the Doctor could reach him.

Once the door swung open you heard the sound of girls laughter.

“Oh look girls, it’s H-H-Howie.” You heard one of them tease, causing the others to burst into giggles.

“What’s “loser” in K-K-K-Klingon?” Another added encouraging another round of laughs.

“Shut the... d-d... the- the door!” Howie told the Doctor as he began backing away and the Doctor quickly slammed it shut as Howie stood behind him, nervously pulling the sleeves of his striped hoodie over his hands. “This is just some... m-m-messed up CIA b-b-bullshit, I’m- I’m telling you.”

“You’re right, keep telling yourself that. It’s a CIA thing, nothing more.” The Doctor told Howie as he put an arm over his shoulder and encouraged him to keep walking down the corridor and you all continued to quietly follow.

You felt as though you were walking around in circles as every hallway looked exactly the same, the same carpet, the same wallpaper, the same wall lamps and doors. There were no signs which told you what floor you were on, the only thing which was different was the numbers on the front of each of the doors.

There was a dip in the ceiling, which ran along the top of the corridor, it looked like a beam, the Doctor ran his finger over it to trace some large scratch marks that had been left behind. While Donna stopped and bent down to pick up some small notebook sized pieces of paper which she had found on the floor. You glanced over her shoulder to look at the words scribbled in pencil which were written over it.

Loki had fallen to the back of the group and he slowed as he passed one of the doors, until he was stood in front of it. Everything in him was screaming at him to walk away but he couldn’t, it was as if he were stuck, as the urge to open the door before him overpowered him.

Hesitantly he lifted his hand, which had begun shaking, to the doorknob. He was overwhelmingly curious about what his bad dream might be, many nights he had been plagued with nightmares of being back at the sanctuary, tortured by The Other. He wondered if that’s what was waiting for him behind his door, or perhaps it was Thanos himself, come to kill him just like in the projection the TVA had shown him.

No one noticed as Loki pushed his door open and peaked inside his room, to find the last thing he expected, it was empty. Apart from two single beds against the wall, a table between them with a lamp on top of it, much like a normal hotel room, there was nothing. Loki drew his brows together, he wasn’t sure whether he should’ve been relieved or worried.

Loki retreated and stepped back into the hallway, as he gently pulled the door back shut he glanced at the number on the front of it to find it was room 13 and he narrowed his eyes.

You had turned around just in time to see him with his hand on the doorknob and you called his name as you ran towards him.

“Loki, don’t go in there!” You grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the door.

“It’s too late.” Loki mumbled as his eyes remained on the door and you put both your hands on the sides of his face to force him to look at you.

“What did you see?” You asked him and he slightly shook his head.

“Nothing.”

“It’s okay, you can tell me.” You encouraged him, believing he was trying to protect you.

“No, I’m not lying... there- there was nothing.” Loki told you, you could see the genuine confusion in his eyes and you realised he was telling the truth.

A sudden growl grabbed everyone’s attention, it was a low and thunderous sound that could only come from a dangerous beast. Joe began squirming in his chair as he tried to break free from his restraints as the growling grew closer.

“Okay, whatever that is, it’s not real, yeah?” Donna asked the Doctor.

“No, no, I’m sure it isn’t,” you heard him assure her, yet the way he was backing away betrayed him, “but just in case, let’s run away and hide anyway, in here.”

The Doctor encouraged you all to pile into one of the rooms, some of you got separated, while you, Loki, Donna and the Doctor entered one room, Rita and Howie ran into another, abandoning Joe in the middle of the hallway.

When you looked into the room, you saw two stone statues of angels with their faces hidden behind their hands as if they were crying.

“Oh god. Okay, whatever you do. Don’t blink.” The Doctor ordered you all as he stared with wide eyes at the stone statues in front of him.

“Why not?” You dared to ask.

“They’re Weeping Angels, they can only move when they’re not being observed, a single touch from one of them will make you disappear forever.” The Doctor quickly explained to you and your eyes began to burn as you stared at the stone sculptures in front of you.

The light of the room began flickering off and on, every time the room was plunged into completely darkness the light came back on to reveal the angels had moved closer. Now they had removed their hands from their face as they reached out for you with their mouths open wide to reveal sharp teeth.

Your pulse raced as you backed yourself up against the wall each time they came closer, you wanted to scream but you were too frightened, your eyes watered from the sting of forcing them open too long and you clung on impossibly tight to Loki’s arm.

“Why haven’t they got us yet?” The Doctor asked once the angels stopped coming any closer.

The Doctor bravely stepped forward, while the rest of you remained against the wall.

“Doctor, be careful.” Donna warned him, as he reached his hand out towards the stone angel but once he touched it, nothing happened and the Doctor sighed with relief.

“They’re not real. They would’ve got us by now. They’re not real. Just someone’s bad dream.” The Doctor turned around to assure you all and each of you slumped against the wall in unison, as you let your eyes finally fall shut, you wiped away the moisture that fell from your tear ducts, as your eyes watered heavily to replenish their irritated and dried surface.

From the hallway you could hear the growls grow closer, as they were accompanied by heavy footsteps. On the floor, where light from the hallway leaked through the gap of the door, you saw the shadows of the beasts legs as it stomped past. You held your breath as you tightly closed your eyes and you felt Loki’s arms tighten around you.

The Doctor quietly stepped up to the door and spied through the peephole, but quickly jumped back when the beast banged against the door from the other side.

“Oh dear.” He glanced nervously at the rest of you before he returned to the door to take another glance through the peephole. “I think it’s going after Joe.”

He watched as Joe managed to struggle free from the ties which bound him to the chair, as he stood and held his arms out wide at his sides, with a large smile on his face.

“Come to me. Come to me.” He welcomed the beast. “Praise him.”

Suddenly it fell silent and you all glanced at each other, wondering if it was safe to leave the room yet. The Doctor was the first one to step out of the room as he looked up and down the empty hallway, the only thing left behind was the chair, the stack barrow and the ties which were left discarded on the floor. The Doctor looked to the top of the hallway just in time, to see Joes legs disappear behind the corner, as the beast dragged him away.

“Leave him alone!” The Doctor shouted as he ran after him. As you all ran out the room after him, Rita and Howie emerged from the room they had hidden in.

Once you all turned the corner, you found the Doctor crouching beside Joe, who was perched in a kneeling position against the wall, his head lulled lifelessly and his vacant eyes stared at nothing, as the Doctor patted at his cheek. The look on the Doctors face as he solemnly glanced back up at all of you, told you everything you needed to know.

***

The Doctor and Loki had managed to carry Joe’s body to one of the hotel’s bars, where they rested him on the floor and covered him with a white cloth from one of the tables, while you and Donna wedged chairs underneath the handles of all the doors in an attempt to stop anything from getting into the bar where you sought refuge.

The only sound that filled the room was the ear piercing whistle of an old kettle coming to a boil, as Rita made cups of tea for you all and Howie quietly sat at one of the tables by himself.

“What exactly happened to him?” Rita asked the Doctor as she approached him with two cups of tea in her hand, one of which she handed to him.

From where you sat on a nearby table, next to Loki, you listened in on their conversation.

“He died.” The Doctor answered plainly as he held his mug full of tea in front of him.

“You are a medical Doctor, aren’t you?” Rita checked, “you haven’t just got a degree in cheese-making or something.”

“No! Well, yes, both, actually.” The Doctor answered. “I mean, there is no cause, all his vital organs simply stopped, as if the simple spark of life, his loves and hates, his faiths and fears were just... taken.”

“So you believe this to be a fake alien hotel?” Rita pointed out. “I heard you talking when you arrived.” She confessed after the Doctor silently tilted his head, wondering how she knew that. “Look, it’s no more ridiculous than Howie’s CIA theory or mi... or mine.”

“Which is?”

“This is Jahannam.” She stated.

“You’re a muslim? You think this is hell?” The Doctor asked curiously and Rita nodded.

“The whole ‘80s hotel thing took me by surprise, though.” She added.

“All these fears and phobias wondering about, most are completely unconnected to us, so why are they still here?” He asked her as if she had the answers.

“Maybe the cleaners have gone on strike.” She joked which made the Doctor laugh.

“I like you, you’re a right clever clogs. But this isn’t hell, Rita.” The Doctor told her.

“You don’t understand, I say that without fear. Jahannam will play its tricks, and there’ll be times when I want to run and scream, but I’ve tried to live a good life and that knowledge keeps me sane, despite the monsters and the bonkers rooms.” She explained before Donna approached the Doctor, holding in her hand the pieces of paper she found on the floor earlier.

“Doctor, look at this. I found it in a corridor, I forgot I had it.” Donna told him as she handed over the pages to him. The Doctor took them in his hands and leaned against the table you and Loki were sat at as he read the scribbled writing on the paper out loud.

My name is Lucy Hayward and I’m the last one left. It took Luke first. It got him on his first day, almost as soon as he arrived. It’s funny, you don’t know what’s going to be in your room until you see it, then you realise it could have never been anything else. I just saw mine. It was a gorilla from a book I’d read as a kid. My god that thing used to terrify me. The gaps between my worships are getting shorter, like contractions. This is what happened to the others... and how lucky they were. It’s all so clear now. I’m so happy. Praise him.

“Praise him.” Howie repeated from where he was sat, grabbing everyone’s attention.

“What did you just say?” The Doctor asked.

“Nothing...” Howie innocently answered before he looked like he was fighting against himself as the words rose to his tongue. “Praise him.” He said again before he slapped his own hand over his mouth.

“This is what happened to Joe.” Rita told you all, as Howie rose from his chair and began to pace back and forth.

“God, it’s going to come for me now.” He worriedly muttered to himself.

“I won’t leave you, I promise, you have my word.” The Doctor swore to him.

“I don’t want to get eaten!” Howie grew more anxious.

“Howie, calm down.” Rita tried to tell him.

“He’s going to lead the beast right here.” Loki said.

All their voices jumbled together as the spoke over one another, before the Doctor raised his sonic screwdriver in the air and it emitted a shrill sound which rung through your ears, you quickly covered them with your palms and everyone fell silent.

“Thank you.” The Doctor said once everyone had stopped talking.

“Don’t you see? He will lead the monster right here!” Loki was the first to speak.

“What do you suggest?” Rita turned to him and Loki silently looked around at everyone, until his eyes fell on you.

“We have to keep ourselves safe and find the TARDIS,” he told the room, “tragic though it might be, now is not the time for sentiment. The beast is coming for Howie and if we all remain here it might take us too.”

“Of course you’re thinking about yourself.” Donna snidely commented.

“I’m thinking about the safety of your niece, actually.” Loki corrected her and she frowned regretfully.

“It’s okay, I’ll stay with Howie. You take the others and go.” Rita offered.

“No. We stay together.” The Doctor said with finality. “Howie, any second now, it’s going to possess you again. When it does, I’m going to ask you some questions. Please try to answer them.”

The Doctor sat Howie down at one of the tables and you all sat down opposite him. The Doctor tapped his fingers on the surface of the table as he waited for the possession to wash over Howie again. You noticed it seemed to have come over him when his eyes widened and he gasped in a breath of air.

The edge of Howie’s lips lifted into a smile and he raised his large brown eyes to look at you all from under his dark eyebrows, the sinister look unsettled you.

“Howie, you’re next! We’re all so jealous, so tell us... How do we get a piece of the action? Why isn’t he possessing all of us?” The Doctor baited him.

“You guys have got all these distractions, all these obstacles. It’d be so much easier if you just it let go, you know, clear the path.” Howie explained, his demeanour completely changed, he became lucid and relaxed.

“You want it to find you? Even though you know what it’s going to do?” You asked.

“Are you kidding?” Howie asked you directly. “He’s going to kill us all! How cool is that?!”

The Doctor abruptly stood up and you did too, followed by Loki and then Donna and Rita as you huddled into a group with your backs turned to Howie.

“It’s as I thought. It feeds on fear.” The Doctor whispered. “Everything, the rooms, Lucy’s note, even the pictures in reception, has been put here to frighten us. So we have to resist it. Do whatever you have to, cross your fingers, say a prayer, think of a basket of kittens, but do not give in to the fear.” He instructed.

“Guys... where’s Howie?” Rita asked and you all turned around and looked at the empty chair where he was once sat.

“My master, my lord. I’m here! Bring me death!” You heard Howie’s voice faintly cry from the stairwell.

“No!” The Doctor yelled as he ran out the exit of the bar, in search for Howie, Donna and Rita followed after him and you followed after them, ignoring Loki who called after you.

Somehow you all got separated as you ran through the corridors in search for Howie and each other. Rita had said that the corridors twisted and stretched, it likely did this on purpose. You found yourself alone in one of the empty hallways, the door at the end of it called to you. Number 7. Without moving the wall slid closer to you, until all you had to do was reach out your hand and turn the doorknob to find out what awaited you.

You know you shouldn’t have, you really tried not to, but you couldn’t help yourself as you slowly pushed open your door and glanced at what was inside.

Your eyes widened when on the edge of the bed you saw a dark figure, the only light in the room was the one which leaked through from the hallway, but you recognised it immediately. The figure haunted your dreams often as a child, it became less frequent as you grew older until you had forgotten about it completely. The nightmares used to petrify you, often you would wake in the middle of the night screaming and your mother would have to come running into your bedroom to comfort you and tell you it was just a bad dream.

You yelped when you felt someone yank you away from the door, before they slammed it shut.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” Rita told you. “What did you see?”

“Nothing.” You said defensively, you didn’t want to explain it, “I didn’t see anything.”

Rita could easily tell that you were lying, but she didn’t call you out on it, respecting the fact you didn’t wish to share your bad dream.

“Come on.” She urged you, taking you to find everyone else.

As you ran through the endless maze of corridors, you eventually ran into Donna, all three of you remained together until you turned down a corridor and found the Doctor standing in front of Howie’s body which was presented in a kneeling position against the wall, just like Joe’s had been.

The Doctor silently stared back at the three of you, regret evident in his eyes at the fact he was unable to save his life. Just as you began to wonder where Loki was, he appeared at the other end of the hallway, as soon as you saw him you rushed towards him. He pulled you into his arms without hesitation and planted a chaste kiss on the top of your head.

***

The Doctor was walking up the stairwell, having just returned from the bar where he and Loki had placed Howie’s body alongside Joe’s and put another white table cloth over him. He had decided he needed to go for a walk, he was beginning to feel the pressure of time running out and if he didn’t come up with a plan soon he was going to lose all of you.

As he walked up the stairwell, he ran into Rita, who was walking in the opposite direction.

“Rita! How are you?” He greeted her, “not panicking, are you?”

She shook her head.

“Good. That’s very good. Because I’m on the verge of getting us out of here.” He assured her, despite the fact he wasn’t entirely certain if he actually was.

“Why is it up to you to save us?” Rita asked him. “It’s quite a god complex you have there.”

“I brought them here.” He told her, “I didn’t really give them a choice in the matter. I threatened to take them back home and take the freedom of all of time and space away from them if they didn’t join me on one adventure. How much safer they would’ve been if they had’ve decided to go home.”

“All of time and space, eh?” Rita grew interested.

“Oh, yeah. And when we get out of this, I’ll show you, too.” He promised her, before his eyes landed on a security camera above her head and he smiled as he suddenly got an idea. “Right down to the smallest detail. Got you, Mr Minotaur.”

With that, he ran off down the stairs and Rita was left staring at the security camera. Curiously she stepped up the stairs and stood right in front of it as she looked directly into it.

“Praise him.” She smiled as she closed her eyes.

***

Loki studied you as you both sat in silence at one of the tables in the bar, you had been quiet ever since you reunited after you all got separated. He understood you were frightened, even he was too, but there had been a change in you and it didn’t take him long to figure out what it was.

“You’ve seen your room, haven’t you.” Loki quietly said as he took your hand in his to get your attention.

You had been staring into nothing and you rapidly blinked as you zoned back in and looked at Loki, his face was filled with nothing but concern for you as you silently nodded before dropped your head in shame.

Loki placed the tips of his fingers under your chin and gently encouraged you to lift your head.

“What did you see?” He asked you.

“There was a figure sat on the bed,” your eyes gently filled with tears as you retold Loki of the nightmares that plagued you as a child. “I’m next, aren’t I? It’s going to come for me. I’m sorry, Loki. I’m so sorry, I tried to resist it, I’m sorry.”

Loki tenderly shushed you as you began to cry and pulled you into his chest, where you sobbed into the front of his shirt as you let his comforting warmth and scent surround you, never wanting to leave the safety of his embrace. You whined as Loki pulled back and he left a soft kiss on your salty lips before he took your face in his hands and wiped away the tears which ran down your cheeks.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise. I will do whatever it takes to protect you.” Loki swore to you, before he let you hug back into him as he tried his best to sooth you.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Donna watched on from the doorway to the bar, she had missed the part where you revealed you had seen your room and only caught the pair of you as Loki promised to protect you, she was beginning to believe that he truly meant it.

***

After Loki had managed to calm you down, you decided that you should go find the Doctor, Donna had revealed herself to the both of you once you exited the bar and to your surprise she didn’t have anything to say about you and Loki.

“Where’s Rita?” You asked your auntie when you realised she wasn’t with any of you.

“Maybe she’s with the Doctor.” Donna shrugged.

Donna joined you on your way to find, Rita and the Doctor, she remained silent the whole time and didn’t even send any hostile glances in Loki’s direction when he took your hand in his, you were slightly confused but didn’t question it as you were just grateful that she was giving the pair of you some peace.

You were walking down a corridor when you heard the Doctor’s voice, from behind a door that was wedged open slightly and you rushed through it with Loki and Donna close behind you.

“What’s going on? Rita’s disappeared.” You told him once you entered the room, you saw all the black and white TV’s in front of the Doctor, which displayed live security footage and you noticed he had a phone to his ear, while on one of the TVA’s Rita looked directly into the camera as she, too, spoke into a phone from one of the bedrooms which she had brought out into the corridor.

“Rita. Rita, please. Let me find you.” The Doctor urgently pleaded.

“Stay where you are.” She ordered him. “Please, let me be robbed of my faith in private.”

“Listen, Rita. Go into the room, lock the door.” The Doctor instructed her after he saw the beast walk by on the security footage displayed on one of the other TV’s and saw it was closing in on Rita.

“I’m not frightened. I’m blessed, Doctor. I’m at peace.” She told him. “I’m going to hang up now.”

“No, Rita, Don’t!” The Doctor begged.

“Goodbye, Doctor.” Rita spoke directly into the camera, it was almost as if she was looking right into the Doctors eyes. “Thank you for trying.”

“Rita! Rita, please!” The Doctor shouted, but he knew he couldn’t hear her as she pulled the phone from her ear and placed it back down on the receiver. The Doctor still hadn’t removed the phone from his own ear, as the dial tone and his useless pleas were the only sounds that filled the room.

“Doctor, it’s too late.” Donna gently told him as she slid the phone from his hand and returned it to the receiver, the Doctor couldn’t tear his eyes away from the security footage as a large shadow began to loom over Rita and she smiled.

“Doctor!” Donna called after him as he abruptly stormed out the room. You jumped when you heard the sound of glass smashing and tables being thrown over, as the Doctor unleashed his emotions, you knew he had grown close to Rita during their short time together.

Watching the beast take her had only made it all the more real, as you realised that was your unavoidable fate. You looked up at Loki, your vision blurred as moisture gathered in your eyes, he had vowed to protect you and you didn’t doubt he would but you were trapped here with no way out, even the TARDIS had disappeared, you knew that the odds were not in your favour and that realistically you didn’t have long left.

***

You, Loki and Donna quietly sat at one of the tables which the Doctor hadn’t flipped over in the now trashed bar. As the Doctor paced around in front of you all, desperately trying to figure it out.

“It preys on people’s fear and possesses them. But Rita wasn’t afraid, she was brave and calm. Maybe it’s something to do with the people, some connection between you that will tell me how to fight it.”

“Yes. You keep saying that, but while we wait, people keep dying and she will be next.” Loki criticised the Doctor and you looked at him with wide eyes as he referred to you.

“No, you won’t let that happen.” You told him, as you took his hands in yours.

“I know, darling, I know.” He turned to you in his chair, “don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“You saw your room?” Donna realised.

“I’m sorry.” Your voice trembled as you spoke to her and she instantly rose from her seat to pull you into her arms and shushed you.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for, you’re going to be okay.” She assured you.

“Oh, no. Oh, no, no.” The Doctor mumbled. “It’s not fear. It’s faith.” He realised.

You pulled away from Donna as you watched the Doctor have an epiphany.

“Not just religious faith, like Rita’s, but faith in something. Howard believed in conspiracies, that external forces controlled the world. Joe had dice cufflinks and a horseshoe pin on his tie. He was a gambler. Gamblers believe in luck. They all believe there’s something guiding them, about to save them. That’s what it replaces. Every time someone was confronted with their most primal fear, they fell back on their most fundamental faith. And this whole time, I’ve been telling you to dig deep. Find the thing that keeps you brave. I made you expose your faith and gave it exactly what it needed.” The Doctor said with regret.

“What about me?” You asked, “What does it want from me?”

“Your faith in Loki.” The Doctor answered. “That’s what brought us here.”

You all fell silent and Loki realised that the one thing putting your life in danger was your faith in him. Which meant if you died, it would be his fault, he concluded in his own mind.

“But why do they lose their faith before they die and start worshipping... “it”?” Donna was the first to break the silence.

“It needs to convert the faith into a form “it” can consume. Faith is an energy, the specific emotional energy the creature needs to live.” The Doctor explained. “Which is why at the end of her note, Lucy said...”

“Praise him.” You said.

“Exactly.” The Doctor nodded, until his eyes widened when he realised you weren’t finishing his sentence for him, you had began worshipping the beast.

“No.” Loki said to you, having realised the same thing. “Please, no.” He pleaded as he took your hands in his own.

Suddenly you began to hear a distant growl and the sound of heavy footsteps from the floor above. The beast was coming for you.

“We have to get her away from here.” The Doctor announced and Loki urged you out of your seat as you all began to run out of the bar and back into the endless maze.

As you ran through the corridors with a tight grip on Loki’s hand, you heard the footsteps coming closer behind you, until when you glanced over your shoulder, you finally saw it chasing after you.

You slipped your hand free from Loki’s and turned to face the beast, you thought it was beautiful and you didn’t understand why you were ever running from it, you wanted to welcome it and the glorious death it would bring you.

But you felt two pairs of hands dragging you away, you tried to fight against them but they were stronger, as Loki and Donna both pulled you along the hallway, away from the beast which was quickly catching up to you.

“Over here!” Loki shouted towards the Doctor when he saw door number 13, “it’s my room, there’s nothing in here!”

The Doctor pushed open the door and Loki and Donna pulled you into the room before the Doctor slammed the door shut and leaned his weight against it in an attempt to keep the beast out.

“What do we do now? We’re trapped.” Donna looked to the Doctor, Loki turned to him for answers as well, as you crouched to the floor with your back facing everyone.

Suddenly the beast slammed against the door, trying to get through, but the Doctor continued pushing his weight against the door trying to keep it out.

“You have to destroy her faith in you,” the Doctor told Loki urgently, as the beast kept beating against the door. “It’s the only way you can save her.”

Loki swallowed as he felt his throat tighten and he lowered his eyes to you where you knelt on the floor with your back to him, another hit against the door from the wild beast behind him urged him to step towards you, until he crouched by your side.

“Loki, it’s happening, it’s changing me, it’s changing my thoughts.” You told Loki, still believing he could save you.

Loki fought back his tears, throughout his entire life he had been told to control his emotions, despite that, he had never been very good at it, but now your life depended on it and he tried to remain as emotionless as possible. He gulped down the lump in his throat and controlled the tremble in his voice, so it wouldn’t give him away as he spoke.

“I can’t save you.” Loki told you and he felt the first unbearable rip in his chest as you looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes, expecting him to be your hero.

“What? No, you can. You promised.” You desperately encouraged him.

Loki had to momentarily divert his gaze to stop himself from breaking. He masked it as a bored sigh as he wiped his palm down his face before he looked back towards you, ensuring that his eyes lacked any of the adoration, trust and love that he held for you in his wounded heart. Shadows cast over his eyes, making them darker in the already dimly lit room as he stared at you from beneath his eyebrows. The only time you ever recalled him looking at someone like that was when he confronted Cassandra, back then the look had sent shivers through your spine, but now it made your chest cave as you wondered what you had done to the person you love to make him look at you like that.

“I lied.” Loki lied. “I tricked you. I’m the God of Mischief, it’s what I do best, and you fell for it so easily.”

“You’re lying. It’s not funny.” You shook your head, refusing to believe him, your faith in him remained strong. Loki decided to try another tactic which caused a sick feeling to stir in his stomach, but he had promised he would do whatever it takes to protect you and he wasn’t going to break his promise, even if that meant he had to make you hate him.

“You should have listened to your auntie,” Loki continued. “She was right, I’ve been lying to you this whole time. I wasn’t controlled by the mind stone when I attacked New York, I brought death and destruction and enjoyed every second of it.”

“No, stop.” You pleaded as you began to sob, “why are you saying this?” You tried to hold onto him but he shoved you away as he stood up straight above you and you grovelled at his feet, clinging onto him and your belief in him for dear life, like it wasn’t the one thing endangering it.

By now the beast had managed to overpower the Doctor and the door was wide open. It’s shadow loomed over you and Loki realised that if he was about to lose you forever, he would rather it be in the way where you survived in the end. He had to truly hurt you.

“I told you a made up sob story and you fell for it, like a fool... or perhaps you were just so desperate for some affection, you didn’t care who it came from. I’d expect nothing less from a pathetic human such as yourself. You asked me once if I thought you were a worthless creature,” Loki noticed the monster finally stopped in his tracks half way into the room, as you finally let go of his legs and began to shuffle away from him, dreading what he was going to say next. Loki knew that this was the final blow that would completely shatter your faith and trust in him and save your life. So with his heart already torn in to shreds, he prepared to reach into his chest and rip out the broken pieces of his heart and throw them away, destroying any chance of it ever being put back together again after this. “Truth be told, I think you’re the most worthless of them all.”

With that the beast collapsed to his knees and you scrambled to your feet to get away from Loki as you looked at him with so much betrayal, he had to avoid your eyes to stop himself from breaking down right there in front of you and start begging for your forgiveness.

You rushed to your auntie for comfort, while the Doctor crouched by the creatures side as it let out it’s final breaths.

Once it was dead, the hotel around you began to collapse like a house of cards, you were all left unharmed as everything around you vanished into nothing, until it revealed that you had been on a spaceship this whole time as you were surrounded by futuristic electronics and a round window which revealed the vast vacuum of space and a nearby grey planet. The ship was quiet and it seemed to be abandoned, but you weren’t going to stick around long enough to double check as you finally saw the TARDIS, stood in the far corner of the dark room. You wanted to get as far away from Loki as possible, so as soon as you had laid eyes on the Doctors ship, you had ran towards it and disappeared behind its blue doors.

It was then that Loki realised why his room had been empty, it was in his room where he had lost you, and that was his biggest fear.

#loki #loki (marvel)#loki x reader #loki x you #loki x female reader #loki imagine #doctor who #tenth doctor #10th doctor #donna noble #tom hiddleston

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slutforbuck · 3 years

Text

Traveling Soldier -- Bucky Barnes x Reader

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

*1941*

“What do you mean you’re enlisting? You can’t leave me here.” You stared at Steve and Bucky with wide eyes. “Y/n it’s our duty to this country to go,” Steve started to reassure you that everything would be fine. “We won’t be gone that long, you will probably even enjoy the peace for a while.” Bucky smiled at you and gave you a small wink. “Eleven years. Eleven years we have been attached at the hip, and now you’re going to leave me here. Alone.” Tears began to well up in your eyes as you stared at them. Steve looked down, unsure how to handle you crying. Bucky wrapped you up in a hug, “I promise everything will be fine. Nothing is going to happen to us doll.” He pulled back and looked into your eyes, “We will write every chance we get. I promise.” One tear broke free and slid down your cheek. You wiped it away quickly, not wanting the boys to feel any worse. Steve turned to you, “I love you y/n. I promise I’ll write, and we will be home soon. Take care of the house.” Your brother gave you a quick peck on the cheek before walking to the door. “I’ll meet you outside Buck. Goodbye y/n, wish me luck.” With a huge goofy smile and a wink, your brother closed the door. Bucky looked down at you. “I know it’s hard, but I promise we will be fine.” You couldn’t keep the tears at bay anymore, and they began streaming down your face. You started to speak, but then realized that the words wouldn't come out. Bucky pulled you in for another hug, and softly kissed the top of your head. “I’m gonna miss you, you know that right? But I have to do this. I’ll write you as soon as I can, I swear.” You looked up at the tall man, “You come back in one piece James.” He looked down at your teary eyes and placed a soft, quick kiss on your lips. “I promise.” He smiled at you, then walked to the door. You stood there, fingers to your lips where his had been, “You aren't going to say goodbye?” Bucky turned and gave a small smile as he opened the door, “Goodbye is too final. I’m coming back.”

You sat down in your rocking chair in the corner, fingers still to your lips. He kissed you. James Buchanan Barnes kissed you. He was a sweet man, you’re sure he didn't mean anything by it.

A few hours pass, and you are cooking supper in the kitchen when you hear the front door open. You grab a nearby knife and slowly walk towards the door. As you raise your arms with the knife, Steve yells for you to stop. “You could kill someone like that!” “Steve?” You looked at him confused. “Why are you home? You were supposed to be enlisting. What happened?” Steve looked down at his shoes. “I was rejected. Too many health issues they said. I’m trying again. I’ll just keep changing my city and going to every enlistment center until they accept me.” Rolling your eyes, you looked behind him, hoping to see the tall, dark haired man that was almost always with him. “Where is—,” Before you could even finish your thought, he looked at you. “He was accepted. He told me to tell you that he would write you as soon as he could.” You sighed and walked back to the kitchen to finish supper.

While Steve was off trying to be accepted, you managed to get a job with Howard Stark as a lab assistant. Most of your job was running files to different people, and helping Mr. Stark record information during his experiments. Letters from Bucky began coming in after a few weeks, and it helped improve your mood.

*1943*

“Stark Expo! We will showcase all of our latest inventions, show these people a look into the future!” You looked at Mr. Stark with a small smile, “It is a wonderful idea sir. I will begin making preparations for you.” Howard looked at you, “Make sure Mr. Erskine is there. I would like to find some candidates for Project Rebirth that night.” You nodded, “Yes sir. I will find him right away.”

“Everything is set up and ready to go Mr. Stark. Do you think that it might be possible to have the day of the Expo off sir? I would like to spend a little time with my brother.” Howard smiled softly at you, “Of course y/n, you have done an exceptional job. I will let you know how things go with Project Rebirth the day after. I am hoping that we will be very busy.” “Yes sir. I will see you then.”

The next morning as you were cooking breakfast, Steve came in. “I’m trying again. Surely they’ll accept me this time.” You paused and turned towards him, “Steve don’t you think it’s time to stop? I know how much it means to you, but this will be the fourth time you’ve tried.” He looked at you, with an almost anger in his eyes. You turned back to the stove and apologized. “I’m sorry Steve, you go ahead. If it doesn’t work out, come back here. Please?” Steve smiled, “It’s going to happen this time, I’m sure of it.”

A few hours later, Steve was back at home. “Rejected again. Who cares if I have asthma?? I just want to

do what’s right. I want to serve my country!” He sat at the table, head in his hands. “How about we go see a movie? Maybe it will cheer you up.” He looked up at you and reluctantly agreed.

A war commercial played on the screen before the movie. You began tearing up, thinking about Bucky being gone, dealing with everything the war would throw his way. Worrying that one day your brother would succeed in enlisting, and that it was possible you might one day lose both Bucky and Steve to the war. You were jerked away from your thoughts when you hear a man loudly shouting, wanting the war commercial to be over. Steve spoke up, “Hey buddy, you wanna shut up?!” The man stood up and turned, he was much larger than Steve, and you ran out the door after the two men. You watch as the man keeps hitting Steve, who is not giving up. He throws one last punch, and Steve falls to the ground. You jump in-between the men, begging them to stop. The man grabs your arm, and squeezes tightly. Before you could say anything, you hear a familiar voice. “Hey! Pick on someone your own size.” You squeeze your eyes shut, and the man is ripped away from you. You slowly open your eyes to see Bucky standing in front of you. “Bucky! You didn’t say you were getting to come home!” You threw your arms around his neck, and he hugged you tightly. Steve pulled himself up off the ground. “Sometimes I think you like getting punched.” Bucky smirked at Steve as he leaned down to pick up a card from the ground. “I had him on the ropes.” You checked him over to make sure he was okay. You stood back up and looked at Bucky, who looked upset. “How many times is this? Oh, you’re from Paramus now? You know it’s illegal to lie on the enlistment form. And seriously, Jersey?” Steve looked away from his friend. “Get your orders?” Bucky straightened up and smiled, “107th. Sergeant James Barnes. Shipping out for England tomorrow.” You leaned against the wall and looked down, already feeling the tears welling up in your eyes. “Come on you two,” Bucky said as he wrapped an arm around yours and your brother’s shoulders. “Where are we going?” “The future.” You internally groaned. Your one night off and you were still going to work.

“Welcome to the Modern Marvels Pavilion and the World of Tomorrow. A greater world. A better world.”

The three of you stood at the stage as you watched Howard enter. You watched as he showed off his hovering automobile. Bucky’s eyes widened, “Holy cow.” The car suddenly fell back to the ground, and you smirked, watching Howard recover. You turned to Bucky, then realized neither he nor Steve were next to you. You work your way through the crowd until you see the enlistment tent. You groan to yourself, and rush over just to hear the end of what sounded like an argument. “Bucky, come on! There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.” “You’re trying again?” You knew what was in the tent, and prayed that Dr. Erskine wouldn’t see Steve. Steve looked to you as Bucky rubbed his eyes in frustration. “I have a good feeling this time. It’s gonna happen.” You looked at him and shook your head. “Be careful Steve. If it actually happens for you, please be careful. You better write me.” You hugged your brother one last time, before Bucky wrapped an arm around your waist. “Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.” Bucky began walking you away from the tent. “How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you.” You both looked back towards him, “You’re a punk.” Bucky hugged his friend goodbye. “Jerk. Be careful.” Steve smiled then walked into the tent.

Your arms draped loosely around Bucky’s neck as you swayed to the music. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home? You just sent me a letter and didn’t even hint towards it,” you looked up at his steel blue eyes as he pulled you closer. “I wanted to surprise you. I’m only home for tonight, and honestly I was a little worried about coming to see you.” “Sergeant James Barnes, worried about something? I don’t believe it.” He smiled softly at you, “I was afraid I wouldn’t want to leave. I was right to be afraid though. I don’t want to leave you again.” You felt your heart drop to your stomach. You heard what he had said, but surely he didn’t mean it the way you wanted him to. You pulled away and began walking to find somewhere to sit down. Bucky was right on your heels, with a confused look on his face. “Y/n what did I say? What’s wrong?” As you sat down, you looked up at him with a lump in your throat and your heart in your feet. “Bucky you can’t just say stuff like that. Not now. Not to me.” Still confused, he sat next to you, “Why not? I’m not allowed to tell you that I miss you like crazy? That knowing I’m helping protect you is what is getting me through this war?” You looked at your feet, “Not when I know you feel the same about me as you do Steve. We’re friends. That’s all we have ever been, and that’s all we will ever be.” You breathed deeply in a poor attempt to stop tears from forming and spilling over. Bucky’s face softened as he realized what was happening. “You have never been just a friend to me. You’ve always been so much more to me,” he whispered to you as he lifted your face to look at your big y/e/c eyes. “I can’t go back over there without you knowing how I feel about you. You are the most amazing, beautiful woman that I have ever met y/n. You make my heart skip beats, you make me nervous. I enlisted because I felt like it was the best way to protect you from what was happening. This is the worst time to say this, I know. But I can’t leave again until I know that you know that I love you.” He looked deep into your eyes, looking to see if you felt the same. Your tears began to stream down your face, “Bucky,” you breathed deeply to steady your voice and gain a little confidence. “I knew from the moment I met you that I loved you. I have never not loved you.” Bucky smiled and pulled you close to his chest. He leaned towards you, and you met his lips with yours. Your chest felt like it was going to explode as he pressed a kiss to your lips. He finally pulled away, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” Looking a little confused you reminded him that he had kissed you before he had left to enlist. “That doesn’t count. I was just testing the water. I wanted to say something so badly that day, but I lost my nerve and just couldn’t.” You smiled at him and pulled him back to dance, “Dance with me Buck.”

*later that night*

“Do you have to go?”, with tears in your eyes, you looked at Bucky. “Please don’t go. I don’t want you to leave again. What if something happens to you? Please.” Big pleading eyes filled with tears as you looked at the man in front of you. “Y/n, I have to go. You know I have to go.” You heard the pain in Bucky’s voice and he wrapped you in his arms. “I promise I will write as often as we can. I’m not leaving forever, just for a little while doll.” You felt a soft kiss press to the top of your head, and you finally let the tears in your eyes spill over. You looked up, and your eyes met Bucky’s. His eyes began to water as he looked at you, and he gave you a tight, sad smile. “I’ll write as soon as I can. I’ll be back so soon you won’t even know I’m gone. When I get back, I’ll take you back to Coney Island, and we can see how quick it takes your brother to vomit again.” He gave you a wink before he pressed a soft kiss to your lips. “I love you so much, I swear I’ll come back” “Please come back in one piece Buck,” you whispered as you softly kissed his cheek. “I love you James Buchanan Barnes.” He looked at you with watery eyes and saluted before he turned and walked out your front door.

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x y/n #james buchanan barnes #avengers fanfiction #captain america #marvel #sebastian stan #winter soldier #fluff

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