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ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

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Comfortably Numb. Yan Chrollo x Reader [COMM]

warnings: mentions of anxiety, just general uneasiness. word count: 2.6k.

Home is where the heart is.

It’s meant to be the sanctuary where you can unwind after a long day of work, dress in your most comfortable pajamas, and feel no qualms for the opinions of others. A safe haven of your own making. Granted, there was a time that you felt this way, no matter how long ago it seems. A coveted period of your life that you wish you could return back to. On a surface level, any onlooker might take a glance at you and think you are as normal as they are. If only that were the truth, you bitterly lament.

Now, what do you need to check on next? Milk is in good supply, not set to expire anytime soon. Hm… can’t say the same for the fruit. You jostle down some of your favorites onto the ever growing grocery list. What else is there? You’ve got to be missing something. Standing on your tiptoes, you open the overheard cabinet, that is now noticeably more barren than it used to be. The bags of tea that had once populated this area have vanished, all but a lonesome pack of matcha. Huffing, you close the cabinet doors, ready to voice your irritation.

Pivoting on your heel, you look over the kitchen counter and towards the occupied living room. “You drank all my tea?”

“Not at all of it,” your unwelcome guest corrects, much to your displeasure. “Besides, you never said I couldn’t have any.”

You raise an eyebrow at this conjecture. Who would’ve thought him a stickler for semantics. “Yeah, well, I never said you could have it either.”

“That’s a fair enough point. I’ll be sure to reimburse you for it later.” Chrollo ends the conversation before it even begins. His attention returns to his original activity of reading, freely helping himself to yet another one of your belongings. An exhausted sigh leaves your lips at the sight. If you somehow make it out of this situation unscathed, you may take on a more pious lifestyle, having survived way more than you should’ve. It’s a wonder that Chrollo hasn’t seen fit to strike you down where you stand. Where you lack self-restraint in the verbal department, you make up for it in your overall composure. Surely anyone else would’ve been crushed under the immense pressure of having a murderer crashing at their apartment.

That’s just about the best way to describe it, you think. How desensitized do you have to be to no longer shiver at the thought? In all fairness, Chrollo himself is treating this as the most ordinary arrangement in the world. At his own leisure he’ll start conversations with you, inquire about your day, and even offer insight that you never asked for. It’s gotten to the unfortunate point that you’re even starting to do the same. Treating him more as a peculiar roommate than the threat he truly is, though it could be your way of coping. That’s the explanation you’re going with.

Chrollo puts a bookmark into his read, and places it aside. “Is there anything you’d like for dinner?”

He asks the question as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Your normally schooled expression is broken, lips parting and eyebrows furrowing together. Is he being serious right now? There’s no way to tell for certain. Not on a lack of trying from your behalf, his countenance never hints at his innermost thoughts. You get the feeling what little Chrollo does reveal to you is intentional. How creepy.

“I was just planning on warming up leftovers,” you accentuate this by opening your fridge. On the shelves sits lentil soup, apples, and some protein yogurts. Shit. “Scratch that. I’ll be settling for yogurt instead.”

“You had that for breakfast, if memory serves.” Chrollo points out, as if you’re incapable of remembering that yourself. It’s odd that he feels the need to pay attention to every detail about you. How often is Chrollo observing you without you taking notice? You push the thought aside with a frown.

“What are you, my hostage-taker and nutritionist? Besides, this is what I like to call a struggle meal. Or, meals, technically. I’ll go shopping tomorrow to make up for it.” You grimace while picking up the gourmet cuisine for tonight. Strawberry cheesecake flavor. It’s better with stuff added to it for texture, but this’ll have to do. It’s doubtful someone who is hiding a stolen merchandise worth hundreds of thousands can empathize with your position. Not that it matters if Chrollo Lucilfer holds you in high regard, with all the blood on his hands. He’s got no room to judge.

“Hm, in the time we’ve spent together, I never considered you as dense,” he gets up from his seat, making his way towards the kitchen. You don’t get a word in edgewise before your dinner is plucked from your hands. Chrollo places it back in the fridge, while you stare at him with a slackened jaw. “I’m offering to buy you food, [First].”

How considerate of him to spell it out for you.

“Appreciative as I am for your gesture of goodwill, I’ll pass. I don’t want to be indebted to you.” You make for the fridge once again, scowling as he holds it shut with unnatural force. Damn, he’s strong. Maybe you’re playing with fire by provoking him, considering the power imbalance, but your tongue is faster than your brain. Both a blessing and a curse. Leaning more towards the latter, you muse.

“I insist. It’s only right that I repay you somehow, for allowing me to stay here. You wouldn’t be indebted to me.” Chrollo’s smile never reaches his eyes, you notice. Standing here in close proximity to him, there’s a lot more you can pick up on. Every little detail of his disposition is intentional. From his even keel tone, to his polite speech, and way of acting like you have any say in the matter. You’re all bark and no bite. Both of you are keenly aware of this, and still he talks to you as if he’s none the wiser. It’s demeaning in its own right.

“I guess it is sacrilegious to turn down free food. Alright, you win.” You throw your hands up in mock defense. This uncomfortable interaction helped you remember the position you’re in, how every breath might be your last. He’s broken into your residence, forced you to hide him from encroaching hunters, and made your past ten days a living hell. It was the threats to your loved ones that ultimately earned your compliance.

You can’t help the self deprecation that’s followed since that day. The law is what you’re supposed to be protecting, not protecting criminals from. Going to the station everyday with the knowledge that you’re harboring such a dangerous criminal is weighing heavily on your soul. Life sure is full of the worst ironies. Had it not been an A class bounty, you may have stood a chance.

Chrollo reaches into the pocket of his jacket, pulling out one of his many burner phones. “You’re being more agreeable than I expected, if I’m being honest.”

“What can I say? I become a bit of a yes man when my life is being threatened.” You respond with an empty smile of your own. Instead of earning any ire from him, he lets out an airy chuckle, of dubious sincerity. Whether it’s at you or with you is difficult to decipher. He pulls up a food delivery app, showing you the options. This was all prepared in advance, he must’ve taken the time to download it. So it wasn’t a spur of the moment decision to mess with you?

“Y-you’re really letting me pick?” There’s no hiding your incredulous tone of voice. This series of events is far too bizarre to fathom, like a nightmare stepping into reality. Just a week ago you were contemplating how to poison Chrollo without him taking notice. Now you’re ordering food together. There has to be an ulterior motive lurking around, your gut won’t tell you otherwise.

He tilts his head at your apprehension, and repeats himself. “That’s what I said, yes.”

Fuck it. When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade, or so the saying goes. You’ve suffered enough at Chrollo’s hands, it wouldn’t hurt to make the most of it. You take the cheap phone from his hands, scrolling through the options, and realizing now just how wonderful the variety of food sounds. Working up an appetite hasn’t come naturally with your uninvited guest skulking about. He has enough prepaid visa cards to cover what you want, so you hold nothing back.

After returning his phone to him, you can’t help but throw an additional sarcastic comment in. It’s second nature at this point. “Happy now?”

“Very much so,” Chrollo doesn’t mention your indignation, eyes raking over your expansive order. It’s not until he gets to the end that he quirks an eyebrow. “... A one hundred dollar tip?”

“Feel free to add some extra zeros to the end of that. It’s not binary code for ‘help me, there’s a criminal in my apartment’, if you’re worried about that.”

He hums in consideration. “I can’t say that came to mind.”

“Shit, looks like I went ahead and busted my own master plan.” Your response is notably dry. A headache is already in the works, courtesy of speaking to Chrollo for too long. He never fails to keep you on your toes. For all the sardonic remarks you make at his expense, anxiety has never stopped plaguing you. It’s a miracle that your heart is still functioning properly. You don’t even know why you ordered the absurd amount that you did, other than from pure spite, since your stomach is churning too much to want to eat. Maybe that’ll change when the food shows up. If not, your co-workers are going to be in for quite a treat tomorrow.

You return to your newfound favorite activity of ignoring Chrollo, busying yourself with anything that comes in sight. Watering your plants, putting mugs from the dishwasher away, menial stuff that keeps you busy. A new feat lies in your wake. Whoever designed this apartment didn’t do so with you in mind, your larger plates just barely out of reach. Not willing to concede to using a chair just yet, you keep up the gallant attempt, stretching as far as your body allows. Your fingertips graze just over the prized handle, only for you to fail again.

That’s when you feel an over looming presence behind you, a shadow encompassing your figure. Chrollo gets the plate you were reaching for with ease, his chest brushing over your back in the process. You feel your face flushing, your body going taut, standing still as a wooden plank. He sets it down beside you with a knowing smile. That bastard…! He’s doing this on purpose. Damn him.

“It looked like you could use some help.” He tells you. It takes every ounce of your self restraint not to lunge at him, instead taking a deep breath and nodding your head. Why is he so intent on getting a reaction from you? It’s exasperating, serving no practical purpose other than his own amusement. Inundated with your thoughts, you don’t realize how sour a look you’re sporting. This is what he wants, you remind yourself. To get you riled up. You refuse to play into his hands, and manage to get a grip.

Time passes by at a lethargic pace. After around forty minutes, your front door rings, and you pick up the order. Sitting at your counter, you help yourself to the meal, grateful that Chrollo has seen fit to leave you alone. There can never be anything good in this world, as he eventually joins you. You try not facing him as an act of defiance. The plan that seemed ingenious in theory has a rockier execution. Sitting in silence feels worse somehow, like a ticking time bomb. Shifting in your seat, you decide to strike up a half baked conversation.

“So, uh, about the whole being hunted down thing,” your voice wavers and you hate yourself for it, “Do you have an idea of when it’s going to be over? I’m starting to run out of excuses for why my friends can’t come over.”

This is true. There have been no more lively gatherings at your apartment since Chrollo’s unwelcome appearance, and you’ve been pestered about it. In between the lines is the prospect of your friends finding this reclusive behavior suspicious. In your optimism, you hope he takes it as a hint to get out of here faster.

Chrollo takes on a pensive appearance, his chin resting on his hand. “I’d been meaning to talk to you about that, so I’m glad you brought it up.”

How nice it is to be on the same page. This could be the light at the end of the tunnel, the last page in this awful chapter of your life. Ten days seems like a reasonable amount of time to lay low. Maybe he’s already packing his bags, planning to leave you far behind, so you can forget any of this ever happened. Maybe you’ll treat yourself to a vacation. From the gut wrenching anxiety Chrollo has inflicted on you, you feel deserving of one.

“They’ve stopped searching for me a while ago.”

Wait, what?

You look at him, silverware dropping from your lax hand. He’s never been into joking around. Does that mean he’s being serious with you? That all this time, you’ve been holding out for something that already happened? Fists balling by your side, you don’t bother hiding a sharp glare directed towards him. There’s no playfully wry response, no comeback, only disbelief and abhorrence. The bountiful meal in front of you is forgotten.

There’s no point in asking, but you still do, voice low. “... How long?”

“According to my sources, about a week.” comes Chrollo’s response, hammering the final nail in the coffin of your patience. His motivations have never been any less clear. You know you shouldn’t have taken the word of someone like him seriously -- you’re so painfully aware of this that it hurts -- but now leaves a final question. Why? What does he get out of this? You feel sick to your stomach, knowing that it’s going to bad no matter what. Your breathing has picked up, eyes dilating and body threatening to crumble under the tension. Everything feels out of place.

He responds as if he was reading your thoughts. “You’re an interesting person, [First]. You never cried, pleaded, or anything of the like. Instead you accepted the situation for what it was, all while staying true to your values. I find that admirable. I’d like to learn more from you.”

“Stop talking to me like I’m a -- a fucking -- science experiment, instead of a human being. How does any of that shit even matter?” You feel the blood draining from your face, every word coming out more forced than the last. Getting riled up here is the last thing you should be doing, but you can’t control yourself. All your negative emotions from your time with him are regurgitating into a final mess.

“I don’t know, truth be told.” Chrollo checks the watch on his wrist, and you gulp at the smile that forms on his lips. It feels like a sentencing, a foreboding omen. There’s bile rising in your throat, and you scramble away from your chair. You need to get out of here. You need to run, to scream for help, to alert your family, this is not going to end well, what is he planning--

There’s a hurried knock at your door.

“However, what I do know is that I have no intention of leaving this place without you by my side.”

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celestialmango · 3 years ago

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Unwilling prey, homebrew humanoid mimic pred, fear play, soft vore, safe vore, fatal implied (for your party), reader insert, DnD type setting

🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭🍡🥭

Your heart pounds in your chest and you're gasping for breath as you lean against the cave wall and collapse, breathing hard you can help but think how stupid you were to agree to follow your group members as they wandered off from the main group and from the designated trail to explore, you're lvl ones, it's bad enough you guys got literally sucked into the campaign you were playing, DM included, then they wanted to split the party, but they wouldn't listen to you when you expressed how bad of an idea it was to explore an unknown dungeon if you split the party. Unlucky for you that had them decide that nobody was gonna pair up with you and now you're in this mess.

You had bumped into one of the DM's homebrew monster races a fucking humanoid mimic based on your DM's idea of "ok how about a mimic but this type of mimic is sexy and can be born from other races though still be full mimic but they at first they look completely normal and can shapeshift only the lower half of their body and ears with only minor changes to the appearance of their torso like if they try to turn into a fully scaled mer they're successful with their ears and tail but only get a few scales on their face and chest, and like, they take the abilities of the creatures they turn into and they can be any alignment"

And then your remember what else your dm said "I'm going to use them in vore campaign as a pred" a predator species, this is the vore campaign, what the fuck do you do now?

Your palm covers your mouth as you inhale sharply, your DM still controls certain aspects, you still have to role against the DM though they're trapped with the villain of the campaign they can still tell you when to roll and you can still tell them your role with some form of dice telepathy you don't really understand.

when the party split the DM made you make stealth checks when you entered the dungeon, you failed and as a bard the DM had you playing music which you asked if you were at least going to play well, you rolled a Nat 20 for that, and the DM told you if you lost the dice and didn't roll when you needed to you may end up screwed. the mimic ate yours. How? Well.

----

You failed a perception check and sat on the random chest you found, you heard and voice tell you it sounded nice, you react by immediately jumping off it as it opens your dice bag fell to the ground with one of the mimic's hand snatching it off the ground, their crossed arms resting on the rim of the chest and propping their chin up with a mischievous grin on their face they address you," oy, why ya stop playin?" Failing to get a response out of your stunned form they push themselves up before they toss the bag in the air a few times, they dangle the bag in front of them " ya need this aye?" You nod feeling tense, the mimic grins, opens their mouth and tossing your dice bag in their gaping maw before snapping it shut as you stare in horror at the disappearing bulge of your dice as the mimic swallows them.

"Phooo,how bout ya come n get em? Go on n reach in." they place their elbows on the rim of the chest and prop their head up their maw gaping open once more while they look at you deviously, you turn tail and run.

---

You grimace, if you don't get those dice back then...., taking a deep breath you turn around and walk back into the room, they're still waiting and grinning at you while you approach, "change ya mind?" They open their mouth again, you kneel and slowly shove your hand down their throat,their throat is relaxed, it feels like you're shoving your arm into a slimy tube lined with balloons, you reach in all the way to your shoulder you should have reached the dice by now, it's then you remember what else your DM said

"they'll have like six stomachs, and like four are bigger on the inside, 2 are not connected and are just filled with treasure n shit then there's and with the other four only 2 are digestive and the digestive ones are connected to each other and vise versa with the non-digestive ones, the top ones are stretchy and durable enough to hold a god damn chimera without much trouble but their stomach would look about half the size of what they ate because bigger on the inside and the bottom ones are like hammer space, once something is in you wouldn't even see a bulge, the friendly acting ones like to trick their targets into feeding themselves to them, only-"shit, oh fuck.

Your face goes pale and your eyes widen , you jerk your arm out to your elbow before the mimic's throat captures it in a vice grip, they grab your other arm and shove it in too gulping thickly you're pulled back in up to your shoulders, you stare at their face in terror, their eyes tell you all you need to know, they're going to eat you, there's no escape.

They grab the back of your head and shove your face into their salivating maw swallowing harshly, you're cries are muffled by the slick flesh pressed against your face, they grab your belt and pull , a sharp gulp forcing you in up to your hips, the mimic shifts their shape as they heft your kicking legs in the air giving themselves legs as they stand lifting themselves up and grasping your kicking legs in the air, they swallow and as your thighs pass their lips your hands push through a ring of flesh. Squish tight by thick muscles pulling you down you try to think of anything that might help you in this moment, a few more swallow your head enters the chamber.

Shit you can't think of anything, it's only a few more rounds before you're forced to curl up inside their gut, from the outside it looks as if they had swallowed a beach ball,you feel something hard under you and you grasp it, pulling it out from under you, you discover your dice bag, you roll to while you attempt an escape, you don't meet the DC, the only thing that escapes is air as the mimic let's out a belch loud enough to echo for several seconds.

They slap their hand on their stomach,"Ur-up, oy now, ya don really think tha would work did ya? Once I swallow something it ain't comin out easy, feel free ta keep tryin tho, ya squirmin feels great." Shit, you roll to persuade them to let you go as you struggle, kicking and pushing at their stomach wall, you tell them you didn't come in here alone, that your party will no doubt come investigate where that echo came from.

You fail once more,you can't see the wild and vicious looking grin that forms on their face, "a meal an a fight, sounds great ta me"shhiiiiit they're one of those types, you feel them move around a bit, you try to remember the last thing your dm said about the humanoid mimic's race, only, only what? "Only thing that can save you at that point is making it appealing to keep you alive as one of their many items they swallow, like give them something no one else can do" something no one else can do, the homebrew spells you chosen.

'what if I told you I had the ability to summon food and drink?' you feel them stop "I'd say ya were bullshitin me." 'but what if I can prove it?' You feel a hand slam down on your back and wince "then prove it, how bout ya summon me a beer?" 'i will need you to press a waterskin against your stomach.' "oh?" 'it's not a long range spell,' you feel them press something again their stomach and cast the spell hoping it will work through flesh, the mimic looks at the waterskin sceptically as it fills, they uncork it and lift the spout to their nose, they take a sniff and don't find anything off about the liquid so they take a swig, then proceed to down it.

You tense hearing them gulp and get ready to become drenched in alcohol...but it never happens,no drink comes raining down on you, you're confused they said a meal and a fight, you, weren't you the meal? What's going on?

"Ah, tha's some good stuff." They pat their gut, "was jus gonna take ya in for yur bounty but now I changed ma mind-" 'I have a bounty?' You interrupt, the mimic scoffs "wha ya didn know?" 'no, why do I have a bounty on me?' "oh yur serious, ya know tha group uh nobles ya pranked a tha had ya run out uh towns a while back?" 'oh them......I regret nothing...but wait, you said a fight and a meal after I told you about my party, what did you mean by that?' you ask apprehensive, "what ya think I meant?"

Oh, oh no, you shift uneasy, 'you're planning to fight and eat my companions aren't you?' "maybe I am,wha ya gonna do bout it." ....well the DM did say that it appears even if you end up dying here you can always roll-up a new character and come back as long as someone from the original group is still alive but you won't remember how you died.

'I'm in your magic damage resistant stomach, I don't think there's anything I can do except offer to summon food so you won't eat them.' they pat their bulging gut, "nice try but I ain't a bout ta give up on a fight an a squirmin meal, as fur wha I'm gonna do with ya now" you hear a groan beneath you and their gut clenches pressing down on you as you begin to slip through to the stomach connect to this one you hear them say "can na have ya givin me way, so I'll have ta swallow ya deeper."

You take a small plummet before landing in something soft and wet, you quickly cast dancing lights, you see you landed in a bunch of fabrics and other soft items, you think you see a few pillows and you have a bit more room despite being shoulder deep in fabrics and pillows, the sphincter above you looks twice your size now, damn you think, they really are bigger on the inside.

You sigh feeling a bit bad knowing you accidentally sent what is most likely a very high level mimic after your party, but hey, you did warn them splitting the party was a bad idea, you can't hear much now except the groans of their organs around you, knowing your not actually in any danger now you lift your arm out of the fabric and slam a fist against one of the fleshy walls surrounding you in frustration, their stomach jostles and you clap your hands over your ears at sound of their booming laugh "still got sum fight in ya ey? An after I made ya all nice n comfy, gave ya my bes room, could a put ya with all the gol n weapons after all." They joke, and you sigh again and rub their gut wall, "tha's better. I'm gonna enjoy having ya round,"

That sounds like they're still not going to let you go....fuck maybe you shouldn't have let them know you could be a source of free food and booze, on the other hand the nobles probably would have did you in for the embarrassment you caused them, guess you're stuck with a mimic bounty hunter, by the time they get here again from the starting point you're sure the mimic will be long gone and they won't be able to find you.

#safe vore #soft vore #v*re #v0re #fatal implied #unwilling prey #fear play

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spinchip · 4 years ago

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writing prompt: zane not always being comf with repairs due to repeat trauma, and how the various ninja comfort him and help him thru it

This got out of hand, not exactrly what you asked for waughkjhm. 3000 words, post s12 ;; Mountainshipping/polyninja

Warning: Panic attacks, trauma, PTSD

In the Aftermath of Unagami, the city rejoices. People gather in the streets to reunite with those they lost, children and parents embrace, tears and laughter ring out across ninjago city like bells far into the night. Pixals own friends cheer and holler, the adrenaline riding high still, and Zane throws his arm around her shoulder and draws her close. She laughs, wrapping an arm around his back as Jay chatters on and on about what happened after the others were cubed, filling them in on every detail.

Halfway through the story she realizes Zane is much heavier than he was a moment before.

She stands a little straighter, hauling him into more of a standing position before turning to face him- worry freezes her joints. He’s not smiling like he was earlier, his face blank and vaguely confused, his eyes hazy and glazed as he slumps more and more, and now that she’s paying attention she can feel him trembling around her. Her mouth works but no sound comes out before she gets her feelings under control, reaching out to set a palm on his chest to steady him.

“Zane?” She asks quietly, paying no mind to how the conversation died at the fear in her tone.

He blinks sluggishly, turning towards her voice but his eyes are too distant to focus on her. He opens his mouth to say something, shaking his head as if he were trying to force himself to stay awake before his knees give out and he collapses, nearly taking her down with the sudden weight. She cries out his name in alarm and Wu jumps to take his other arm, lifting him up with Pixal. The others rush forward, hovering their hands uncertainly, worry sharp across their face.

Pixal pats his cheek a few times, “Zane? Can you hear me?” She can barely keep her voice level and she bites her lip when he doesn’t respond, his eyes closed and head lolling listlessly.

Jay leans down and presses the side of his face to Zanes chest, eyes searching empty air for a tense moment, “His mechanics are still running.” he confirms, hearing his internal parts working. He winces openly at a sound the others aren’t close enough to hear, “Something’s wrong. We need to get him back to the monastery.”

“What happened out here?” Cole asks, hands fluttering nervously at his side.

Pixal fills them in while they wait for the Bounty to make it to their location- Autopilot was a blessing. There’s no room for the Bounty to land in the crowded streets, so when it arrives Kai scrambles up the chain from the anchor and drops the gurney for them. In a scene almost too familiar to stomach Pixal helps Wu and Cole load Zanes unconscious form onto it, taking the same route Kai took to get on deck afterwards. Nya and Jay have already taken him into the back room and Pixal sheds her Samurai X armor without pause, sweeping her bangs off her forehead as she strides into the room.

They’ve already got his chest panel open, Nyas sleeves are rolled up to her elbows as she pushes aside wires and inspects the damage. Jay is running a diagnostic through their central computer, a thick cable plugged into Zanes head. Lloyd lingers at the door nervously, watching them work with worried eyes.

“What’s the problem?” Pixal asks, resting her hands along the bed and peering down at his chest.

Nya face looks grim, “His core’s been overloaded, it’s fried a majority of his main power lines to near ruin- but even with something like this, they should have been able to work. The Mechanics adapter shouldn’t have caused this much damage.”

“What do you mean?” Pixal finds her mouth is running dry, looking down at the scorch marks across his arms where the violent electricity had burned lines across his metal.

Jay leans over, pointing out several twisted wires, torn and broken and out of place, “His wires were already messed up.” his voice is grave, “The effect of the Mechanics portal combined with these damages? It made everything so much worse.”

“Already…?” She shakes her head, “The Never Realm.”

“We think so too. Something must have happened that he didn’t tell us about.” Nya pulls back and glances at the monitor, “He’s stable for now, his body forced him into low power mode to stop the spread of the damage. We have a lot of work to do when we get to the lab.”

She nods, turning to look at him. His face is slack in sleep, his lips slightly parted, and she realizes with a jolt this is the first time she’s actually seen him rest since he came back. He wont talk about it, about any of it, she didn’t realize he was hiding something so serious.

Jay sighs deeply, leaning onto the table with an exhausted slump to his shoulders, the excitement catching up to him all at once. Nya leans her back against the table and runs her hand over his shoulders soothingly, “Why don’t you go rest? Pixal and I can handle this.”

He nods his head slowly like he’s considering it but Pixal watched him still suddenly, his eyes narrowing. He sits up and leans over Zane’s chest, searching his wiring with increasing fervor, “We need Kai.” He says, looking up at Nya with wide eyes, “He’s- He’s freezing over.”

Pixal lunges forward, nearly knocking into Jay headfirst to look, and sure enough ice is crawling across Zanes' parts slowly, encasing each of his damaged wires in a protective layer of frozen water. If she had blood, it would have drained from her face. Nya practically jumps the table, calling her brother's name and Lloyd scrambles out of her way, each of them splitting up to pin down the fire user.

Frost spreads from his fingers where they are resting against the table, his lips are turning blue with ice, Pixal doesn’t know what to do.

“What is this?” Jay asks breathlessly, “It’s… conducting.”

She can see visible arcs of electricity flickering through the ice as it grows stronger, each chunk connecting broken wires and damaged pieces to make him whole. Their elements never responded like this, not normally, but something happened in the Never Realm and this- it must be second nature to him, to protect himself, to keep himself going.

Kai appears in the doorway half a second before Zane snaps awake.

He comes back in a blind panic, twisting on the cot and hyperventilating, crashing to the floor in his chaotic thrashing. Pixal jumps back to avoid him bowling her over, stumbling in shock. He digs blunted fingernails into his head, scratching and clawing desperately at the cable above the back of his neck until he rips it out, scrabbling against his own skin for a few hysterical seconds before he realizes that the cable is gone.

He scrambles to his hands and knees, shoving himself back until he’s squished into a corner, “Where am i? Where am i? Where am I?” He repeats in a hysterical mantra, chest heaving, his eyes wide and unseeing. Broken ice litters the ground in little chunks, handprints from where he’d crawled away turning to slick ice across the floor, frost crawling out from where he’s huddled against the wall. He clasps his hands over his head in distress, pulling at his ears and squeezing his eyes shut tightly as if willing them to work again, whining in fear.

“Zane!” Pixal cries, hovering and unsure, “Zane, please- can you hear me?”

Jay is by her side in an instant and he puts a reassuring hand on her arm, guiding her to crouch down on his level. He turns around and waves the others off so Zane won’t be so overwhelmed, Nya herding them back, “Zane, hey, it’s Jay.” He says soothingly, “You’re in the Destiny's bounty.” He repeats this a few more times and on one of the repetitions, Zane’s eyes slowly bleed into focus.

“See? Pixal is here, you’re safe.” He tells him gently, making sure not to touch him unless Zane asks.

Zane gasps loosely, a shuddering intake of air, “What did I do?” his eyes fill with tears as he looks at Jay miserably, “What did I do?” he asks desperately, moving both hands to grasp at the cable port in his head, tugging at it hard.

Pixal connects the dots, she knew enough about the violence in the Never realm to put his fears to rest, “Nothing, Zane. You haven’t hurt anyone.” She reassured him firmly, “You were hurt, we were running a diagnostic. You’re okay.” She sneaks a glance at Jay who nods at her minutely.

“Is this the first time this has happened?” Jay prods as respectfully as he can.

Zane shakes his head, “a couple of times.” He rasps, struggling to keep his voice even, trembling all over.

“What do you need?”

It goes on like this for almost twenty minutes with Jay and Pixal talking soothingly with him, at this point the Bounty has docked at the Monastery but Zane isn’t stable enough to move without panicking. Slowly, he calms down, until he’s sitting slumped and exhausted on the infirmary floor, uncurling himself from the clenched ball he’d forced himself into. Ice still insists on clinging to his skin and crawling around the floor without his permission, but he’s not in a blind panic anymore.

The tension in Jay's shoulders has begun to relax, “Hey, you back with us?” he asks gently.

Zane looks at him through bleary, but focused, eyes, “Yes.” He says quietly, “Thank you.”

Pixal chooses to avoid the elephant in the room, glancing at Jay with an appraising eye, “You handled that well.”

He shrugs, “I get them too, Panic attacks. After Nad- after everything. Nya does the same thing for me.”

“Do you think you can get inside?” Pixal turns back to Zane.

He takes a moment to think before he nods slowly, “I-” His face pinches and he swallows roughly, “I will need help.”

He holds his hands out and she takes them, pulling him slowly to his feet. He stumbles and she finds herself catching him for the second time that day, taking his full weight as his legs refuse to hold, until he can get his feet under him again. He whines, low and almost too quiet to hear, pressing his palm against his chest and squeezing his eyes shut.

Jay takes his other arm and wraps it over his shoulder, “We just have to make it inside and you can rest again, okay?”

“Keep talking.” Zane says, opening his eyes just barely enough to see where they’re going, and Jay obliges. He runs his mouth nearly non stop as they help him get to the repair center of the garage, and with each word Zane seems to be edging back from another panic attack. He talks about nothing, but Zane nods along like he’s explaining the meaning of life.

Nya is there already, replacement wiring, tools, everything laid out in preparation for Zanes injuries. She’s got her hair pulled into a tight bun, a headband she only breaks out in emergency repairs keeping her bangs out of her face, the soldering iron warming up on the table. Jay and Pixal help Zane collapse onto the bed they have there, and Pixal helps adjust it so he’s sitting upright.

Kai appears at his side and hoists himself up to sit at his waist, the bed dipping at his presence, “Hey,” He says gently as the air is flooded with warmth, reaching over to cup Zanes cheek. He runs his thumb over Zanes cheek, ice flaking off at his gentle touch.

Zane tries to smile reassuringly, but it comes out thin and reedy, “Hello, Kai.” he leans into his boyfriend's touch, exhausted.

Jay goes to help Nya but she stops him, cupping his shaking hands, “You’ve done great, but you need to rest.” She squeezes his trembling fingers to prove her point. He wouldn’t be able to be steady.

He hesitates, but concedes her point, stepping back but hesitant to leave. Cole and Lloyd linger in the doorway before Cole nods to himself and quietly slips inside, speaking softly to Jay until the smaller man concedes and herds Lloyd out of the garage, both of them disappearing inside.

Nya motions to Pixal and the nindroid jumps into action, rounding to the other side of the bed to give Nya a hand.

“Hand me that?” She asks, motioning to a bucket in the back corner of their work station. Pixal holds it out as Nya turns to Zane, “I’m going to open up your chest panel, is that alright?”

Zane squeezes his eyes shut and Kai takes his hand reassuringly as he summons the bravery, “Do it.” He nods, and Nya unlatches it quickly.

Kai grimaces, looking at the frozen over electronics. Pixal can’t look away. It’s smart, in a pinch- it kept him running, it kept him awake and aware and alive. It does not look like a kind way to live.

Nya’s expression matches her brothers, “In order to do the repairs, I'll need to clear out the ice, Zane. I can turn you off-”

His whole body tenses, his breathing coming fast, and she acknowledges the reaction silently, “-Or I can do my best to do it while you’re awake. can you pull your powers back?”

“I don’t know.” Zane’s hands shake, his hard-won composure cracking, “I’ve been doing it for so long.”

“It’s okay, I can help.” Kai reassures him, stroking his hand soothingly, “I’m going to melt the ice now, and Nya is going to pull out the water before anything is damaged.”

“Alright.” Zane says, bracing himself.

Kai keeps one hand intertwined with Zanes and the other he holds out over his chest, pushing heat and warmth. Pixal ends up holding the bucket as Nya carefully and delicately draws the melted dropplest from his chest. Exposed wires spark and Zane jerks, his fingers digging into the sheet over the bed, gritting his teeth loud enough for pixal to hear.

He whines and Nya glances at his face with a wince, “You’re doing really well. You’re doing great, Zane.”

Cole approaches from where he’d been trying to stay out of the way, leaning over the bed and looking down at zane, “Hey, hey,” He coaxes Zane to open his eyes, blue laser-focused on Cole's face, “You’re alright, I’m right here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.” he promises, and Zane lets out a shaky breath, blinking away tears.

“Sorry.” Zane pushes out past his teeth, “I am stronger than this.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Cole tries to hide the heartbreak on his face, “You’ve been through a lot. You’re tired, you’re in pain, it’s okay if you take off your mask. We’ll be here to help you.”

Reaching out to cup his cheek and strategically angle him away from the others ministrations, Cole keeps his boyfriend's eyes on him, “I will keep you safe.” With each reassurance, Zane seems to relax more. He knows that the others wont hurt him, but the fear response is so engrained he can’t calm down. The words help.

Raw wiring greets Pixal when Nya finally sits back, the bucket sloshing and full, and Kai has to blink away tears at the usually neat mechanics looking so mangled.

Nya takes a fortifying breath and picks up the soldering iron and starts in on the thick of it. She explains each of her actions to Zane in perfect detail before she does them, each time she has to touch him she announces it, each time she has to unplug a ruined wire she warns him. He braces and flinches and whines each time, and there’s several moments Nya has to turn away to try and compose herself.

Hours of grueling work pass before Pixal realizes they’ve run out of repairs to make.

Nya leans back, and swallows deeply, rubbing at her tired eyes. She takes another moment to double check her work before she carefully closes Zanes chest panel. There’s a little cosmetic damage from the mechanics chains across his skin, but that can wait until another day, “Okay. I- I think we’re done.”

Zane exhales as if he’s been holding his breath the whole time, closing his eyes and sitting up fully, his shoulder slumped. Kai and Cole move back to give him space as he runs his hands over his face, exhausted, “Thank you.” His voice wavers. He swings his legs over the side and allows Cole to take his hand. His feet are firm when he stands on them, and he raises a hand to his chest automatically, his shoulders relaxing when there’s no aching pain.

“Zane?” Pixal says, and he turns to face her, “Why didn’t you tell us?” she prods gently, and Zanes face tightens.

“I…” he shakes his head, “I don’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to talk about it. I wanted to pretend none of it ever happened.” he gathers his courage, “When I was sent to the Never Realm, it hurt. I’ve been protecting myself ever since.”

His eyes skate over the mess of broken wires and miscellaneous gear from the repair session, “I didn't realize it was so bad.”

She thinks maybe he’s talking about more than just the physical aspect, his panic attack still at the forefront of her mind. She takes a step forward, the bed a frustrating obstacle between them, “We love you, Zane. we don’t want to see you hurt. If you ever need to talk to someone, i’m always here- or we can help you find someone else together.”

He blinks hard, staring at the floor. Kai moves closer and cups his cheek, murmuring soft words. Zane nods, “Thank you.” He says to Pixal, “I will think about it.” It’s the most promising thing they’ve gotten out of him yet. Baby steps.

The door opens, and Lloyd pops his head in cautiously. He brightens at the sight of Zane up and about, “Um,” He says, smiling, “If you guys are finished, Jay and I made dinner.”

“You did?” Zane blinks, clutching Cole's hand as they begin the trek over to the door, “I’m impressed.”

“It’s nothing fancy.” Lloyd ducks his head, and Zane assures him anything they made will be just perfect.

Pixal watches him leave and dares to hope that things will get better.

#zane julien #ninjago #pixal borg #nya ninjago #jay walker #kai ninjago #cole ninjago #ns11 #ns11 consequences #ns12 #spinchip fic #panic attack #ptsd #trauma #calypsolemon #mountainshipping #polyninja

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author-morgan · 3 years ago

Note

Would you please write some more Havi&Frigg? I adore these two, in mytology when I read about them I always think their relationship is so beautiful, so lively. 😊😁

here you are! sorry for the long wait, but i hope you enjoy it! ♥ plot idea from late-night convos with @angstygunslinger

m!Eivor x fem!Reader

THE KING OF the Æsir has many battles beneath his belt from the passing millennia. His victories too numerous to count. But there is one victory he has not been able to claim in all his years —for all his efforts, Havi has never been able to best his sweet Frigg. He claims you use the gift of foresight bestowed by the Nornir to stay one step ahead of him —a kinder way to say you cheat to win against him in physical battles and those of wit. This day is no different. Staring down the length of the training staff pressed into his gut, Havi’s gaze flicks up to meet yours, already accusing. “My queen resorts to trickery,” he notes as he rises. Huginn squawks his agreement from the right arm of his throne. Muninn only keeps a watchful eye trained on the contest.

“My love for you is no trick, dear Havi,” you refute, taking a step toward your husband, letting the training staff fall from your grasp. He follows your movements, moving closer to his queen when you lift a hand to his scarred cheek, smiling. Havi leans into the gentle touch, lips parting to exhale softly. Your fingers trail along his jaw —brushing through his golden beard, up along the scar cutting across his cheek, and further to the eyelid that droops shut, hiding the empty cavity where an eye had once been. A sacrifice for knowledge. Lips twisting into a smile, you lean into him, placing a chaste kiss upon his unmarred cheek. “Perhaps your misjudgment has something to do with your forfeited eye,” you quip.

Havi shakes his head, disguising his laughter as false annoyance. “Sweet Frigg,” he chides, arms moving to encircle your waist. Since returning from Jötunheim, he’s been subjected to his queen’s endless taunts and jests for weeks.

Twining your arms around his neck, the corner of your lips quirk upward —a confident smirk and a look Havi is unaccustomed to seeing grace your fair features. There’s a glint in your eyes, too, reminiscent of one of Loki’s impish looks. “I do not need foresight to best you,” you tell him.

“No?” Havi challenges with one of his brows raised.

Your smile softens, hands slipping down to feel the planes of his chest through his rough spun tunic. “I know you, my love.” Havi hangs off your every word; he knows it’s true, though —there are millions of souls in the Nine Realms, and none save his sweet Frigg truly knows him. “And that makes you predictable.” He lets out a long sigh, silenced when you brush your lips against his, but pulling away too quickly for him to return the kiss in earnest. “Come,” you breathe, stepping out of his loose embrace, “walk with me, dear Havi, let us not dwell on your loss.” The king of the Æsir offers the crook of his arm, willing to follow his queen to the very end.

PUSHING OUT OF a stalemate, you run the edge of your sword across a Dane’s throat, deflecting another blow with the steel gauntlet wrapped around your forearm —steadily moving across the field toward their leader, Eivor Wolfsmal, carving a path of blood and bone. With a cry, you level your blade and seek to end the battle with a fell swoop —he catches the blade against his bearded axe, teeth bared and blood streaking his face, eyes burning with the fires of Muspelheim.

The impasse stands, neither of you unable to move against the other and a fleeting moment when your eyes meet is all it takes. You stand high above the Nine Realms, training staff in hand, circling the man before you. The grip you have on your sword’s hilt falters. She smiles, dancing around him with grace, blocking his blows and dealing them out just as quickly. His axe slips from his hand, his shield lowering.

“Frigg,” Eivor breathes. The whispered name strikes something deep within you —the revelation forces the two of you apart, weapons falling to the muddy earth. Eivor’s gaze softens, his face contorting as he takes a step closer, disbelieving. “No!” He shouts, but it is too late —the lance of a great two-handed axe meets your temple, and with speckled vision, you fall into darkness.

“EIVOR!” DAG SHOUTS, standing over an unmoving figure on the field of battle. “What about this one?” Eivor steps next to him, looking down at you —face a mess of blood and dirt with a long cut running across your thigh, still seeping blood. He crouches down, slipping his hand below your neck to cradle the back of your head, as though he’s holding a lover. Just the brush of your skin against his sets him alight and brings memories that do not belong to him flashing across his mind. A smile, a kiss, sitting next to his sweet Frigg at the head of the table overseeing a bountiful feast.

Weary, you open your eyes, feeling the cool rain wash over you. You glance around the battlefield, strewn with the corpses of your people and those of the Danes and Norse, and then to the man tenderly holding your head. Their leader —a haunting reminder of the dreams that’d plagued you since childhood. We fought, and neither of us could deal a final blow. “Who are you?” Eivor asks.

“No one,” you answer. He frowns, knowing it is a lie. There is something about you he cannot explain. Eivor knows you. He knows your face, the whisper of your voice, the gentle brush of your fingers against his cheek, and yet, you are but a stranger to him.

Deciding what it is he must do, Eivor slides his arms under your knees and around your shoulders, hefting you up from the muddy ground. The protests on your lips remain unvoiced. Laughing. A hall filled with joyous cries as your dear Havi lifts you into his arms with the same giddiness as the night you wed. When your eyes meet once again, you both look away, quickly. Overwhelmed by a strange swell of relief —as though long-departed lovers are reunited. “Take her to my tent” —he passes you to Dag— “I will tend her wounds.”

With great effort, you strip away your armor, discarding it in a pile —if Eivor Wolfsmal meant to kill you, he’d have done so already. You remain mostly unscathed, save for the throbbing cut on your thigh. It is not deep enough to warrant stitching, nor does it bleed heavily enough to need the cleansing touch of fire. Tearing a strip of linen from the hem of your tunic, you bind the wound, awaiting whatever cruel fate lies ahead.

When Eivor returns, he comes with a basin of water and several long strips of clean linen. He kneels at your side, wordlessly, peeling away your poor excuse for a bandage and the split wool of your breeches. You watch him, see his brows furrow in concentration as he dips a rag into the water, wiping the muck and blood away with a gentleness unbecoming of the berserker you witnessed in the heat of battle. “Why are you helping me?” You ask, wincing when he presses down on the cut.

“Don’t make me regret it,” Eivor says —a tinge of amusement in his voice— his gaze flitting up from your thigh. After a pause, he speaks again, answering your question but creating several more. “You remind me of someone I know” —he ties a knot in the linen— “or rather knew.” Eivor scrubs his hands in the tainted water, sitting back on his haunches. He looks over you, curious, replaying what happened when your blades locked in battle, and the memories he’s seen, vivid as a waking dream.

Your breath catches when your eyes meet his, clear and nigh cold —reassured and frightened to know he had seen the same thing you had. “Who?” It’s a foolish question. You know who it is he’s reminded of. You, or rather Frigg. Why else would he glimpse you as though he’s seen a ghost?

He shakes his head, running his hand down his face and through his golden beard, still tinted with blood. “I’m not sure,” Eivor answers.

Biting down on your lip, you glance through the crack in the tent’s opening, heart hammering in your chest as ravens croak and squawk over a feast of flesh. “Havi.” It’s a whisper so faint Eivor barely hears it.

His eyes widen, lips parting in surprise —his heart thuds loudly in his ears. “How do you know that name?” He asks. The shock of hearing one of Odinn’s names amplified by your standing as a Saxon warrior.

An ephemeral smile crosses your lips —there and gone in a heartbeat— as you think about sweet Frigg and dear Havi. “I hear it in my dreams,” you admit. “It belongs to a man who looks like you.” Eivor is the image of Havi. His clear blue eyes are the same, as is his golden hair and the scar running across his cheek. The only distinction is Eivor has a mottled patch of skin on his neck, and Havi is missing an eye. “Only he has one eye.”

Eivor lets you a shaky breath. He’d spoke of these dreams to Valka —her cryptic response had made him uneasy, but that feeling pales in comparison to now —he has Frigg sitting before him. He cannot run from the gods’ plans any longer. “Fate has brought us together for a reason.” You don’t doubt it. A lifetime of praying to a Christian god, and yet it has always been the ways of the Danes and Norse that called to your soul the most.

“I know you saw what I did when we crossed blades,” you tell him, holding his gaze. Eivor’s shoulders fall. He wants to think of you as a stranger, but it feels as though he’s finally found something —a piece of him he hadn’t even known was missing until he looked over steel and iron and into your eyes. “You called me Frigg.”

He swallows the knot in his throat. Havi and Frigg —the High-One and his queen. “We were bound in another life,” Eivor tells you, there’s no uncertainty in his voice, and you do not doubt him. He moves closer to you, albeit unwittingly, and you do not shy away. You had not been afraid of him on the field of battle; you would not be now either. “Come with me” —he offers his hand— “I know someone who can help answer our questions.”

You slip your hand in his as Eivor begins to rise, helping you up to your feet. He frowns at the grimace twisting your expression —your leg pained you more than you let on. Eivor steadies you by the waist, and for a moment, the world outside the canvas tent vanishes. Instead of the edge of a battlefield, you are high above Asgard and all the Nine Realms. You lean into him, breath catching when he leans in too.

The tickle of his beard against your cheek is warning enough for you to pull back, but you don’t. Eivor’s lips brush yours, hesitant at first until he remembers you are his Frigg and, he, your Havi. It is just as sweet and soft as you knew him to be. You both part with a sigh, foreheads resting together. A smile twists your lips when you reach up, following the scar on his —fingers combing through his beard. After a millennium, you’d finally found each other.

Eivor gestures to the cot, knowing he must speak to his allies and men, and you need time to recover your strength. “Rest, sweet Frigg,” he says, lips brushing against your temple before stepping back and out of the tent. In his place remains a raven with dark, beady eyes watching over you as Huginn and Muninn once had.

[taglist: @angstygunslinger @vanillabeanlattes @withered-poppies @ananriel @itseivwhore @maximalblaze @dynamicorbit @theelvenvalkyrie @xxdearlybeloved @elizabethroestone @elluvians @letsloveimagines @finick94 @wallsarecrumbling @kitkitvm @thedragonqueenfan @callmemythicalminx @edelae @darkravenqueen98 ] if you’d like to be added to my Eivor taglist, just let me know!

#Eivor #Eivor Wolfsmal #Eivor x Reader #m!Eivor #m!Eivor x Reader #male Eivor #male Eivor x Reader #Eivor Imagine #Eivor Fanfiction #Havi #Havi x Reader #Havi x Frigg #Assassin's Creed Valhalla #Assassin's Creed #my writing #requested #elizabethroestone #ps if you guys dont like this font ill change this story and my last two back to the regular #just playing around with the new post editor on here

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subbing-for-clones · 4 years ago

Text

The Alpha and The Omega Part 3

Alpha Maul x Omega Reader

Word Count: 5k

WARNINGS: Mentions of murder, talk of slavery, mentions of guns and other various bounty hunting shenanigans

PREVIOUS NEXT MASTERLIST

Maul didn’t know what to expect when he entered your ship; he had tried not to have any expectations. The main entrance opened up to the cargo bay that took up the whole footprint of the ship. He could see the cryo-freezer and storage in one corner and made a mental note to look into getting one for his own ship; he may not mind the smell of the bodies he collected but he preferred the idea of handing in quarries that weren’t decomposing by the time he turned them in. Labeled crates of food supplies and ammunition lined the walls along with a surprisingly high amount of medical equipment. The center was left open, for training purposes he guessed. He had thought that this layout was fairly standard for a high-ranking hunter and despite his best efforts not to assume what he would find on the upper level he was astonished.

You obviously lived here full time on the ship you had fondly referred to as the Wolf, the hatch opened up into a hallway from where he could see the door to your cabin left open. He fought the urge to look inside out of respect and followed you through the common area toward the cockpit. He did allow himself to stay a few steps behind you so he could glance around.

The kitchen had been expanded from a small standard kitchenette to a more comfortable cooking space with a large pantry. A quality wooden table sat off to the side with some kind of potted green fern in its center, rather than a flimsy durasteel counter. Plush rugs of different colors had been scattered along the floor and a doorless closet imbedded in the wall showed massive amounts of folded blankets and extra pillows along with other soft looking comfort items. Post cards from countless planets littered the walls surrounding the space. You had even managed to fit a sofa and bookshelf in one of the corners without making it seem over crowded.

He didn’t say a word as he sat in the co-pilot’s chair beside you, setting his worn bag on the floor next to him. You had even managed to decorate this space; warm blankets hung over the backs of the chairs and photos of you with other hunters hung on the walls that lacked control panels. Some of the photos were located in bars, others looked like more traditional hunting parties; friends with their arms around each other in front of massive beasts that lay slain. In one, he recognized the Mandalorian he had met on Tatooine pissing into a Sarlacc pit with you laughing boisterously in the side of the frame with your head thrown back. Something in his hindbrain whispered to him.

Omega makes it home.

He blinked his attention back to you when he realized you had said something.

“You alright Maul?” you asked him again when the fog left his eyes.

“Yes, my apologies, I have just never seen a ship like this before.”

“Yeah, I move around a lot so over the years I made it more comfortable. Easier than having a home base like some of the others try to keep, cheaper too,” Maul nodded in understanding before turning back to you once you had broken through the atmosphere and started tapping away at the nav computer.

“Where are we going for the first quarry?”

“We’ve got a runaway wife of some rich wannabe crime lord. Need to bring her back alive for the whole sum or dead for only twenty five percent. Last seen on Anaxes, guess she liked tinkering with the ships back home, probably hiding out as a mechanic or something there. I want the whole purse. I know you like bringing them back cold but I’m not settling for a fraction of the price.”

“Runaway wife should be easy,” he folded his arms as he studied the hologram the puck projected.

“Should be, I’m not worried about her. She’s young and pretty, I’d be shocked if she didn’t have at least a few guys keeping an eye on her; but them we can kill,” you pulled back a lever and the stars stretched around the Wolf throwing the two of you through hyperspace. You leaned back in the chair and kicked your feet up.

“Listen, I’m not one to beat around the bush. I picked her to grab first because I doubt we’re going to run into a situation with her where my life will depend on you not fucking me over,” you turned your head to meet his eyes that were already on you, “I know you’re a dark force wielder and I know you can feel that I am a force user too.”

Maul’s top lip pulled up in a snarl and his eyes narrowed, “are you a Jedi then? Have you orchestrated this to trap me?!” the hilt of his saber flew out of his pack and into his hand but he hesitated to ignite it when fear pheromones seeped out of you.

Your scent gave you away but your posture didn’t waver, “I used to be, years ago. I was kicked out of the order when my gene presented,” you chuckled, “my master found me naked and writhing on the floor of my room,” your chuckle had grown to full-fledged laughter, your shoulders shook at the memory all but forgetting the pissed off Alpha at your side.

“I- I still remember the look on his face. Fucking horrified when I had my first heat,” you took a breath and wiped a tear from your eye, “they told me I had to leave before I could even face the trials for my knighthood,” your expression turned slightly solemn, Maul had relaxed in the seat next to you. He didn’t think they would throw out one of their own simply because of a biological mutation.

“I’m not doing this to trap you or anything like that Maul,” you turned again to face him, “Bane helped me out after I lost everything I ever knew. I heard a rumor that you didn’t know you were an Alpha until recently either. I’m just trying to return a favor paid to me.”

Maul turned to watch the stars as they flashed by, dropping his saber back into his pack. He hated the Jedi, he had even hunted a few who had left the order or were kicked out after breaking their precious code; but you were different. Cast out because you didn’t fit into their mold, not unlike him.

“Don’t get me wrong,” you caught his attention again, “I don’t dislike all of them. It’s been years since I’ve seen any of them but I don’t plan on burning the temples to the ground. If you want help with a bounty or need some underworld information I’m your girl; if you wanna fuck with the Jedi you’re on your own. You and Cad are the only ones who know about that past and I plan on keeping it that way.”

“I understand.”

You stood and nodded to the door, “come on I’ll show you where to put your gear.”

He followed you out of the cockpit and into the common area where you pointed to an empty cabinet, “so, Sith are back huh?”

He went rigid as he put his pack with all its contents still inside on the shelf, “why do you assume I am Sith and not just someone who dabbles in the dark side of the force?”

You leaned against the wall and crossed your arms, “I lived my whole life at the temple. I never saw or heard of you or anyone who looked remotely like you there so I know you’re not a fallen Jedi. You have a light saber so you’re also not some self-taught back water force sensitive individual. That only leaves one option.”

“I’m not a Sith anymore, my master thinks I’m dead and much like your own desire to keep your past private; I’d like to keep it that way as well,” his eyes narrowed again. He was equally annoyed and impressed by your deductions and his hind brain spoke again.

Omega is smart.

He was already tired of this intrusive voice in his head. Perhaps it was a mistake to come with you after all. His scent had turned abrasive in your nose and his signature was wavering.

“Hey, calm down there, Alpha I’m not here to mess up what you’ve got going for yourself. I’m just trying to make sure you’re not going to slice my head off of my shoulders with that pretty red blade of yours.”

“No, I’m not going to kill you. I just want to make a life for myself.”

“Good,” you turned to another cabinet and pulled out a few extra blankets and a pillow and made up the sofa for him, “you can sleep here, it’s more comfortable than it looks, I promise,” with that you turned away from him and made you way to the cabin.

“Oh, ‘freshers the last door down this hall. Won’t be long until we arrive, rest up if you can,” with that the door hissed behind you and locked, leaving him standing alone in front of the sofa with much to ponder. Even out of your immediate presence, your scent permeated the air around him and wafted out of everything in the room. It was difficult to think, surly not all unmated Omegas were so intoxicating. He shook his head and softly walked down the hall and stepped into the fresher.

He almost smiled, almost. Why had he expected a standard washroom? Of course you had a full sized -sanistream shower and a deep tub instead of a sonic. Another plush carpet lay underfoot with soft towels hanging on a bar. Various perfumy bath oils and soaps sat on the counter top in a decorative array along with a few candles. He was starting to wonder if you really were the renowned bounty hunter, ‘Meg, he had heard about or an imposter living a lie. He would soon find out. He splashed some cold water on his face before wandering back to the sofa you had made up for him.

He removed his cloak and kicked off his boots, setting them both to the side before laying down and pulling the blanket over himself. It was soft and warm, more so than anything his master had provided for him. It smelled like you too, he tried not to think about the fact that it gave him incredible comfort and eased both his worry and his tensed muscles. Wrapped in your scent he fell asleep faster than he ever had before in his life.

You did not find sleep on the way to Anaxes. Despite sinking into your soft bed, despite surrounding yourself with all of your favorite pillows and blankets and even trying to meditate, you could not ease your thrumming heart. Why had this Alpha’s scent been so strong? It made your mouth water and your thighs clench. He had released a new wave of soothing pheromones when he fell asleep and yet they did nothing to calm you. You ached to crawl onto the sofa with him and wrap yourself in his arms, to burry your face into his scent gland and bare your throat for him to… Maker what the fuck? You were disgusted with yourself. An ex-Sith and an ex-Jedi? Gods the trouble that would cause, such wonderful, inebriating trouble.. no.

You wanted to comm someone to ask them about it. You couldn’t call Zeni or Coth, they had been trying to set you up with a mate for years, they would tell you to just get it over with. Couldn’t call Fett, it had been awkward to say the least since you gently turned down his offer for courtship. You looked over at the hat that you had just hung from your bed post. Maybe Bane could tell you what this was all about? He had had a mate before and wouldn’t give you the same answer as Zeni. You sighed heavily, missing Master Plo’s wise words and wished to hear his voice again. Would it be a terrible idea to make a stop on Coruscant and try to visit when you had fulfilled your current obligation?

Probably. Maybe not? You huffed frustratedly and buried your face into one of the pillows for the tenth time. Bane, you’d comm Bane when you had a chance after picking up your privately commissioned bounty. Just as you attempted to close your eyes again a quiet beeping rang out from the vambrace you had discarded on your side table. You groaned unabashedly and smacked the button to turn it off. You still had some time and your stomach was grumbling so you didn’t bother to change out of the long shirt and baggy pants you wore. Pride be damned.

Still, you tried to be quiet when you left your room to put the caf on. Your eyes immediately fell on him. Chest rising and falling steadily, wrapped up in the blanket you had given it, he was clutching it to his nose. The crease in his brow and frown on his lips gone; lost in his slumber. He was handsome when he wasn’t irritated, hell he was handsome when he was too. You watched him for a moment a voice in the back of your mind whispering.

Alpha looks warm

Alpha looks safe

Oh fuck no. You grimaced at your Omega brain that rarely reared her head. You turned and started rummaging around the pantry, working by the light that poured out of the door to your room so you wouldn’t wake him.

When Maul did wake, it was to the smell of hot caf and cooking meat. He sat up slowly and looked around before he saw you leaning forward over the counter, face lit by a data-pad, sipping out of a steaming mug. Your eyes flashed up and met his, “Caf?” you offered.

He grunted and nodded his response before standing and making his way behind you, looking through cabinets. You smirked down at your data-pad and without turning to him, held out an empty mug you had gotten for him. He took it with a quiet thank you and filled it. His smokey spice filling your nose in this proximity and without your knowledge, your sweet earthy smell filling his.

He peered over your shoulder at the data-pad you were reading from. With a sigh you pressed a button to it projected the hologram, desperate for a little space you sidestepped slightly. It showed the blue prints for the assembly yard you suspected she had run off to hide in.

“It’s going to be highly populated,” he stated simply.

“We’re not grabbing her from the assembly line. She may have a price on her head but I’m not keen on the idea of explaining that to everyone and their supervisor.”

“Follow her home after her shift then?” he took a long drink of the caf and plated the both of you some of the meat before sitting at the table. At least he has manners.

“Precisely. Boss said she took a bunch of cash with her so I’m guessing she’s got an apartment outside the complex instead of sleeping in the employee housing. I got an idea where she might be working within the facility…”

For the next hour the two of you ate as you pointed out where they worked on the simpler components. Based off of her limited knowledge she was most likely working with less complicated, smaller parts of the ships. You had pointed out the where those were and when he asked how you learned this you showed him how to find and read the blue prints and get the shift change schedules. All tools of the trade so to speak.

You had taken a shower and after landing outside the city, started to gear up in the cargo bay. He watched with a confused look in his eye as you strapped dual blasters into your shoulder holsters and a large knife onto your hip. Pulling on your mid-thigh length coat, you filled one of the pockets on your utility belt with a few darts of different colors and a blow gun on the opposite side.

“Why not just bring your saber?” you must have looked at him like that was the dumbest question he could’ve asked, and it was.

“You’re kidding, right? You are not bringing yours,” you held up your hand and started counting each finger as you spoke, “for one, it’s a highly populated area and we are both in hiding. Two, we’re bringing her in alive and as unharmed as possible. Three, even if we were bringing her in dead, in a low pop area there’s always the chance someone could see and word travels fast. If you’re going to thrive in this line of work, you’re going to have to branch out,” you rummaged through the large locking cabinet before handing him a mid-sized blaster. “It’s set to stun for now,” you pointed to show him how he can set it to kill and got him a knife.

He took them with a growl, “I am quite familiar with other forms of weaponry thank you very much.” You just raised your palms up in mock defeat with a scoff.

Two days. It took you two days of staking out the assembly facility before you found her. Two days of distracting heavy breathes. Laying so close to him, peering through scopes at entrances during shift changes from rocky terrain had you irritable to say the least. At least he was quiet, kept that damn sultry voice to himself. If he was as affected as you, he had the common sense not to let it show. Little did you know; he was. He kept the sights glued to his face so you couldn’t see how blown his pupils were. You let out and audible sigh of relief when you finally did spot the pretty blonde woman. Her hair tied back and a much too large jumpsuit billowing off of her form. You watched as she mounted a speeder bike and took off away from the complex. You had rented one in town when you first arrived claiming to be in the market for a ship.

You turned to Maul already at the controls, he simply nodded his head for you to climb on behind him. He didn’t miss how you jumped at the silent command, despite trying to touch him as little as possible. You kept your eyes on her through the electrobinoculars while he navigated from a safe distance behind her. Your free hand was grasping the loose fabric of his tunic at his lower back. Your touch felt electric to him.

You watched her dismount and silently followed her through the apartment complex, it was run down and had a rusty smell that wafted off the walls. Just before the door could hiss closed behind her your boot caught it, the fail-safe caused it to whoosh open again. As you rushed into the home with Maul on your heels you withdrew your knife and before she could even blink her shock you had spun her around with the blade pressed to her throat.

“Well, you are a pretty little thing, aren’t you? Now why would a woman such as yourself be running from your doting husband?” you taunted her. You weren’t usually so hostile to unaggressive quarries but you were still bristling at the effect that Maul had on you. Some should-be-dead instinct telling you to show him you were strong. She whimpered as Maul smirked and handed you his set of binders before doing a perimeter scan of the apartment.

“P-please don’t take me back to him. I can’t go back. You must understand. I… I know you do!” Your brow creased at her statement before it hit you. Maul was in the back room so his scent wasn’t fogging your mind and with your nose so close to her scent gland there was no mistake. You bound her hands behind her back and pressed your leg to the back of her knees; forcing her down into a kneeling position on the floor.

“Shit,” Maul reentered the room in a hurry at your curse, eyes searching for some kind of trouble. You watched it hit him as hard as it you. Your eyes locked on him as he sniffed the air and pull his top lip back in a snarl. She was another Omega but, she hadn’t been marked. No Alpha’s scent had mixed with her own and you looked at her as confused as Maul did before she turned her attention to him.

“P-please Alpha. Help me, don’t send me back to that- that monster. Please Alpha…” she was trying to shuffle over to where he stood on her knees. Maul had expected her scent to be as strong as yours was to him. Before this woman, you had been the only unmated Omega he had met but she was nowhere near as intoxicating as you had been, as you are. She was annoying, a nuisance, weak. Nothing worth protecting. You reached down and dragged her by her bound hands back to where you had put her and kneeled in front of her.

“What the fuck are you doing married to a beta?” your finger jabbing her sternum in an accusatory manner.

“I’m not his wife! Fucker bought me!” you cringed at the term. Bane had warned you about Omegas being bought and sold but you had yet to run into any of them.

Maul wanted nothing to do with the woman before him, he saw her as a feeble and overly fragile but a fleeting thought of you being taken by slavers and sold to someone else fluttered through his mind.

No one takes Omega

He growled his disgust at the idea. You thought for a moment, weighing your options.

“Where were you taken, before you were sold?” your eyes held her gaze unblinkingly in the dimmed room, Maul had moved to stand closely behind you.

“Trandoshans, they came and took me from a cantina on Tatooine.”

You rolled your eyes at her so hard you risked giving yourself a headache.

“What in the absolute fuck were you doing on Tatooine without an Alpha to protect you?” you stood and paced around the room, “Fucking stupid ‘mega,” you cursed under your breath but loud enough that she could hear you. “You don’t have to be a hunter to know the whole planet is a slaving capital!”

“I know… I know!” she had dissolved to tears and sobbed her lamentations, “please, please don’t take me back to him!”

“Oh shut up!” you returned and slammed your balled fist into her chin, knocking her unconscious. Maul watched with a pleased grin gracing his face, you pointed your finger in his direction still fuming, “don’t you start with me too. Take her on your bike back to the ship. I’ll take her bike. I have to think about this.”

He growled but kept the smirk while he hoisted her up onto his shoulder. He paused just before passing you utterly amused and whispered, “Ah yes, let the anger fuel you,” before he left. You shook your head and pinched the bridge of your nose.

You didn’t want to admit it but he was right. These years of faring on your own had been on one hand, great, incredibly fun even. Living outside the code was unrestricting but, on the other hand, you had wondered if your soul had darkened along with everything else. Times were not always good. You honestly wished you cared. You wanted to care so badly but, in all honesty, you didn’t. At this point in your life the force power you carried was just another blaster in your arsenal. Another set of binoculars in your pack. You didn’t, couldn’t let it guide you like it once had.

To your relief, he had followed your instructions; he had left with her. You took her bike and made your way, a little slowly. Enjoying the fact that you could barely smell him from your current position. You had hoped that you would get used to it but you still hadn’t. ‘The Bitch’ you like to refer to your Omega brain as, her voice just continued to pop up with intrusive thoughts. More so than after being around any other Alpha. You wondered if the woman he carried at the moment had a similar experience.

The hull was open and Maul had loaded the woman and the bike into the cargo bay. She was starting to stir as you brought the bike up next to his. The fear in her eyes returned as her consciousness did and she started to shriek causing both you and Maul to wince. You grabbed a rag and shoved it into her mouth to stifle her sobs. Once again you knelt down next to her, “Maul, tell her to be quiet so that I can explain something to her.”

“Why would she listen to me?” you rolled your eyes.

“Because you’re an Alpha, a particularly… pungent one as well, I’m assuming she lies on the more subservient spectrum as far as Omegas go, she will obey,” you turned your attention back to the woman, tears streaming down her face. As you had guessed she immediately silenced at his command.

“Now then, listen closely. Nod if you understand me,” the woman nodded still wide eyed at you, “good. I have to take you back. If I don’t the bounty will remain open and someone else will come to collect. You can’t just run off again either. Well, you could, but odds are your ‘husband’ would just rehire me to come pick you up and he pays well so I would take it. You have two options. One, return and play the good wife and deal with whatever comes with it. Two,” you reached into your pack and took out two differently colored capped darts, “I slip these into your bra, you let me freeze you like a good little girl and return you home to collect my pay. After he unfreezes you, you stab him with the green one to knock him out; anywhere in his body. Then inject the black one into his neck to kill him. Once he’s dead you can escape and no one will bother to come looking for you because there will be no one to put a bounty on you.”

She weighed your words heavily and you practiced your patience, truly sympathetic to the woman. You were an exception, Omegas were strong yes but, most were incredibly subservient; even without an Alpha. She mumbled something behind the gag and you scoffed before removing the rag and she gasped.

“I want the darts,” her conviction was steadfast and you breathed a sigh of relief, “put me in the freezer with them and I’ll take care of the rest.”

You reached your hand into her shirt with a slightly apologetic look while you nestled each dart under an individual breast, she nodded her thanks after you reminded her which was which and helped her to her feet. You gave her one last look before taking the binders off. Maul watched you hesitantly as you guided her into the freezing chamber. She gave you a sad yet thankful smile, it was slight but as you pressed the buttons and activated the gasses it froze on her face. Soon, she’d be free. You guided the block into the freezer storage and locked the door behind her before allowing yourself to ungraciously slide down the wall until your rump hit the floor with a soft thud.

Almost forgetting you weren’t alone you tossed your hat to the side somewhere and ran your fingers through your hair and rubbed one of your eyes, exhausted from her emotional affliction.

Maul could smell your distress, his instincts told him to comfort you, to hold you and tell you that everything would be alright. That he’d protect you, that he’d never let anyone lay a finger on you. That your fate would never become hers. Instead, he settled for sitting beside you with his legs crossed, without looking at you he spoke, staring down at his feet, “you gave her a way to take her own freedom.”

You hummed, just acknowledging that you heard him and sat next to him in silence for a few minutes. His pheromones were comforting, his presence was soothing and for the first time you didn’t fight the effect they had on you.

Alpha will protect me.

Once again you shook ‘the bitch’ away and made your way to the cockpit. You flew closer to the shop you rented the bike from and opted to keep the other Omega’s for yourself. While Maul was returning the bike, you pressed a few buttons on your vambrace, calling Bane. Within a few moments the side of his face appeared in the hologram. Blaster fire whizzing by his head.

“You alright ‘Meg?” that raspy voice you loved sounded frustrated with whatever mess he was currently in.

“Yeah I’m fine, listen I got a question for you when you’re not busy.” He took a second to face you head on with a smirk, “What makes you think I’m busy?” as if on que a bolt took the hat right off his head and he cursed. You laughed and shook your head.

“Just contact me soon, don’t die out there old man.” He grunted in response and the hologram dissipated right as Maul was sitting down in the copilot’s chair.

“One down, where to next?” he eyed the comm that Bane had appeared from warily.

“Smuggler fucked over Jabba, a Talz. Last seen heading towards Hoth; no doubt to escape the heat literally and figuratively and hide amongst the Wampa. Can you take us up? I’m starving.” He nodded and took your seat while you headed back to the common area. You doubled over and clutched your stomach, “shit,” the pain all too familiar but coming much too early.

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dinner-djarin · 4 years ago

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dar'manda (Mando x f!reader)

Chapter 1: The Only Way Out is Through

Summary: Things have been quiet since The Mandalorian's disappearing act on Nevarro. However, things change quickly at his sudden return, and the changes are sure to impact your own life. That is, if you don't screw it up for yourself.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, yearning/awkward flirting/reader doesn’t know how to act around Mando, Cara Dune lol (I feel like she needs a warning)

Word Count: 3.8k

Prologue - Next

In the weeks that the Mandalorian had been gone, things on Nevarro had taken a turn for the worse. Ever since making his grand escape, remaining Imperial officers seemed to get word of a Mandalorian bounty hunter gone rogue. He took some sort of “package” right out of their hands, and they really didn’t like that. So, they sent out every bounty hunter idiotic enough to go after a Mandalorian. And to double their efforts, they effectively made Nevarro their new base.

Well, that probably wasn’t exactly accurate, but either way it seemed like every stormtrooper left was sent to keep watch in case their prize ever returned.

You could not imagine that anyone would be stupid enough to come back to the place where they so flagrantly disregarded every rule of the Guild, and yet – there he was. Walking into town at the side of his...former boss. As he approached however, you noticed he probably wasn't there by choice. His hands were bound in front of him, and a muscley looking woman, with a very large gun, was not too far behind them. Well then, you think to yourself, I guess no one crosses the Guild, not even Mando.

Just as they enter town you being to consider the precarity of your own situation. With the town being occupied by stormtroopers, times are tough. Curfews have been put in place and wandering through town is highly discouraged. The marketplace has turned into a ghost town as people have become less and less inclined to spend time outside of their homes. They might come by for the basics, but business is definitely not what it used to be. So, you often find yourself with “free time” – moments you should realistically be working – where you instead spy on the invaders who have ruined your already unpleasant life. Basically, the exact thing you were doing in that very moment.

It's a matter of fate that he showed up just as you made your way to the town entrance. Even more so when you overhear a conversation between the Guild leader and the Mandalorians captor.

“Things got really heated once Mando crashed the safehouse” you hear the Guild leader say.

“Slip him his blaster” whispers the woman. These words bring you utter confusion. Did she mean slip Mando his blaster?

“Not yet,” he says under his breath.

And suddenly you are more confused than before. Why would she say something like that? How did any of this make sense? You’re thankful you were not seen as they pass by you, but you think you perceive a subtle change in the reflection from the shiny metal helmet that your eyes have been locked on to. His gaze fell to the metal orb that was trailing the trio through the city centre. When he looked back up however, he did not return his gaze to the direction he had been looking previously. Now you think, and you know it’s completely self-centred of you to do so, but you feel like he is staring straight at you. You don't think he would be able to see into the shadows that were providing your cover, but something about the angle of his visor as he walks by sends a shiver down your spine.

The three of them and the metal orb enter the cantina and you adjust your position in attempt for a better view. Only a few minutes later does a blaster shot eviscerate the long transparisteel window on the front wall of the building, allowing you a glimpse of the chaos inside. A plethora of various blaster bolts ricochet through the building, evidence that the situation was drastically more complicated than you initially observed. However, the next events prove that things could still get worse for the group inside.

From the safety of your hiding spot, you see the scene unfold. The entire courtyard of the village is filled with stormtroopers in seconds, and then you hear it. The unmistakable screech that has haunted you since you were young. A sound that would forever be branded into your head, as it signaled the end of your childhood. The last time you heard that sound was the last time you saw your father and brother.

The Tie Fighter lands right in front of the cantina, completely blocking your view of any further events. You take that as your sign to get the hell out of there, knowing the level of destruction that is sure to follow. Even with the high amount of adrenaline pumping through your veins, you manage to keep a level head and find your way back to the marketplace, where most other citizens are gathered.

You quickly alert everyone to the impending danger nearby, and although some are slow to react, they begin to gather their belongings and search for safety.

Luckily, you recall a nearby alley that would lead to the part of town furthest away from the calamity, and you tell them all to make their way there immediately. Once you were sure that no one was left behind you head towards the alley only for an explosion to go off somewhere near the cantina. And although the source of the blast is far enough away not to injure you, the shockwave ripples through a one of the buildings, whose integrity was already questionable, causing it to crumble and block your previously secure exit route. With your mind in panic mode, you glance over to a spot which had caught your eye a hundred times before, a spot you kept noticing the Mandalorian disappear to.

You quickly run for cover hoping no other buildings decide to fall apart in the meantime, and you find the passageway was actually concealing a staircase which led to the sewers. Unsure of where to go next, your adrenaline high mind keeps you moving fast, taking random turns, having no understanding of where the tunnels lead to and where the safest exit may be. It wasn't until you rapidly took a corner and ran straight into an armoured chest plate that your mind stopped running wild.

A few second too late you realize it wasn’t the armour you would have hoped to see. The Mandalorians captor stands in front of you, with a package wrapped in her arms. Beside her is the Guild leader. You stand there dumbstruck and panting, unsure of what move to make.

The Guild leader approaches you, but you recoil, stepping back.

“What did you do to him?” is all you can think to growl at them.

“He’s just sleeping.” She attempts to assure you, “Wait how do you know the kid?” the woman asks, evidently confused by your accusation.

“What kid? No, the Mandalorian. You captured him. I saw you two walk in to town with him handcuffed”

“Young lady, I think you are confused. Please allow me to explain our situation.” the leader states, taking another step closer to you. This time you stand your ground, making clear you want answers.

He explains his name is Greef Karga, and the woman is Cara Dune, an ex-rebel shock trooper. And despite walking into town with Mando handcuffed by their sides, they were actually all in on the plan together. However, it seems that once they got inside things went south, a habit Mando seemed to be making for himself. It turns out that this elaborate scheme was set in place in an attempt to save a tiny green baby from the Empire, which now rests in the woman’s – Cara’s – arms.

You have no idea what to think. There's no way any of this can be true. Although, you then recall the conversation you overheard as they entered the town, and everything else seems to line up with your own experiences of the past hour.

You also realize that the Child must be the reason Mando went rogue in the first place. And after sneaking a peak at his resting wrinkly face, you completely understand why. After only one look, you’d probably jump in front of speeder for that little guy.

But before you can make up your mind on whether to believe Karga or not, Mando rounds the corner being supported by a very tall, very thin droid that you recognize to be an IG unit. As they approach, Cara hands off the baby to the droid and attempts to support Mando, and for some maker-forsaken reason you decide to help too. As you slide your arm under Mando’s shoulder and rest your hand on his back you feel him tense – you know you’ve made a mistake. But it’s too late to turn back now, so you carry some of his weight and continue on down the ominous path. The only way out, is through.

Your mind is running at 100 parsecs per hour. This is the closest, physically, you’ve been to anyone in years, and if that weren't enough you seem to be in the middle of both your wildest dream and worst nightmare. You can’t remember the last time you were tucked under someone's arm, and pressed up against them so tightly, if you ever were. And in your panicked state you start to realize you’ve basically been holding your breath this whole time, making your heart beat erratically and your head throb. But just as you think you might pass out from your stupidity, the Mandalorians voice shakes you back to reality.

“Stop.” His word sends you into a new panic. Were you thinking out loud? Could he read your heartbeat through his helmet? Did he know what a complete mess you were at his touch? “I can stand,” he says, finishing his thought.

Oh thank the gods.

He lets go of you and switches something in his helmet to look for tracks, and you allow yourself to finally take a deep breath.

“We’re close,” he states. After a moment of stabilizing your heartbeat and focussing on your breath900, you quicken your pace, subtly placing yourself just behind Mando’s left shoulder as he leads the group through the tunnel. You’re close enough to catch when he mumbles, “I know you.”

“And I know you,” you respond playfully, disregarding the severity of the situation you’ve found yourself in. You’re not quite sure how Mando’s mere presence can affect you so brutally, to the point of forgetting how to act like a normal human being.

“From the market.” He doesn’t ask.

“That’s me, good to see you in one piece. I was worried when I heard about the stunt you pulled. Crossing the guild...not sure I've ever heard of anyone getting away with that.” Oh man why are you talking so much. You just need to shut up now. Literally no one wants to hear-

“Worried?” a hint of genuine curiosity hidden in his question. Well of course he found the one word in your entire sentence that incriminates you. There’s no way he doesn’t know about your crush now.

“Umm well of course, I think everyone was. It’s all anyone could talk about for weeks. Nothing that exciting has happened around here in a while,” you quickly blurt out. He turns his head for a moment and examines you.

He is silent, evidently noticing the way you awkwardly avoided his question. You stare at him trying with every muscle in your face to remain composed. You know he sees right through you – must be that bullshit reader – but you think if you maintain eye contact long enough, he’ll just move on from your stupidity. And he does.

“How did you get here?” He returns to his task of following footprints. The question and abrupt change in topic jars you, although if you had to guess, you think he must have picked up on your complete awkwardness, possibly confusing it for suspicious behaviour. You hope he doesn’t think you untrustworthy because if it.

“There were explosions, and I tried to help everyone out, but the path became blocked and the only way out was some curtain hiding a staircase.” Your explanation, you realize, now sounds completely ridiculous, especially in the flustered manner you are depicting it in. Even so, you continue, “I went to hide but it turns out it led straight down here. So, I tried to find an exit, but I bumped into them instead,” you finish, glancing behind you towards Cara and Karga.

“If you came in from the market you should have passed the covert,” Mando stated almost accusingly, increasing your worry over whether he thought trusted your story.

“I’m not sure I didn’t really see any-” but his question is immediately answered by the pile of discarded Mandalorian armour in front of you.

The Mandalorian stops, and you can see just how suddenly his body language changed. Even injured, he looked deadly as he led you through the tunnels, but at the sight of the remnants of his clan, he is weak. You can feel the sadness, remorse, and pain emanating from him all at once. And as you stand beside him you barely realize you’ve gently reached for his hand, gripping it tight and squeezing it to convey your condolence for his immense loss.

But after a moment, he moved forward and away from your grasp to kneel at the sight of his fallen brethren. Cara suggests the group leave, but he won’t. He will not leave the armour in its discarded state.

Suddenly, the mood shifts, and you see the Mandalorian transform before your eyes. He storms towards Karga, accusing that he and the Guild members must be responsible. Karga denies, but you think Mando might be on the verge of strangling him when suddenly another modulated voice fills the tunnel.

A golden warrior stands before you. Her presence shocks you. It reveals some element rooted deep, a feeling you can only describe as warm… or familiar? She explains, as she gathers the scattered armour, how revealing the covert brought the presence of Imperials. When Mando offers her to join him, she rejects, maintaining that her place is to gather the remains of her people.

You all follow her into a small room with a forge in the centre of it. “Show me the one who’s safety deemed such destruction,” she demands.

“This is the one,” Mando responds. Gesturing to the baby that was wrapped tight to the IG unit’s chest.

“This is the one that you hunted, then saved?” she asks.

“Yes. The one that saved me as well.” And with that statement you find both an answer, and more questions. That baby saved him? How the-

“From the mudhorn?” she asks.

“Yes.” he responds, making you even more confused than ever. The baby saved him from a mudhorn?

“It looks helpless” she states.

“It’s injured, but it is not helpless. Its species can move objects with its mind.” As if this conversation could get any weirder. Move objects...with its MIND.

The Armourer begins to detail battles between Mandalore the Great and some species of wizards; the species this child belongs to. She also tells Mando that he is now responsible for the baby – his foundling. And finally, she tasks him with finding these sorcerers and returning the baby to them. When Mando questions the outrageous turn of events the woman has only four words in response:

“This is the Way.” Suddenly that warm comfort you felt before resurges, but only for a moment, as Cara reminds the group of the urgency of their situation. You need to find a way out before Imperials catch your tracks. The Armourer then suggests the group find a river of lava that will lead all of you out of the tunnels. Right…

River of lava, or Imperial Troopers. What the heck did you get yourself into? Either way it seems you don’t have much of a choice. After receiving a mudhorn signet on his pauldron, the Armourer pronounces that he and the child are bound as father and son; a clan of two. Cute little family they’ll make. When the droid gets ready to defend the group from incoming Imps, it hands Cara the child who looks very uncomfortable with it, so she passes him to you.

Stunned and confused you look to the Mandalorian who shows no sign of discomfort with you holding his now adopted son, not that you’d probably be able to tell. Either way, it seems you’ve acquired a new responsibility.

Blaster fire rings just outside the room as the woman hands Mando some flying contraption, and your group decides you might need to get a move on.

You approach the lava river, only to notice the boat has melted to the docking point. Karga and Mando struggle to free it, but Cara just gives you a smug look. “You boys mind getting out of the way?” she warns only to blast the points where the boat was attached, successfully freeing it from its molten chains.

The boat quickly begins to drift from the dock, but just as you start to lift your foot over the edge to make your way inside, you feel a strong hand against your lower back, guiding you the rest of the way. Once you steady yourself on the boat you glance up at the visor which is pinned straight ahead, unwavering and unwilling to meet your gaze. His seemingly disinterested reaction makes you anxious to know the true intention of his touch. He must just realize your safety is attached to the bundle you are currently cradling against your chest. Obviously, he is only looking out for the child, you just happen to be the person responsible for his transportation. If Cara were the one holding his son, he’d probably be helping her instead. Right? Simple as that.

Even so, you can't help but notice the way his hand flexes after it returns to his side.

For just a moment your mind slips, and you let yourself think that there might be something there. That the short conversations and fleeting looks shared all those weeks ago might have held more weight than you believed. That when you were admiring his head-to-toe armor upgrade, he may have been examining you back. That he might have actually liked the fact that you worried about him in his absence. You allow yourself to think that underneath that metal, stands a man who might be gentle, and kind. A man who helps you into a boat when he himself is injured. One who is willing to leave behind everything he knows in order to ensure the security of a child.

You snap back to reality, however, when Karga notices the light at the end of the tunnel. But just when you think that your journey is almost over, Mando informs you otherwise. A battalion of stormtroopers line the edges of your only exit route. No one in your group can come up with any satisfactory solution, until the IG unit comes forward.

“They will not be satisfied with anything less than the child. This is unacceptable. I will eliminate them, and you will escape.”

Mando is quick to point out that the droid would never make it past the troopers, but the droid insists. Apparently, his manufacturer's protocol dictates that he cannot be captured and must self-destruct. He asks that Mando look over the Child once he is gone, and you swear you can hear a hint of sadness through his filtered voice. Your hypothesis is confirmed by the IG unit, and your heart warms slightly for the metal man. The droid reaches over to say goodbye to the child for the last time, patting him gently on the head, then steps into the lava river and heads down towards the mouth of the cave. You all stare silently as you watch him approach the troopers when suddenly-

Fire consumes your vision, and it overwhelms your senses. Not having actually seen an explosion in your life you seem to be the only one on the boat who is at all fazed by the sudden wall of heat and deafening boom created by IG-11’s sacrifice. In the process you cover the child with your body and wince back into the hard wall behind you. Cradling the child and shielding yourself, you almost don’t notice when the wall grabs your hip and steadies you in front of it.

Suddenly, you’re flushed with embarrassment, realizing all at once the wall was the Mandalorian and both of his hands were still gripped onto you, holding you tight against his chest plate.

But your shock only lasts a moment before the unsettling screech of a Tie Fighter pierced your ears for the second time that day. And before you could process, the Mandalorian was using his body as a shield, protecting you and the child from the blasts, and simultaneously shooting at the new threat barreling towards your group.

Will this day ever end, is the only thought in your head before Mando is flying through the air using the jetpack given to him by the Armourer only minutes ago. However, you distinctly remember her saying he would need time to get used to it before it would ‘listen to his commands’. Nevertheless, he jerks through the sky in a desperate attempt to bring the Tie down.

You watch as one of the wings are ripped off by an explosion and the tie crashes to the ground. The Mandalorian lets go just in time and falls quickly towards the ground, igniting his jetpack at the last second to make a rough landing right in front of you.

The child squirms in your arms at the first sign of peace so you set him down gently. He awkwardly runs over to Mando and hugs his leg, creating possibly the cutest sight you had ever seen. Again, your heart can’t help but melt for the new little family, and you wonder how these two are going to get by. A child with magical powers, and a father who’s built to kill. Not a pairing you would bet on.

Cara and Karga then try to convince Mando to stay on Nevarro and help the both of them sort out the aftermath of today's events. But the Mandalorian insists on sticking to his mission. The child is now his first priority and finding a group of near-extinct ancient sorcerers does not sound like easy work.

“We have a long road ahead of us, but the journey is necessary. I must return him to his kind, no matter how long it takes.” You hear him reason with the pair, refusing their kind offers to remain on the planet with them.

If you know one thing about the Mandalorian it's that everything he does is completely intentional. No one could force Mando into something he doesn’t want to do. If he is sure of this path, he will follow it through till the end.

And from your short interactions, you know he spends time forming his thoughts in order to get his point across. Each sentence is carefully crafted so that they are clear and concise. You know he means every word.

Maybe that's why the next words out of his mouth come as a complete shock to you.

“Would you like to join us?” he asks directly to you.

What the kriffing heck did he just say? You're so taken aback that you embarrassingly bark out your response, your brain evidently getting no time to process the question, so instead if vomits out the first word it can think of: “No”.

You follow it with polite ‘thank you’s’, hoping to erase the awkward tension in the air, and the Mandalorian jetpacks off with the child leaving you to dwell on your utter stupidity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 2

Notes: Honestly, I hate this chapter too wow. I really spent so long trying to edit this into something I could bare to publish, but I still really hate it. I did not want to write a chapter like this, but I also needed a way to put the reader into the story and the only way I could think to do that was by using an existing episode. So here we are. But I SWEAR, after this it gets good. Like not only does the story get good, but so does my own writing (relatively) so if you just bare through this, I think you’ll enjoy the rest.

Taglist: @peppywitch @tobealostwanderer @thecraftyartist

If you wanna be included in the tag list let me know! The next parts are gonna get great. I hope

#mando x reader #mando x you #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x reader #mandalorian fanfic #mando fanfiction #pedro pascal #mando #din #the mandalorian season 1 #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x you #din djarin x you

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eyebeastposts · 3 years ago

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Patreon Prompt 179

Weekly Prompts Available for $5 and up Patrons

Prompt: An apprentice mage accidentally changes his barbarian boyfriend's past when messing with time, and ends up with a very fatty, very loving twink to dote on.

With a burning need to show the other mages at his college that he was more than capable of high level magic, Harold had asked his boyfriend, Rothar to act as his assistant. While the muscle-bound man covered in a variety of furred leather was skeptical, Harold assured him everything would be fine. Leaving the barbarian to sit in the corner to shine his axe, Harold began his incantation.

As the chant left his lips, Harold was pleased to see a portal open up before him that showed him various points in Rothar’s life. Waving his hands around, he began to alter key events in the furious fighter’s timeline. Rather than hunting, Harold had Rothar wasting the day away reading trashy romance novels. He increased the portion sizes of each of the barbarian’s meals, easily doubling the amount of food of any of the other warriors in his tribe. As a finishing touch, he gave his boyfriend some doting parents rather than the rough general that had trained him. Leaning back in his chair, Harold couldn’t help letting out a laugh looking over what his meddling had done to the muscle bound warrior.

While Rothar still wore his furred armor, it was pushed to its limits to contain the bountiful blubber handing off of his body. His once chiseled pecs had been reduced to a pair of sagging man boobs that were larger than Harold’s head. A pair of stools took on the titanic task of holding up the barbarian’s gigantic butt cheeks, serving as a perfect perch as Rothar twirled his sausage-like fingers through his hair as he shoved pastries past his pudgy lips. Watching the former warrior heave himself up to waddle across the room, Harold was content that his little illusion would be more than enough to impress the other students.

“Heeeeeyyyyy cutie,” said a husky voice.

Feeling a pudgy hand on his shoulder, Harold turned around to see a very large and very loving Rothar looming over him. “Wait, this isn’t right,” Harold said, unable to look away from his boyfriend’s plush cheeks. “I didn’t mean to really alter your past. It was just supposed to be-“

Harold was silenced as Rothar leaned in for a passionate kiss.

“I think you’re done with all that silly studying today,” Rothar said, sliding a hand against Harold’s cheek as he walked away. “I’m going to retire to your room with a box of cupcakes. What we do in there tonight…well, I’ll leave that up to you,” he added, shooting Harold a wink before taking his leave.

Rather than question the morality of his actions, Harold quickly picked up his belongings and ran towards a one of a kind evening of feeding and frolicking with his fatty boyfriend.

#eyebeast #patreon #writing prompt #request #exercise #male #wg #weight gain #fat #bhm

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mandalorewhore · 4 years ago

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Choices We Make

gif by @darksber

PART 3 OF MOMENTS IN-BETWEEN

Rating: PG

Word Count: 1.6 AO3 link

Content: actual angst, fluff, bonding, found family, kid things, developing feelings for grogu, din is WORRIED

Summary: Soft moments between Din and Grogu that the audience does not get to see In-between episodes, scenes, and seasons.

A/N: ive never made myself cry from writing before now, also childcare experience come thru

***

Its small body drawing in on itself. The deep frown that marred its face. The trembles that wracked its body when it laid its eyes on the Stormtroopers. The cry of dismay when the doctor led the child away.

This is what repeats in Din’s mind. For hours on end he is tormented by these images, a painful cacophony of regret that plays on loop in his mind with no respite, no room to think, to breathe. He wants to run, to get away from this place, the stage that houses his sin.

The further, the better.

Din knows how to move on. He knows how to bury his emotions and focus on the future, because he knows innately that one cannot change the past once the consequences of choice are set in motion. The Way says no take-backs so it’s time to move on. That is why he chose the nobleman's son; high-reward and a long search is just what he needs to keep his mind off the child. Din will take every distraction necessary to forget the child.

If only he weren’t reminded of it at every turn. He sees it in the small lizards that swarm the volcanic rocks, the glossy obsidian that nearly captures the tone of its eyes, the switches in the cockpit, the ball lever it desperately tried to play with. Din is teetering on the precipice of a decision, one with an option that becomes clearer to him at every passing second. He can’t leave the kid. He would never be able to move on, not this time.

As he slowly screws the ball back onto its lever he realizes that he never had a choice in the first place.

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

He found it. He has the baby. He has the baby with him and he can finally breathe.

It- No, he seems unharmed after the ordeal he went through. Playful even. The doctor claimed to have kept him alive through whatever tests they ran on the kid and it seems he has recovered swiftly. He sits in Dins lap, chewing on the metal ball and occasionally banging it on the edge of the Crests console, giggling at the ringing sound it makes. Din winces at a particularly loud bang the baby manages to produce, the sound resonating in his helmet painfully. His ears still ring from the battle on Nevarro.

For half a second Din considers deafening himself with his helmet settings but he swiftly buries the thought. He just rescued the kid, risked his life for him, and now he considers ignoring him? It isn’t right. He will just deal with the sound for now.

With the ship moving safely through hyperspace, Din allows himself to relax just slightly. Spinning the pilot seat to face the back of the cockpit, he stands with the child, the little green boy squeaking and laughing at the sudden movement. Din holds the child out in front of him, level with his helmet visor and just… looks at him. The kid is chewing on his metal ball gleefully, only letting it leave his mouth for a second to grin toothily at the Mandalorian. And although the ability to hide his emotions has always been highly valuable for the Mandalorian, this time around Din isn’t sure he’s glad that the helmet hides his smile.

Maybe the kid would benefit from staying around people who can show their expressions, to give out cues and micromovements for the baby to learn from. Is he denying the child a proper life just by way of his code? Din starts wracking his brain for ways to stimulate the child's senses, to provide the proper amount of diversity in his day to day life so he doesn’t end up underdeveloped. There isn’t much on the Crest currently. He could bring the kid down to the hull and explore his options.

Din recalls that, as a foundling, his people would expose him to different environments both in and out of armor so that he would know what to expect on his journey with the Creed. To see for himself just how well their armor can protect the warriors from merciless sandstorms on desert planets all the way to biting winds in frozen wastelands. It was also a way for the foundlings to say goodbye to these senses. To bid farewell to the normalcy that others take for granted. Din hasn’t felt the kiss of sunshine for decades.

Suddenly, an idea pops in his head.

“Hey... Hey, kid.” He clears his throat, voice cracking from disuse. He can’t recall the last time he actually spoke on his ship, except to tell off quarries. The foreign sound of conversation bounces off the metal walls with a dissonant echo, as if the Crest itself doesn’t know what to make of it. The baby coos and looks at him, openmouthed and curious. Din still doesn’t know if he can understand Basic, or any language for that matter, but he remembers learning that babies benefit from conversation even before they can speak.

Hearing is one of the few senses that Din has the privilege of experiencing. He won’t deny the child of it.

“I have an idea for you, kid. Hold on tight.” The Mandalorian makes his way to the cockpit ladder, cradling the kid under one elbow so that he doesn’t get jostled too much in the descent. The child lets out another giggle as Din slides down the ladder, the bounty hunter landing lightly on his feet with a huff. Din sets the baby gently on the floor before crossing the length of the hull to robotically dig around in his storage, tossing useless pieces behind him before he remembers the kid is there. Flinching in alarm at his mindless action, he turns and looks for the baby hoping that he didn’t accidentally hit him with anything. The kid is just sitting where he left him, drooling on his favorite ball.

Shaking off the uncharacteristic panic, Din turns and continues his search, quickly finding what he was looking for now that the rest of the junk is out of the way. He holds the bulky object gingerly in his arms, making his way over to the kid and placing it carefully on the ground in front of him.

It’s a lightbox of sorts. A square shape with several settings to control the heat output, brightness, and hue of light. Something that Din uses to warm his skin when free of armor, in order to soak in the necessary vitamins that he is unable to absorb naturally outside the ship. As of now, the kid is transfixed on the object but Din can tell the box wont hold his interest for long, not while he still has access to his ball. Reaching over quickly before he can get distracted, Din messes with a few settings on the box and turns it on. A soft, golden light fills the room and the sound of birdcalls flutter up from the object. Din has never used the sound settings before, finding them frivolous, but he switched it on for the first time so that the baby could hear.

“That's a Naboo sunset. I set it to a summer's evening.” He tells the kid softly.

The baby’s large eyes are focused on the light, looking down at himself to see the way it bounces on his green skin. His metal ball falls to the floor with a clang but the baby doesn’t even react, instead twirling his ears and cooing at the noises the box produces.

Din sits on the floor of his ship and watches the kid. He’s fascinated, trying to take in every detail of the moment, savoring in the way the artificial light reflects in the child's eyes, filling his pupils with a radiant glow. If Din focuses only on the baby he can imagine that there is actually a picturesque Naboo landscape behind him. The kid reacts with the level of enthusiasm he imagines it would show while visiting the actual planet. After a while the kid seems to grow more energetic, attempting to catch patches of artificial sunshine as they bounce around the hull. The little womp-rat even places his hands on the lightbox and starts to violently shake it back and forth like he's trying to break into the virtual world that the box is creating. The image is so ridiculous that Din actually laughs at this, a full, rich sound that bursts from his chest in an almost hysterical explosion of energy.

Even with all the fear Din holds, all the anxiety from being on the run, his loss of income, the loss of his tribe... Din feels that there is a place inside him that is mending. A hole he never knew existed has begun to stitch together within him, every giggle the child produces is another thread that sews the edges in place. Wherever he goes with this kid... he just hopes he can feel like this more often, no matter where they end up.

It’s fulfillment, he realizes, finally finding the word for this emotion, showing him happiness… It brings me fulfillment.

The pair sit on the floor for hours, switching through different settings to discover all they can in the limited time they have before they must run. If the choices Din made throughout his life have all built up to this moment, weaving this small picture of the hunter and child… Then Din wouldn’t change a single decision.

#the mandalorian #baby yoda #grogu #found family #fanfic #star wars fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfic #fluff fic #fluff #family fluff #din djarin #pedro pascal #bonding #star wars #mandalorian fanfic

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years ago

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Pretty Voice

Read on Ao3

Warnings: self-doubt, self-esteem issues, all canon-typical. these are just some angsty bois sometimes, huh. other than that, none. this thing’s pretty fluffy.

Pairings: Logince. Can be platonic or romantic you choose, I don’t know anymore.

Word Count: 6367

The Imagination has a theatre. Roman holds concerts regularly. The others are invited to perform but Roman is the star. Today, it’s just him and Logan. Logan’s never wanted to perform. He sits a few rows back from the stage so he can see better and so his eardrums don’t get blown out. Also so Roman can’t really see Logan.

In other words: this isn't the first time Logan's made himself hard to see. It isn't the first time he's struggled to be heard either. Maybe it's time Roman did something about that.

It’s been about half an hour. Logan’s been clapping after every song, offering honest feedback which just happens to be very complimentary. Roman adores his compliments, they’re so unique and genuine. Logan did confess a few songs ago that he is having trouble keeping up with how incredible the performances have been, always finding something new to compliment all the same. And yet when he finishes quite a spectacular rendition about ‘From Now On,’ Logan’s silent. No clapping either. In fairness, the end of the song does kind of fade out, so…but Roman thinks it’s something else.

“Well, if you didn’t like the song,” he huffs melodramatically, perching his hands on his hips, “you could’ve just said so.”

His joking demeanor fades when Logan startles terribly.

“Huh? Oh, oh, my apologies,” Logan stammers, “I just…I fear I lost focus. It was…an incredible rendition.”

Roman squints a little. It’s really…how has he not noticed that it’s pretty hard to see Logan? Has he really been so involved in the performance?

Well, he has to admit, it’s pretty intoxicating. Especially with the acoustics they’ve got in the theatre.

“…are you sure you don’t want to try,” he asks, gesturing to the stage, “just a little song? Just one?”

Logan shakes his head. “I’m perfectly alright.”

“One verse,” he bargains, “a chorus?”

“I couldn’t hope to follow you.”

“Well yes, I am magnificent, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be too.”

Logan smiles and shakes his head again. Roman frowns, coming right to the edge of the stage and crouching down so he’s closer to Logan’s eye-line.

“Are you alright?”

“Hmm? Yes, I am perfectly alright, thank you.”

“And here I thought Deceit was the living lie detector.”

Logan shifts. “Well, it follows that you would have some sense as well. You’re an actor, aren’t you?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“‘Focus on issues or focus on me,’ as I recall, is one of your favorite catchphrases.”

Yes, it is, but Roman would rather focus on the issues right now. “Come here.”

“What?”

He smiles, beckoning with a finger. “Come here.”

Logan does, standing up and walking down the aisle. Roman waits until he’s fairly close to stand up and jump down from the stage.

“And…up we go!”

Laughing as Logan squeaks in surprise, grabbing onto his shoulders, Roman picks him up and sets him on the stage. He rests his forearms on either side of Logan’s thighs, keeping a light grip on his hips. Even with the height of the stage and the slight downhill slope of the aisle, Roman’s still a little bit taller than Logan, so he takes a step back until they’re eye level.

“And…perfect,” he says, and leans forward until they’re almost nose to nose, grinning like the cat that got the cream. “Hello.”

“…um, hello.” Logan glances around, still trying to work out why he’s no longer on the floor. “Why am I up here?”

So I can cuddle you while I ask you what’s wrong, of course. “Well, I figured shouting across the theatre perhaps wasn’t the best idea.”

Logan raises an eyebrow. “I believe ‘projecting’ is the correct term.”

“So you have been paying attention.”

“I do have some theatre experience. I am a part of Thomas, after all.”

Roman gasps, mock-offended. “And yet you still won’t sing for me?”

“Believe it or not, my prince, I have no desire to humiliate myself like that.”

Oh, we’re using pet-names, now, are we? Well, lucky for Logan, Roman’s an expert.

“Dearest,” he coos, “you really shouldn’t sell yourself short like that. After all—“ he runs a thumb over Logan’s pink cheek, smiling— “sweetheart, you’re lovely.”

Logan shuts their eyes, making Roman chuckle as they bury their face in their hands. “Did you have to do that?”

“Do what, my sweet?”

“You,” Logan says weakly, and oh, he must be flustered if he’s so far gone from his typical articulation, “with the pet-names.”

“Well, darling, you did start it.” Logan shakes his head, only to blush brighter when Roman winks at him. “And what kind of prince would I be if I didn’t flirt with every dashing fellow I came across?”

“You’d be you,” Logan says, “isn’t that enough?”

Roman’s smile falters and before he can stop himself it slips out.

“…is it?”

Logan frowns, blush receding as he tilts his head. “Of course it is, Roman. You…you are an incredible force. Your work ethic rivals that of anyone else, including my own. Your resilience is something to be admired as well, not to mention how hard you work to keep Thomas as the center of your efforts. And you…your abilities…and how selflessly you share them with us…”

Logan takes a deep breath and smiles. “Of course it’s enough, Roman, you’re enough.”

Roman may have the high ground when it comes to flirting, but he has nothing on Logan’s sincere eloquence. All he can do is bathe in the words, try and soak up every single bit of it Logan gives him.

“…you believe me,” Logan murmurs, “right?”

“You really are too sweet to me,” Roman says finally, “aren’t you, little bear?”

He’s rewarded with an adorably confused head tilt. “‘Little bear?’”

“I like to think of you like a little bear,” Roman says, regaining some of his confidence as Logan starts to blush again. “Because you’re an excellent cuddler, just like a teddy bear. You are unmatched in your ability to comfort the rest of us—though don’t tell Patton I said that—and you are fiercely protective of your cubs.”

“And with this jacket—“ Roman pats the thick, fluffy, light brown jacket just about swallowing Logan’s form he’d been given when Roman noticed him shivering in the chill of the theater— “you’re just like a fuzzy little teddy bear!”

To prove his point, he flips up the hood, miscalculating just how floppy it is and smacking Logan in the face with it, sending them both into a fit of giggles.

“And bears like honey. Honey is sweet. And you,” Roman says, leaning close enough to bump their noses together, “are very, very sweet.”

He chuckles when Logan makes a frustrated noise and pulls the hood further over his flushed little face. They’re so cute.

“Aww,” he teases, tugging at the hood, “don’t hide from me, little bear! Let me see you!”

A brief tug-of-war later—in which Roman totally doesn’t cheat by sneaking his hand down and scribbling his nails over his knee—and he pulls the hood away, revealing an adorably flushed Logan pouting at him.

“There you are,” he says, reaching forward to boop his nose. “If you don’t like it, Logan, I can come up with another one.”

“No,” Logan mumbles, “I…I like it.”

Roman takes pity on the blushing mess on the stage in front of him, helping Logan tug the collar of the jacket a little snugger around his neck. “Little bear it is, then.”

Logan, meanwhile, is having a crisis.

Because Roman couldn’t just invite him to spend some one on one time in the Imagination, no. He had to sing to him in the most incredible voice he’s ever heard and then ask if Logan wanted to sing. He had to ask Logan if he was alright in that soft voice that he knows he likes. And he had to pick Logan up like he weighed nothing and set him on the stage, curving his body around him like he was something to be protected.

And he had to give him a personalized nickname and tease him about how cute he is.

And he had to be really, really attractive.

He’s right here, he’s touching you, and you still want more? He made up a special little nickname for you and you aren’t satisfied? What else do you want?

Don’t burden him with your problems too. He’s got his own stuff to deal with. He’s got more of a right to be upset about these things than you do.

You’re not even supposed to be upset in the first place.

“Little bear?”

Logan shakes his head. “You’re going to use that every chance you get, aren’t you?”

“Well, that and depending on how you feel about pet names—“

Why did you nod, you useless gay?

Roman’s smile just widens. “Then yes. Yes, I am. So, my sweet little bear—“ internal screaming can commence now, thank you— “what’s got you looking like someone stole all your honey?”

“I don’t…I don’t want…if you are not in a good headspace—“

Rolling his eyes fondly, Roman resettles his grip on Logan’s hips. “Gorgeous, if you keep being as sweet as you are, I am going to get a toothache.”

And Logan thinks he can brush it off, toss some meaningless barb back that’ll either get Roman to talk about something else or at least flirt with him to pass the time instead, but then Roman says: “you can talk to me, little bear,” in a voice so gentle it makes his chest ache.

Where do I start? How do I start? What if I say the wrong thing? Do I even remember how to do this?

What if he changes his mind?

This is stupid, just talk. You know how. Just say something. Anything.

“Sorry, I am…not the most articulate right now.”

“If the bountiful praise you lavished upon me earlier is any indication, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disagree with you.”

Well, there goes that excuse.

Why is this so hard for you? He’s not a mind-reader, you will actually have to talk to him. Isn’t that what you’ve been preaching, you hypocrite?

Do you even have anything to say?

You’re not just going to make something up for attention, are you?

Or is that what you’re doing now? Stalling for attention?

What’s the point of you having a voice if you’re not going to use it?

Now you’re just wasting his time.

The lightest touch on the side of his head and Logan startles terribly. Roman shushes him, finishing tucking a strand of hair out of the way.

“…you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“No!”

Roman blinks, taken aback by the shout. Shit. Logan curls his fists in the coat.

“No,” he mumbles again, “I…”

Great job. Say something.

Roman watches Logan war with himself, growing more and more worried as his eyes squeeze shut, his mouth opening and closing with no words coming out. When he hasn’t moved for a few minutes, he racks his brain for a way to help.

“Once upon a time,” he murmurs finally, smiling gently when Logan’s gaze flicks to his, “there was a forest. A small forest, not too big, where all sorts of creatures lived. Cats, snakes, spiders, frogs, owls, dragons, bears…all sorts.”

As he talks, he rubs soothing circles into their hips with his thumbs.

“And they all had secrets, because everybody does, and they all kept their secrets in different places. At the bottom of their ponds, tucked away in their burrows, hidden their nests…”

Roman steps closer, bracing most of his weight on one arm, wrapping it around Logan’s back to hold them close.

“Where does the little bear keep their secrets?”

He takes his free hand and carefully pushes the flaps of the jacket aside, laying it gently on Logan’s stomach.

“What about here, in their belly? Where all the sweet honey goes? Maybe if I poke it a bit—“ Roman gently prods at a few spots, smiling when Logan giggles and squirms— “the secrets will come out. No, no, that’s a giggle. Maybe over here? On their sides? No, those are more giggles. Hmm…well, this may just be a giggle button.”

A little squeeze here, a little scribble there. Roman smiles when Logan’s face starts to glow that lovely pink again, his giggles still flowing out. He’s more than happy to stand here and lightly tickle Logan until he feels better, but when Logan starts gently batting at his chest and shoulders, trying to push him away, he relents.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, “well, I think there are only giggles in here. Let’s just…pat them a bit to calm them back down.”

He rubs his tummy firmly to soothe away any lingering tingles, then raises his hand to lay over Logan’s upper chest.

“What about here, in their chest? Right here…next to their heart. Oh, I can feel it,” he says, pressing his hand a little firmer, feeling the reassuring thud, “it’s a strong heart. Which makes sense, after all, for our little bear. But…”

Roman searches Logan’s face. Not yet.

“…no. No secrets here.”

Moving slowly, slow enough that Logan can stop him if he wants, Roman tucks his hand against his neck, feeling his pulse against his hand.

“What about here,” he says, “in their throat? Right next to these lovely vocal chords they’re so shy about, maybe if they sing a little, their secrets will come tumbling out?”

It makes the tiniest smile come to Logan’s face but he shakes his head. Roman pouts, unable to keep up the façade when it makes the smile grow.

“Alright then. No. No secrets here.”

Roman takes his hand away, stroking down the fluffy sleeve of the jacket, feeling the soft material tickle his palm. He slides it down to the warm wood of the stage, straightening his posture—the only straight thing on him—so he can lean against the stage between Logan’s knees, hands going back to his hips.

“Well,” he says softly, “I don’t know where else to look, little bear.”

Please, Logan, let me help you.

A trembling hand takes his, guiding it up, up, up to press his fingertips carefully to the underside of Logan’s chin.

“…here? Under your tongue? Oh…oh, I can feel them…there’s so many, you’re so tense here…”

He carefully rubs and presses, feeling how tight Logan’s jaw is. Logan swallows heavily and Roman feels his tongue move.

“Does it hurt, little bear?”

Shake.

“No? Are you sure?”

He won’t meet his eyes. Oh, Logan…

“Well, it can’t be comfortable, holding them all like that. Is…is this why your head feels so heavy? Here,” he says, cupping his chin properly, coaxing him to rest his head in his hand, “let me hold it for a little.”

That’s it, he smiles as Logan’s head sinks into his hand. He gives it a soft squeeze.

“Now, why don’t we try and see if we can make this a little easier for you, little bear? In fact, I…I think I can feel one…right here.”

He takes his other hand and mimes plucking something from the air in front of him.

“I think it wants to come out.”

He moves his hand away, slowly pulling the secret away, drawing it up and out. Logan’s mouth opens, yes, come on, you can do it…

“…I’m scared.”

Roman rubs his fingers together and sprinkles the harmful secret away. “And…poof. It’s gone.”

He comes back, resting his hand on Logan’s knee. “Good job, little bear. And it’s okay to be scared, I promise. And I’m right here, I won’t let anything hurt you.”

Logan’s worried little brow relaxes and it makes the ache in his chest release, just a little. Then he feels Logan’s chin wobble.

“Oh…oh, here’s another one…feel it?” He plucks another one from the air. “I’ve got it, don’t worry, here we go…”

“…I…”

“…say it,” he coaxes, “go on.”

“…I haven’t…done this…in…so long, I…I’m not…I…don’t…”

Logan swallows. Roman brings his hand a little closer to their face but he doesn’t let go.

“I don’t know if I remember how to do this.”

“That was a stubborn one,” Roman says softly, “wasn’t it?”

Logan nods. Roman turns to address his hand, still clutching the pesky secret.

“You’ve been living there for a long time, haven’t you? Well, I’ll have you know that’s quite rude,” he scolds. “You’ve caused my little bear an awful lot of discomfort. Now begone.”

He swats it away with a disgusted expression, softening when he feels the low rumble of a laugh in his other hand. Looking back, he sees Logan looking…a little better, at least.

“You feel a little lighter, my dear,” he observes. Logan nods. “Good.”

Taking Logan’s chin in both hands, he rubs his fingers along his jaw. “Let me see…feel around a little… any more loose ones?”

Anything else you’d like to tell me? Or talk about?

“…one.”

Roman nods. “Alright. Let me see…”

He waves his hand a bit in the air in front of them, as if he’s searching for something to grab onto. Finally, he picks a spot and forms a pinch.

“Ah. Here. Oh…oh, this one…” He gently tugs on it. “This one feels heavy. Like there’s a lot of it. Oh, you poor thing, shall we try and see if we can get this to stop hurting you?”

This time, Logan doesn’t hesitate and nods.

“Let’s see…it feels quite long…hefty. So, how about this: I will start pulling out the bits that feel a little loose already, and whenever it starts to come, you just say it for me, alright?”

Logan nods.

“Wonderful.”

With that, he begins to pull, miming retrieving a long, magician’s scarf out of Logan’s mouth. When his chin starts to wobble again against his hand, Roman frowns.

“Putting up a fight, are we? Well, this looks like a job for two hands.”

Standing at his full height, he starts doing the motion with two hands. One of the biggest parts of improv, apart from ‘yes and,’ is object work, and he coils the scarf neatly on the floor next to him, making sure he’s still pulling it out of Logan’s mouth, walking his hands along the scarf.

Logan wants to. He really wants to. But the words just won’t come out. So much so that when he opens his mouth his breath literally catches in his throat.

“Oh…oh dear,” Roman says worriedly, tugging a little, “it’s…it’s stuck.”

He mimes trying to pull it away with both hands but gets nowhere.

“It’s…it’s really stuck. I don’t want to hurt you but it’s being very stubborn.”

He frowns, keeping one hand tightly around the secret and using the other to cup Logan’s chin again.

“Maybe I can make it loose back here…maybe if I feel around…find where it’s stuck.”

The searching motions of his fingers under Logan’s chin make him fidget a little. Roman sees, the corner of his mouth quirking up.

“Maybe I can tickle it loose, hmm? If I tickle very gently,” he murmurs, scribbling his fingers lightly all over the sensitive skin, smiling as it coaxes more giggles out of him, “can I tickle it loose? No, no, that’s just getting me giggles. You really do have a lot of giggle buttons, little bear. Oh, oh no, it’s going back in, well, that’s not going to work.”

He stops, cupping Logan’s chin firmly, letting him calm back down. Poor thing doesn’t even have the strength to look embarrassed or flustered, no, he just looks frustratingly hopeless. If he wasn’t holding his chin, Roman’s sure Logan’s head would drop right to his chest and he’d never want to raise it again.

“…oh, little bear, is it hurting you?”

“Yes.”

“There’s a bit…hmm…darling, will you listen to me for a moment?”

Logan nods.

“Close your eyes. I have this pesky thing, it won’t be going anywhere.”

The sheer amount of trust it must take for Logan to close his eyes, resting almost the entire weight of his head in Roman’s hand, makes Roman a little light-headed. But he has a job to do here, so he comes forward until his nose is just about brushing Logan’s forehead.

“You are not making me do this,” he whispers, “I’m here because I want to be here. I will keep your secrets safe, I promise.”

He lowers his head, pressing their foreheads together.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Logan. Not with me.”

Logan opens his eyes. It pinches in the little pouch where his chin meets his neck.

“…for as long as I can remember…”

Roman pulls the scarf out once and grabs it again.

“…I…”

His hand moves an inch.

“…have…”

Another inch.

“Are you seriously going to do that word by word?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Deep breath.

“…for as long as I can remember, I have never been a part of any kind of relationship where it does not hinge on how useful I am.”

Logan closes his eyes, feeling Roman’s hand leave his chin.

“I…I am a function that is indispensable but not one that is wanted.”

Swallows. Keeps going. The pinch doesn’t let up.

“My entire being is based on how much I know. What I can do. And…and if I cannot do the thing I am meant to do, I…I cannot exist. But there are so many things I cannot do in order to do the things I need to do.”

The pinch still doesn’t let up.

“And I…I let it happen.”

Has silence always been this deafening?

“Because I have no choice.”

The pinch spreads, turns to a clench.

“…I am useful. I can explain things to you when you need them explained. I can help you sort through things that you do not fully understand. I can provide solutions to problems when they arise.”

He tugs the jacket tighter around himself, trying to huddle in a cocoon of safety.

“I…I am Logic. I am Logic. That is my job.”

The words curl on his tongue and taste bitter. He briefly wonders if this is what Janus feels like.

“But it is not only my job when it is convenient,” he spits, “it is always my job. And I…I have to be able to do my job. B-because if I don’t, you’ll—“

He swallows heavily.

“…I understand that…there are many things that you and the others do that I do not understand. And I understand that I am…convenient. And when I am not, I—you—“

He huffs. “I understand that I do not understand.”

It’s hot. It’s too hot. The jacket is sweltering, trapping him now. But he can’t let go, can’t move. Can only speak.

“And I cannot understand. Because that would require me to have emotion. And I cannot have emotion. I am Logic. Logic cannot have emotion because logic falls apart when emotions come into play. But I can’t just be Logic!”

It comes out in a horrible burst of agony, ripping up his throat as it comes out.

It h-hurts.

It hurts.

“…you do not require me or Logic.”

He curls into the jacket, not caring about how much it hurts.

“I…I know that logic must always have a place. I know that sometimes you would rather not listen to Logic. But s-sometimes…”

The others don’t always want Logic. They don’t always want Logan either.

“I cannot be human,” he whispers, “I cannot be held to the same standard as a human.”

I am a being of Logic. I am the Logical Side.

“…I cannot have the same luxuries as a human.”

Emotion is a luxury I cannot always afford.

“…I have tried. For you and for Thomas, to…be Logic.”

They didn’t see. They never saw.

“And it has worked. It has worked so well that I—I—”

The line between Logan and Logic blurs so much that it is near impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. But now…

Now when Logic has been silenced, not even Logan can speak.

“…I am Logic.”

Who is Logan?

“I…I know I have feelings, but I…I can’t. I’m not—Logic is not equipped to deal with them. I know I have to be Logic, but I…I can’t.”

Logan was being an inconvenience. Because he was taking more time than I should be. Because everyone else was ready to move on…and Logan wasn’t. Logic was.

“…and I will stay. Because you need Logic.”

Logic would stop talking during a conversation because no one wanted to hear Logic. Logic didn’t care about my emotions, only how I could help them deal with theirs.

“Because you have always needed L-Logic.”

Logic. Logic. Logic.

There is no room for Logan.

I am so scared, so scared of not being useful that I let other people introduce me. Because you would know how I could be the most useful.

I must be useful.

I must be Logic.

There is no room for Logan.

They do not want to listen to Logic. They silence Logic.

They do not even know Logan exists.

“If…if I was smart…you kept me. If I was hardworking, you kept me. If I was useful, you kept me.”

And when I wasn’t enough, they replaced me.

I can’t be Logan. Not here.

…can I be Logic?

Will that be enough?

“…if I’m Logic, will you keep me?”

Silence.

His hands are balled so tightly in his jacket they ache.

He can’t remember the last time he’s talked so much.

He can’t remember the last time Roman was so silent.

What…what has he done?

“I’m—I’m sorry—“

“Don’t you dare, Logan.”

Logan’s head snaps up in horror. Roman stares at him, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. A blazing fury burns in his gaze and Logan shrinks, trying to make himself smaller.

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” he repeats in a low voice.

Is…are those…tear stains?

Roman tried. He tried to just pull the secret out, lend a sympathetic ear, return the favor Logan had given him so many times. But he couldn’t. Tears had welled up by the time he’d mentioned the others only keep him around because he’s convenient. He can’t…he can’t imagine…having to stifle something so integral to himself like emotions, being kept around only because he was useful, being tokenized and objectified over and over and over and reminded that he wasn’t enough on his own…

And not being able to sing? To do all the things that Roman can do, is permitted to do as Creativity?

“Oh, oh, sweetheart,” he manages to gasp, “come here—“

He’s sobbing. He’s sobbing, the tears bubbling up as he reaches desperately for Logan, for his face that…that isn’t crying at all, how can he go through this much and not cry, do…can he not cry anymore?

That only makes him cry harder.

“You’re—you’re wanted, Logan, so—so much, I want you, I need you to—to stay, yes, we’ll—we’ll keep you, oh, darling—“

He understands. He understands so much and it hurts because there are so many secrets nested inside that big secret and it’s so much and he’s so proud of Logan, for surviving, for telling him—

He needs Logan closer. He tugs him off the stage, into his arms, holding him up, holding him close, scooping him into a tight hug.

And oh, it’s exactly the way a heroic knight should hug. Strong. Powerful. Protective. It’s safe as Logan clings to him. He feels safe. Cared for.

Loved?

It’s only when Roman goes to cup Logan’s head that he realizes he’s not really holding that much of Logan’s weight in his arms. Instead, he realizes Logan’s clinging to him just as tightly, their bodies curving into each other as Logan holds himself up by his legs wrapped over his hips.

“…well,” he murmurs, “aren’t you strong?”

“I can hold my own.”

“I know you can, Logan,” he says, pulling back a little so he can see Logan’s face, “but it’s okay if you don’t always want to.”

Logan looks at him, one of the few times where this means he has to look down, a soft smile on his face. “It’s fine for you too.”

Roman can’t help but shake his head in disbelief as he sets Logan—gently!—back on the stage. “How are you already back to taking care of me?”

Logan shrugs. “Instinct? Habit?”

Useful. Right.

They all need to work on that, to work on this, for Logan. Not for Logic, not for Thomas, for Logan.

“In all seriousness,” Logan mumbles, “thank you.”

“No,” Roman corrects, his arms still tightly around Logan, “thank you.”

And when Logan looks up he’s so hopeful that Roman has to lean forward and rub their noses together.

“Is…is this how it f-feels?”

Oh.

“Yes, Logan,” Roman breathes, trying to push the feelings across that little gap between them, “this is how it feels.”

“…I…I—“

“You don’t have to say anything, dear heart,” Roman soothes, “truly.”

Logan’s eyes drift closed and Roman frowns, worried when he takes another deep breath and squeezes his eyes tighter.

“…is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“Make what up?”

“Pay you back then.”

“For what?”

“Roman…”

He relents. Of course he relents. Even if the question made him want to wrap Logan up in a warm blanket and tell him he’ll be safe forever, or leave them with the others and grab his brother and go teach whatever nasty beastly voices in Logan’s head caused this a lesson, he relents. He understands how hard this must’ve been for Logan.

“…yes, there is something you can do for me.”

Logan looks up and the plea in his expression is almost enough to break Roman’s heart all over again.

“When you say you don’t understand,” Roman says softly, still tracing idle patterns over Logan’s back, “some of the things we do, can you give me an example?”

“P-Patton bakes,” Logan manages, “I…I have seen Remus draw. Virgil listens to music or he…he runs. Janus dances.”

He gestures around the theater. “You sing.”

Roman smiles gently. “Will you sing something for me?”

Logan’s breath catches and he tenses, despite Roman’s efforts to soothe him. “…it’s not going to be any good.”

“Who said anything about being good?”

He reaches up to cup Logan’s face in his hands.

“I don’t care if you’re too loud. I don’t care if you’re too quiet. I don’t care if it’s too high. I don’t care what key you’re in,” he says firmly.

Oh, he wants to go and make sure whatever put that unsure look on his face never happened.

“You don’t have to be afraid,” he murmurs instead, “it’s just you and me. I want to hear you, little bear. And to prove to yourself that you can.”

A few moments later and Logan breaks out into the smallest of smiles.

“…so what am I singing?”

“Oh, no, that’s not how this works,” Roman says with a smile, “you choose the song, dearest.”

“I…”

“I don’t care what it is. It doesn’t have to be some big, meaningful choice. I’m not here for Logic, I’m here for Logan.”

He knows how hard it can be to be alone on stage, so he steps back to boost himself up to sit next to them.

“…would it help if I sing with you?”

“No.”

Roman looks down at the floor. Even though his feet can just about touch, it…it looks miles away. And he should know how hard it is to pick a song to sing, especially when he hasn’t sung in a while. There’s just so many to choose from, and if you’re scared about what you’re going to be able to sing, then…

Perhaps this was too much to ask.

For a moment, he thinks his phone’s going off, or someone’s computer outside the Imagination, playing an a cappella version of ‘Bright Lights and Cityscapes.’

Then…then he looks.

Logan’s voice, not quite polished, a little worn, makes him cry all over again. It’s just this side of warm, full of longing and heartbreak and barely restrained sorrow and so, so good.

He finishes the song and Roman immediately wants to clamor for another one.

“…you have been holding out on me, darling.”

“You…you like my voice?”

“Oh, dearest, I could write ballads about it.”

“You do not have to.”

“But there are so many songs you could sing so well, and I will never understand how we could silence you, how we could make you believe we don’t want to hear you…”

Logan blushes a pretty pink, but he’s smiling. He’s smiling. And Roman just has to shuffle a little closer to tilt his chin up to see it properly. It’s lovely.

He cups Logan’s chin, feeling the spot under his tongue.

“…still a few more in there, hmm?”

Logan nods, his fingers twitching and growing restless. He looks down to see Logan stimming with the gold trim on his clothes, running his fingers over the coarse twine. Roman smiles, shifting a little to let him work his way along the lines, up the seams, to the ones on his chest. The blush stays on Logan’s cheeks, obviously a little nervous about touching him this way, but…stimming is stimming. Roman understands.

“Do you like it?”

Logan nods.

“I like the sash too,” he says quietly, gently smoothing it right next to Logan’s hand, encouraging him to do the same, “smooth, right?”

“I seem to recall a song lyric about being buried in satin?”

“I don’t know, you’ll have to sing it for me.”

“…I believe the song is called ‘If I Die Young.’”

“You’ll have to sing it.”

“Do you know it?”

“Yes.” When Logan looks up at him, he understands. “Do you?”

“Not all of it.”

“Most of it?”

“…most of it.”

“May I sing it with you?”

“If you like.”

He ruffles Logan’s hair gently. “You start then.”

His hand slows where it’s toying with his sash. Then…

“If I die young,

bury me in satin,

lay me down on a bed of roses,

sink me in the river

at dawn,

send me away with the words of a love song.

“Oh, oh…oh, oh…” Logan looks up at him. He smiles and sings the verse.

“Lord, make me a rainbow,

I’ll shine down on my mother.

She’ll know I’m safe with you

when she stands under my colors, oh.

Life ain’t always what you think it oughta be, no.

Ain’t even gray but she buries her baby.”

He raises his eyebrows, dipping to sing the harmony for: “The sharp knife,

of a short life, well.

I’ve had just enough time.”

The next chorus is smoother, Roman’s smile growing as Logan’s voice starts to ring. His harmony grows warmer.

“If I die young,

bury me in satin,

lay me down on a bed of roses,

sink me in the river

at dawn,

send me away with the words of a love song.

The sharp knife

of a short life, well.

I’ve had just enough time.”

Logan may have been lying about not knowing all of the song, because here Roman is, happily singing the harmony.

“And I’ll be wearing white—“ Roman raises his eyebrows, making them laugh—

“when I come into your kingdom,

I’m as green as the ring

on my little cold finger, I’ve

never known the loving of a man

but it sure felt nice when he was holding my hand—“

Roman covers Logan’s hand, holding it firmly to his chest, thrilling at the way it makes Logan’s voice stutter just a little on the next line.

“—there’s a boy here in town, says he’ll

love me forever.

Who would’ve thought forever would be severed by

the sharp knife

of a short life, well.

I’ve had just enough time.”

And damn can Logan hit that high note. He whistles in approval, grinning wider when Logan just…keeps it going.

“So put on your best boys,

and I’ll wear my pearls…

what I never did is done…”

The smile fades when Logan’s face drops, looking back at Roman’s chest. The hand under Roman’s begins to tremble as he keeps singing.

“A penny for my thoughts, oh no,

I’ll sell ‘em for a dollar.

They’re worth so much more

after I’m a goner,

and maybe then you’ll hear the words I’ve been singing.

Funny when you’re dead, how people start listening…”

No. Not Logan. Not on his watch. Not on any of their watches.

Roman shifts even closer, letting Logan lean his full weight on him, clutching his hand tenderly to his chest. For a moment, he thinks they’re going to just let the song end there, he wouldn’t blame him, Logan’s already made him so proud, then…

Then Logan takes a deep breath and raises his chin. A single tear stands out on his face. And it’s beautiful.

“If I die young,

bury me in satin,

lay me down on a bed of roses,

sink me in the river

at dawn,

send me away with the words of a love song.

“Oh, oh…the ballad of a dove,

filled with peace and love.

Gather up your tears,” Roman sings as he wipes it away,

“keep them in your pocket,

save ‘em for a time

when you’re really gonna need ‘em, oh.

The sharp knife

of a short life, well.

I’ve had just enough time.”

He’s so proud of them. He’s so proud.

“So put on your best, boys,” Logan sings, holding Roman’s gaze, “and I’ll wear my pearls…”

The last note fades out. They’re breathless, even despite the relatively easy nature of the song. Roman clutches Logan’s hand tightly to his chest, Logan leans against Roman.

Roman reaches out and gently trails a finger in an arc around Logan’s neck, creating a string of pearls that lay just over his collarbones.

#sanders sides #fic #dragonbabbles #roman sanders #logan sanders #logan sanders angst #logince #romantic logince #platonic logince #you choose I don't know #sympathetic roman #sympathetic logan

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kybervisions · 4 years ago

Text

abuse of power [din]

summary: din has an encounter with a semi-unhinged new republic pilot.

author’s note: an idea that popped into my head while watching chapter 10 ,, bored new republic pilot reader. WARNING, reader really likes murder

With the fall of the Empire and the rise of the New Republic, anarchy has reigned king. Five years have gone by and remnants of the Empire continue to appear, though sparsely. Each passing moment makes you question your decision of taking such a boring job. The recruiters said you would be helping restore the Galactic Republic and they made it sound exciting. Now, you're a glorified bounty hunter for the New Republic, and it’s been months since you last shot down a TIE fighter or encountered Imperial troopers.

If there are any Imperial holdouts left, they’re well hidden and small. The only crafts you’ve encountered are those of beings that simply forgot to run the beacon. Which appears to be the case right now, as you spot an old ship to your right. You try to get in contact with the pilot of the craft but there is no response.

You fly closer to the craft, “Y’know, I have no problem shooting down this craft. It’d be a serotonin boost.”

That would be a lot of paperwork, though. On the off chance that the craft is not Imperial, you’d be suspended and an investigation would begin. Come to think of it, the New Republic has taken the fun out of your threats.

“Hello? Come in?”

“This is Razor Crest. Is there a problem?” The pilot of the craft finally responds.

“Looks like your transponder isn’t not emitting.” You comment.

“Yes, I’m pre-Empire surplus. I’m not required to run a beacon.” He replies.

He is very cautious with his words. You take note of his hesitance to emit the transponder. He’s hiding something. When creatures see an X-wing, they are compliant, it’s one of the best parts of the gig, but it this pilot has no respect for the New Republic.

“Yeah, that was before. Y’know, when the white devils patrolled the galaxy.” You remind him that times are different. “And, unfortunately, there are rules now. All crafts are required to run a beacon. Makes it easier to identify Imperials.”

“Thank you for letting me know. I’ll get right on it.” The Razor Crest pilot gvies you an insincere thanks.

“Safe travels.”

“May the Force be with you.” The phrase feels empty coming from the pilot. He’s probably never even met a Jedi. There is not too many of the left.

“And I’m gonna need you to send me a ping if you see any Imperial holdouts.” You silently hope to find a couple TIE fighters. Shooting those ugly spheres makes you feel alive. No drug or partner has been able to make you feel like that.

“I’ll let you know if I see any.”

“Still waiting on that ping.” You remind him after a few seconds of silence.

“Well, I’m not sure I have that hardware online.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that bullshit excuse before. Try harder.” You’re no longer entertained. You’ve already begun checking off items in the Rules of Engagement the New Republic officers forced you to memorize after a few accidents.

“I...Doesn’t seem to be working.” He sounds a bit defeated, and it makes your smile.

“Awe, that’s too bad. If I can’t confirm you’re not Imperial, you’re gonna have to follow me to the outpost at Adelphi. They’ll run your tabs.” You follow the procedure.

“Oh, wait. There is it. Transmitting now.” You hear some clicking from his end a a voice. “Be quiet.” The pilot hushes, earning your curiosity.

“What’s that?” You ask.

“Uh, nothing. The...hypervac is drawing off the exhaust manifold.”

“Yeah, uh, give me a minute. Wait or I shot ya down.” That is most definitely an abuse of some power. Oh, well. He won’t be around to file a complaint.

You change channels and contact Wolf. “What did you say the antique ship at the prison was called?”

“Uh, Razor Crest. I think. Why, what’s up?” Wolf asks as your lips form a mischievous smile.

“Because I’m about to add another tally mark on my wall.” You respond. “Over and out.” You return to the channel with the Razor Crest pilot and switch your X-wing to attack mode. The wings of the ship scissor open.

“Now, answer honestly.” You warn the pilot. “Was your craft in the proximity of the New Republic Correctional Transport, Bothan-Five?” You ask.

Instead of replying, he takes off. You laugh and immediately follow the Razor Crest. “This is turning out to be a great day.”

You chase the Razor Crest to the icy planet of Maldo Kreis. Watching the ship struggle to fly in the harsh weather almost made you pity the pilot. It also made you laugh. A lot. “It’s not even funny.” You say to yourself, tailing the Razor Crest.

The snowstorm makes difficult to follow the Razor Crest, and you lose it after a couple minutes of high-speed chasing. “The adrenaline is certainly up.” You smile to yourself as the speed of the X-wing reduces. It seems only murder can boost the serotonin levels.

Wolf keeps you company during your search. He does further research on the ship, running tabs and checking the security footage. How he got the clearance for that, you’ll never know. As it turns out, events at Bothan-Five happened differently than described in the daily report.

It takes you nearly half an hour to find the Razor Crest. It’s surrounded heavily damaged and by hundreds of spider-looking creatures. You take the opportunity to practice your aim and use your blaster cannon to clear out the spiders.

Within seconds, they’re all dead. You unlock the canopy and hop on the edge of the ship. You have your blaster rifle aimed at the only possible exit for the pilot of the Razor Crest. “I just wanna talk.” You shout.

A Mandalorian takes small steps out of the gaping hole in his ship. He’s showing you his palms and has his blaster facing up. You haven’t seen a Mandalorian in years. Like the Jedi, there are not too many left.

“Toss your weapon, Mandalorian.” You look through the eye scope of the blaster rifle. Now, he is very compliant.

“What are you smiling about?” The Mandalorian questions.

“Power play.” You respond. “Just the last time I ran into a Mandalorian I was the one with the gun to my head,” You inform the stranger.

“You’ve met other Mandalorians?” He asks with a tone of hope in his voice.

“One.” You respond honestly. “I’m technically a contracted bounty hunter. For the Republic. It’s a bureaucratic mess. We don’t get any benefits. Honestly, I think it’s destined to fail, so I have a side hustle.” You ramble. “Had.”

“The Mandalorian?”

You shake your head. “I’m the one asking the questions.” You remind the Mandalorian pilot. “I ran the tabs on your ship. Looks like you’ve got an arrest warrant for the abduction of prisoner X-Six-Nine-Eleven.”

“However, onboard security records show that you apprehended three priority culprits from the Wanted Register. Security records also show that you put your own life in harm’s way to try to protect that of Lieutenant Davan from the New Republic Correctional Corps. Is that true?”

“Am I under arrest?“ The Mandalorian asks.

“Technically, you should be.

But I don’t really care.” You shrug. You drop the blaster rifle on your seat and hop off the ship.

“Happy to see the galaxy is being protected by stable minds.“ He says sarcastically.

“Protected? Try being held together with glue and tape.” You chuckle.

“What say I forego the counties on these three criminals, and you help me fuse my hull so I can get off this frozen rock?” You laugh at his proposal.

“What say you fix that transponder and I don’t murder you the next time I’m patrolling the Rim?” You smile and hop back down into your seat, setting the blaster rifle aside and bring down the canopy.

You’ve got a feeling that won’t be the last time you encounter that Mandalorian.

#din djarin x reader #the mandolorian x reader #the mandalorian oneshot #star wars one shot #sw fic

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masterjedilenawrites · 4 years ago

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The Helmeted Hunter: Chapter 8

Boba Fett x Reader

Chapter Warnings: A “sudden sound” at the end

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

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Chapter 8: You’ll See

You'd thought by Boba's tone the planet he was taking you to would be a lot more... well, just more than this. If anything, it was more dirty and more barren and more boring than any you'd seen so far, and that included the several other desert planets now on your have-seen list.

"Where are we?" you called back up the ramp to where Boba was making final preparations before disembarking.

"Jakku."

He walked up alongside you, pausing with a hand hovering over the opposite wrist, where he usually shot out a fiber-cord to tie you up.

"I'm not going anywhere," you assured him with a smirk. "Promise."

He still seemed hesitant, but you started walking anyway. You weren't sure where to go, or why you were even on this planet, but you needed to stretch your legs and do something. You felt restless. There were so many questions without answers and potentially a whole galaxy to go through to find them. You wanted to get started right away. You wanted to come across something to help start making sense of things.

Boba fell into step beside you. There looked to be an outpost just ahead, though it wasn't the bustling station common in other places. Scraggly looking humans and other creatures that seemed rough-around-the-edges milled about here and there. They all eyed you and your companion as you made your way through them. Eventually Boba took the lead and guided you around a watering hole and back into an expanse of rolling dunes and sand.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

"Well what are we even doing here?"

"You'll see."

You huffed in frustration but continued to follow the helmeted man before you. You were finding it annoying how he flip-flopped between being silent and chatty. It was almost like he just remembered he was supposed to be an intimidating bounty hunter and decided to ignore the fact he could be relaxed and friendly with you.

If traipsing through the forest terrain of Takodana had been miserable, the sand dunes you now found yourself navigating was surely hell. Once the piddly outpost had disappeared in the distance behind you, and you realized it would probably be awhile before you reached whatever destination ahead, your focus became surviving the unpredictable nature of the dunes. Stray breezes would come at random, disturbing the sand around you, causing your eyes to water and your throat to feel a perpetual tickle.

At one point you ended up tumbling down a hill and got stuck, much to your embarrassment. Boba had to slide down and help you up with a shake of his helmeted head. Sand grated uncomfortably in your clothes for the rest of the journey.

Eventually, and thankfully, said journey ended. The dunes leveled out into more of a dirt plateau, with a little tent rising up in the middle of it. Boba led you straight for it, and the man that was standing watch just outside it.

The man's skin reminded you of a mummy, shriveled and wrinkled but with a hardened look about it. He wore goggles over his eyes and protective armor on his shoulders. His fingers were decorated with various gold rings. He was stoic as the two of you approached.

"I figured you'd be the one to come for me," he said.

Boba stopped just before him, hands on his hips. You lingered behind, unsure what to make of this meeting yet.

"I don't know what you mean," Boba replied. "I'm here to see an old friend."

There was a moment of silence and then the other man burst out laughing. He clapped a hand on Boba's shoulder and pulled him in for a hug.

"Oh Fett, you haven't changed a bit!" he cackled. "Trying to pull one over on me. I'll be damned."

Boba awkwardly wiggled out of the embrace, as stiff as you'd ever seen him. You imagined he didn't experience a lot of friendly physical contact in his line of work.

"Come, come, inside before the winds pick up."

The man motioned for both of you to follow him into the tent. It really, truly was little. Once the three of you were inside, there wasn't room for much else. A cot lay rolled out in one corner, a small fire pit lay dormant in another, and the rest of the available space was littered with tarnished cups, jewels, and other items that seemed like they had once been valuable but were now just junk. You stepped among them gingerly, not sure where to position yourself in the cramped chaos.

"Do you live here?" you found yourself compelled to ask.

"Don't mind her," Boba commented as he took a seat on the cot. "She's a bit high maintenance."

Your eyebrows shot up, incredulous. What had you done that was considered "high maintenance?" You were about to ask when the other man scolded him for you.

"No, no. She is a woman of good taste."

You nodded. "Yes, thank you."

He smiled at you and extended a hand. "Hondo Ohnaka. And don't worry, my dear, this is only a temporary arrangement."

You took his offered hand and introduced yourself in return. He gave you a knowing look once he heard your name.

"So the rumors of the Empire's bounty are true." He turned to face Boba. "I would've thought if you were the one to find her, you'd have no need to come after an old pirate like me."

"As I said, I'm only here to see a friend."

Hondo seemed to be considering something, though you weren't sure what. All you knew was that a guy like Boba Fett didn't have friends, not in the true sense of the word, so whatever connection he had with this man was complicated.

"What do you mean by pirate?" you asked, hoping to gain some insight into who this man was and why you were visiting him.

"I used to lead many smugglers and thieves around the galaxy, back before the war," he explained with a wistful look in his eyes. "I'm all that's left now. I do what I can to keep the old ways alive. But it's never really the same."

His voice held a certain kind of sadness you'd heard before, by your grandparents and other elderly folk, people who'd come to realize the best part of their lives was already behind them. It broke your heart to hear such loss of hope.

"The past has a way of coming back around," Boba spoke up. "A man of your experience and expertise will always be in demand. I could use some of that myself."

Hondo stroked his chin again in contemplation. He then turned back around to face you.

"Well for starters, you can treat your bounty here with a little more respect. Poor girl doesn't even have a scarf to protect her pretty face on this mess of a planet."

He started rummaging around his piles of junk, eventually pulling up a helmet that looked a lot like the ones the Imperial soldiers had been wearing.

"For you, my dear. Go on and try it outside, make sure all the filters still work properly."

You weren't sure you knew how to do such a check, but you got the feeling Hondo was subtly asking you to give him and Boba some privacy. So you took the helmet and made your way back outside the tent, but not before stopping just outside the door to catch some of their conversation.

She's certainly the prettiest bounty you've collected, if not the most valuable. I hope you've at least acknowledged that.

What difference does that make?

What's wrong with appreciating beauty when you find it? Makes the job easier, no? Unless you find it distracting?

What's distracting is you talking about anything other than what I'm here for.

All I'm saying is you can't be all-business all the time. A bounty hunter like you, you've got to take what little joy you can get.

Which is what I'm here for. The joy of finishing a job and getting my reward.

You forced yourself to turn away. This man would certainly have information for Boba about your situation. And if he'd come up with an excuse to get you to leave for the moment, he must be shy about sharing it with anyone other than his purported friend. So you respected their privacy and settled your focus on the stormtrooper helmet now in your possession.

You played around with it for a while, first enjoying the basic safety from the elements it provided simply by putting it on, and then exploring the more specialized features. You were able to change the filtration power of the air supply, pull up environmental readings and terrain maps in your eyesight, and tap into nearby comms frequencies. You would've been content with continuing your experiments for a while longer, if it weren't for the sudden sound of a blaster firing from within Hondo's tent.

You sprinted the short distance over and threw the door open. For a split second, right before you registered what had happened inside, you considered the fact it probably wasn't a good idea to rush into a potentially dangerous situation with no weapon like this. But it was your fear that something had happened to Boba, the one somewhat-trustworthy person you could more-or-less rely on, that spurned you forward without thinking.

But you should've known it would never be Boba who would end up stunned and unconscious on the ground.

#star wars #boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba x reader #hondo ohnaka #eventual romance #eventual fluff #mystery #team up #conflict #bounty hunting #lots of planets #action #adventure

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zoryany · 5 years ago

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Hey! Not sure if you’re still taking request for ficlet prompts but 67 with Luke + Padmé pleaseeeee!!! ❤️

send me ficlet prompts – optionally include characters67 – My father may look like the scary one, but it’s my mother you need to be afraid of.(you sent me this SO LONG AGO and I’ve been wanting to answer it SO BADLY but lacked the inspiration until now. it kinda got away from me, ended up being more skysolo than I intended, and I accidentally created a new AU but ahh, I hope it was worth the wait!)

Gripping the controls of the speeder tight enough for his knuckles to turn white, Han Solo shifted nervously in the pilot’s seat. His passenger, looking incredible as always in his simple yet finely made black tunic and trousers, had the audacity to appear completely casual and not at all bothered. How in all the hells was Luke so calm?

Han licked his lips and furrowed his brow. Was he sweating? Why was he so nervous? He could out-shoot any bounty hunter, out-fly just about any pilot and charm the slime off a Hutt – he could do this, too. It was just meeting someone’s parents. He was good with people, so this should be no exception, right? Why should this time be any different?

Oh, right, that’s why, Han thought to himself as the Palace came into view. This time, the parents I’m meeting just so happen to be in charge of the entire kriffin’ galaxy!

He really did seem to have a particular kind of luck with his romantic interests, didn’t he?

“Relax, Han,” his companion soothed, resting a hand on his shoulder and tracing gentle circles there with his thumb. “They’re really not as scary as everyone makes out. Trust me. They don’t bite.”

“Nah, but I’ve seen what your old man is capable of,” he replied without thinking, instantly regretting it when the hand on his shoulder tensed, slightly.

“Yeah.” Han could practically feel the conflict and guilt radiating from the seat next to him, and he was ready to cut in with profuse apologies and lay himself down at the mercy of the court, but a wry laugh from Luke stopped him. “He makes a point not to do anything… to enforce the will of the Empire at home, so you should be good.”

Han didn’t miss the hesitation or the irony in those words, but Luke was smiling, at least, so he relaxed a little bit.

“Besides,” Luke continued, shrugging, “Father’s not the one you need to worry about. My father may look like the scary one, but it’s really my mother you need to be afraid of. And, well, my sister too, probably. Father’s protective, definitely a force to be reckoned with, but it’s no match for the bond between a mother and her child, or the one between twins.” A pause. Then, almost as an afterthought, “They’re also both politicians. Nothing is more dangerous than words.”

The grin on Luke’s face had taken on a wicked quality, a slight level of menace in his voice, and Han suddenly found himself sweating profusely. “Tell me again why this was a good idea?”

Bright peals of laughter filled the speeder as Luke had a good chortle at his expense. Han grumbled as the kid nudged him playfully and moved his hand to the back of Han’s neck, fingers snaking their way into his hair. “Relax. I’m just messing with you. Mostly. It’s gonna be fine. I promise. I’ve got a good feeling about this.”

Oh. That boded well.

***

As Luke approached the private entrance at the back of the palace, he had to admit to himself that he shared at least some of Han’s trepidation. Not quite to the same extent, but a hint of dread prickled at the back of his neck nonetheless.

“Look, Han, I – I know I said I had a good feeling about this. And I know I assured you everything would be fine, but…” He hesitated. While he wasn’t nearly as eloquent as his mother or sister, he was unaccustomed to being as at a loss for words as he often found himself when he was around Han. Something about this smuggler made him feel more like a farmboy than the prince he’d been raised as. Normally, he didn’t mind, but this… this was important. “My family can be a lot. And, well, we’ve only known each other a few weeks, and all. So, I mean, if you’re not ready – ”

“Hey,” Han cut in, resting a hand on Luke’s shoulder. “I know how much this means to you – how much your family means to you. You think it’s time we all meet then I trust you.” He grinned, cheekily. “Don’t go thinkin’ you can get rid of me that easily, Your Worship.”

Rolling his eyes, Luke returned Han’s grin before nudging him with his elbow. “Alright, alright. Let’s get going, then. No point in putting it off.” He could still feel a healthy level of anxiety rolling off of Han, but his good-natured ribbing and confident stride made Luke feel a bit more at ease.

At least, it did until they stepped into his family’s sitting room and saw the look Leia was giving them.

“Y’know,” she said slowly, her voice smooth and silky, “I was sure I’d seen the height of your stupidity already.” She wore a dangerous smile on her face, one Luke knew far too well, and it only grew wider when he scowled at her. “I was sure you couldn’t do anything more idiotic than the time you took Father’s speeder out for a joy ride and thought he wouldn’t notice. But I think you’ve really outdone yourself this time, well done.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The look of delight on Leia’s face had quickly become the most accurate impression of an anooba playing with its meal before devouring it that Luke had ever seen. “Disappearing for weeks on end, leaving us nothing but a cryptic note, no hint of where you’ve gone and hardly a word from you over holocall, then showing back up here with this scruffy-looking scoundrel in tow?” Behind him, Han bristled, which really only served to feed into Leia’s amusement. “Honestly, Luke, I’m impressed. I mean it! The fit Father threw when he found out was spectacular, I haven’t seen anything like it since – well, the speeder incident, actually.”

Despite how entertained Leia seemed by all of this – and there was a vein of genuine amusement in her words – Luke could also sense her underlying worry. Nobody else would be able to detect the tension in her body, the shadow of concern in her eyes, the minute tremor in her voice… She was his twin, and he suddenly felt incredibly guilty for leaving her, even temporarily.

I’m sorry, Leia, he muttered through their bond.

Don’t you dare pull anything like that again, or I might have to strangle you.

With Han oblivious to their silent exchange, Luke decided to mirror Leia’s outward attitude as he raised a brow at her then turned to his “scruffy-looking scoundrel,” who looked like he was trying to decide whether to be terrified or irate. He ended up landing somewhere in the middle. “Han, it is my pleasure to introduce to you Her Royal Imperial Highness, Princess Leia Naberrie-Skywalker, my dear, lovely sister and twin. Leia, this is Captain Han Solo, my – ” He hesitated a moment, glancing at Han as the word caught in his throat. They never did decide what they were going to label their relationship as to his family. Han just gave him a small shrug and a short nod, prompting Luke to just pick something, for now. “He’s my companion.”

“Believe me,” Leia drawled, the delight on her face melting into a much colder, calculating look, “the pleasure is all mine.” Her eyes were piercing as she looked Han up and down, causing him to shift under her gaze. They lingered for a moment as she came to whatever conclusion she had about him before flicking them to meet Luke’s. “Mother’s expecting you in her parlour. Better not keep her waiting.”

All the warmth had left his sister’s voice, by now, but he could still feel her quiet concern. Leia sent him a silent Good luck as Luke led Han towards his mother’s chambers, a fresh knot of anxiety tying his stomach into knots as they went.

***

“Well,” the kid said quietly next to him, “that’s one down.”

Han rubbed the back of his neck, wondering if maybe he should’ve turned back when Luke gave him the chance, but tried to cling to a shred of optimism nevertheless. “If your mom’s anything like your sister, maybe I would’ve had more luck meeting your dad, first. Wasn’t expecting to get eaten alive like this.”

Luke chuckled darkly and shook his head. “No, trust me, it’s for the best that Father’s off-world until tonight. Leia’s all bark and no bite and Mother… you do have to earn her respect, but she’ll give you a fair chance to do so. Father, on the other hand…” Pausing a moment, he bit his lip while searching for the right words. “Well. You said yourself. You’ve seen what he can do.”

He knew full well how much Luke idolized his father. Pure admiration flooded his baby blues any time he brought him up, especially when he’d neglected to share with Han the little detail of his true line of work. It was unnerving, now, to see the discomfort in his face as he discussed Vader, but Han did have to admit to the relief he felt in knowing Luke’s devotion didn’t overshadow his moral code.

They reached the door to the Empress’ parlour before Han had a chance to say anything in response, so he just sighed and glanced down at Luke. “Well, I s’pose it’s now or never.”

Nodding in response, the kid gave the door two sharp raps before pushing it open and leading Han into a large, pleasantly decorated room. The floor was covered in a plush, bright crimson carpet except for directly in front of the fireplace at the far end of the room, which was lined with dark, smooth stones. Artwork lined the walls, from lavish paintings of lush worlds to intricately woven tapestries to complicated abstract works Han would never understand even if he dedicated the rest of his life to interpreting them. The room was furnished with two large, gold-trimmed sofas and a matching armchair that resembled a throne, all encircling an ornate golden table. Han felt entirely out of place, surrounded by this much luxury; even Luke didn’t look quite at home in his surroundings.

The woman before them, however, matched the decor perfectly. Dressed in a flowing, deep blue gown and a sheer, silvery cape, with a golden circlet perched atop the chestnut curls that cascaded past her shoulders and down her back, she stood regally in the centre of the room, awaiting their approach. Trying to keep himself from staring, Han fell into a kneeling position next to Luke, who was the picture of contrition.

“Mother. I have returned home, and I beg your forgiveness for my unannounced absence.”

Having spent the first several weeks of their relationship unaware of his royal status, Han had never imagined Luke’s voice could sound so regal. It sure was a far cry from the naive, chattering kid who’d struck up conversation with him in a run-down shipyard on Ord Mantell. He had to admit, the change was a little spooky.

A few moments passed, feeling like hours, considering how nervous he was, but it wasn’t long before the woman strode forward and wrapped her arms around Luke, pulling him up. “Luke!” she breathed, pulling him into an embrace. Han suddenly felt like he was intruding on something very private. “My son, it’s so good to have you home.” She pulled out of the hug and gripped his shoulders, a stern look etched in her features. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again! If something had happened to you – What in the stars possessed you to do something so rash?”

Luke never did tell Han why he’d run in the first place. Sure, he’d asked, but the kid would get evasive every time he did so eventually he dropped the subject. Under his mother’s gaze, now, it was a lot more difficult to dodge the question, but Luke still seemed determined to do so.

“Oh, sweetheart,” the Empress sighed, brushing her fingers through his hair. “We can discuss this later, when your father returns.” Luke stiffened but bowed his head in acknowledgement. “Now! Are you going to introduce me to your guest, or were you planning on leaving him to kneel at our feet all day?”

Han’s head snapped up and he met Luke’s eyes, who nodded at him to rise. “Mother, this is Captain Han Solo of The Millennium Falcon. I’ve spent the last several weeks in his company, and the two of us have grown… close.”

He could practically feel the kid’s cheeks flush at his own choice of words. Thankfully, the Empress herself appeared to be plenty amused, and she offered Han a brilliant smile that left him somewhat weak in the knees. He could see what Luke meant about her being the dangerous one. There was something so very disarming about this woman and her charm, and he’d met enough charming women to know to be on his guard.

“Truly, I’m charmed, Captain,” she said, voice ringing like a bell as she slipped into formality. “Luke has a gift for befriending the most… fascinating of people.” After offering him another bright smile, she turned to face her son. ��Luke, go prepare the guest room, please? If he’s to be staying with us, he’ll need proper accommodations.”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary, Majesty,” Han sputtered, “I got my ship, and – ”

“Nonsense!” The word was light and pleasant, but she somehow infused enough authority into it that he knew there was no point in arguing. “As a friend of my son’s, you are welcome in our home.”

Han was sure they had servants or droids who could set up the bedroom, and even if they didn’t, he was more than capable of doing it himself. He didn’t see why she was sending the Prince to do it. “Well, alright, if you insist, but Luke doesn’t have to set up for me, I’m happy to get it myself.”

“No, no, you are our guest, and we your hosts.” Her deep eyes glimmered with something dangerous. “My son has brought you here, and it is proper etiquette for him to see to your comfort here. Luke? If you will?”

Luke wore a somewhat confused expression that he turned from his mother to Han, but his hesitation was brief as he bowed slightly and muttered “Yes, Mother,” before he set off towards the parlour door.

Turning to follow, Han was frozen in place by a sharp tut from the Empress. “Not yet, Captain Solo. Sit. Relax. I’ll have some tea brought, and you and I can get acquainted.”

From the doorway, Luke shot an alarmed glance in their direction and looked, for a second, as though he was about to protest and insist on staying, but his mother’s expression brooked no argument. Pressing his lips together in a thin line and putting as much reassurance into his eyes, Luke gave Han a final nod before disappearing from sight.

Now alone with the Empress, in her domain, the smuggler couldn’t help but feel he’d landed in a krayt’s den and was about to find out just how dangerous this woman could really be.

After gliding towards the lavish armchair and perching on it, she indicated one of the sofas and stared at him with a pleasant yet sharp look. “Sit,” she repeated, and Han’s legs complied, of their own accord. As he did so, a protocol droid filed in and set down a tray carrying a steaming teapot, a bowl of sugar, cream, and four teacups. “How do you take your tea, Captain?”

With a lot of alcohol, he thought.

“Black,” he said, and she poured him a cup. He muttered an awkward thanks as she handed it to him.

When she’d fixed her own cup and taken a sip, she zeroed in on him, expression growing hard. “Now, Captain, I will be blunt.” Her voice was cold in a way it hadn’t been before, bearing an edge to it that caused the hairs on the back of his neck to stand at attention. “My son has a heart the size of the galaxy itself, and he’s prone to giving it away far too easily. That isn’t to say I do not trust his choices, nor do I believe him to be a poor judge of character. He has faith in people, believes in their strengths and capabilities and their capacity to do good.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen that part of him,” Han agreed, thinking back to all the down-on-their-luck Mantellians whose lives were just a bit more comfortable now, thanks to Luke.

The Empress nodded gravely. “Then I’m sure you know how easily he places that trust in those who may not deserve it. In the past he has been drawn to… the wrong sorts of people, and it’s gotten him into trouble more than once.”

Those words were pointed, they referred to him, Han knew, and he found himself scowling at the most powerful woman in the galaxy. “I can assure you, Your Majesty,” he ground out, “that I have no intentions of being the wrong sort of person for your son.” That would cost him, he was sure, but he felt the need to defend his – and Luke’s – honour, even if it meant snapping at the kriffin Empress herself.

Raising a single brow, she regarded him with an appraising stare, dark eyes seeming to burrow right into his soul. “See that you aren’t,” she said evenly. “There are precious few things in this galaxy, Captain, that I treasure more than my children and their wellbeing. So long as you are in Luke’s favour, you will be treated well, I assure you, but if you bring him to harm…” The threat lingered in the air for a moment. He got the message.

He maintained her gaze and held his ground. “Look, lady,” he said, far braver than he had any right to be, “I ain’t suicidal, I’m not about to go messing with your family, and I’m definitely not gonna hurt Luke. Don’t think I could handle his face if I did – looks too much like a kicked puppy when he’s just a bit disappointed, can’t imagine it when he’s genuinely hurt. Besides, seems to me he’s got enough pain in his life without me contributing to it. Now, I may not be some high and mighty noble or anything, and what the kid actually sees in me is anybody’s guess, but, dammit, he’s got me carin’ about him, and anyone who can do that is worth protecting, in my books.”

Well, Solo, you had a good run. Always knew that mouth of yours would be the end of you, just never expected to go quite as dramatic as running it in front of the Empress and getting executed. If only Lando could see you now…

Silence echoed deafeningly in the chamber, which now felt far larger than it actually was, ready to swallow him up. The Empress was staring at him, eyebrows raised, gaze flicking over him again. After what felt like an eternity, the barest shade of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “Very well, Captain Solo. Perhaps you will do well here, after all.” For the first time she’d spoken to him, her voice carried genuine warmth.

All of a sudden, he could breathe again, a wave of relief crashing over him as he sank into the sofa and sighed. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I’ll do my best.”

“See that you do.” A pause. “Now!” she chirped, “Luke should be finished with your accommodations by now. I’ll send Threepio to fetch him and my daughter, and we can all get acquainted properly over some tea. Yes, I think that sounds lovely.”

There was no way anyone he knew was going to believe this. He wasn’t sure he even believed it himself. But, sitting here in the Imperial Palace having tea with the Empress and her children, he couldn’t help but wonder just what he’d gotten himself into this time…

#luke skywalker #padme amidala #luke and padme #han solo #skysolo #padme naberrie #padme survived #vader killed palpatine #somehow convinced her to become empress #twins are royalty #and of course luke is restless and runs off to hook up with han #because he's luke and an idiot #beaurozguru #lol this is over 3k words long #i did NOT mean to go that hard lmaoooo #my writing #star wars fic #imperial royal skywalker family au

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et-in-arkadia · 5 years ago

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ok listen friend the hacker au was 7 years ago and so much has changed in computerlandia since but like i am incapable of not biting at this so let’s consider:

jaskier as a defected senior systems engineer from a company we’ll call, hmm, bookface who quit in a spectacular fashion by leaking the company’s most corrupt and illegal policies to journalists and basically getting them subject to congressional hearings and under fire for antitrust violations. he made a lot of money there in the early days but now feels sick after the company essentially helped destroy democracy so he dedicates himself to hacking for good and exposing the worst players in the tech world with these dramatic disclosures but this gets him persona non grata status and it’s an open secret that there are huge bounties from massive corporations for anyone who can find and expose him to the authorities, and it’s also known that no few of those companies would mind if something more insidious were to happen to him, so he goes underground

geralt as a former special agent in the fbi turned private detective who lost his g-man job for consistently refusing to carry out unethical practices but his decisions still culminated in the death of an informant, renfri, he’d been working with for a long time and he’s haunted by his failure to protect her. he’d like nothing more than to retreat entirely but he can’t, since he somehow inherited a kid. he’s hard up for cash after his goddaughter’s parents die in an accident and he becomes her guardian, and he tries his best to keep food on the table with whatever private cases come his way and odd jobs, but it’s a struggle. he hears that there’s a windfall for finding the whereabouts of that hacker brat “thebard” who seems to be peacocking about on the world stage for attention and for ciri’s sake he’ll do anything, so he decides to track jaskier down and succeeds via good old-fashioned detective work where all other efforts had failed

geralt lets himself into jaskier’s safe house and confronts him, ready to drag him out and turn him over for breaking countless laws, but jaskier talks very fast and shows geralt what he’s working on and manages to convince him that his next project is going to indict the worst people and change the world for the greater good and all he needs is a little bit more time. after that, geralt can do whatever he likes with him (no really, thinks jaskier). eventually geralt is begrudgingly won over and agrees, and that’s when jaskier offers to hire him as security because if geralt found him, someone else could, and a lot of people want him dead. geralt doesn’t want to get any more involved in this mess, but jaskier’s offering enough to pay for ciri’s college fund and set them up in a comfortable life (and there’s something earnest and resilient about jaskier that geralt likes, though he’ll hardly say that) and he can’t say no

against his better judgment, geralt is now jaskier’s private security, and he decides to bring jaskier and his operation back to his house, which is as secure and fortified a space as geralt can make. he’s nervous to be possibly endangering ciri but doesn’t see another way, and then ciri and jaskier get along like a house on fire and after a few days it’s hard to remember what life was like before jaskier lived with them. the rapport between jaskier and geralt grows, with geralt respecting him more and more as he comes to understand jaskier’s work and jaskier impressed with geralt’s wide-ranging competency and his dedication to ciri and, well, geralt’s everything, pretty much, and the sexual tension is getting to be unbearable, resulting in a bunch of near-kisses and finally a wildly passionate kiss that geralt walks away from because it’s fucking stupid to get involved with his client, who is also a criminal, and he tells jaskier as much and jaskier retreats to the basement where he’s staying and they stop talking. ciri, meanwhile, is doing her level best to make them stop being so stupid and get them together, because she knows what jaskier doesn’t—that geralt has never been so happy as he has since jaskier came to stay

jaskier releases his project, which threatens to bring down multinational corporations and possibly some governments, with reverberations worldwide, and he becomes the most infamous person on the planet overnight. he diverts geralt and sneaks out, leaving behind a note saying he can’t risk their safety for his sake and telling geralt that he loves him, and a bank account in ciri’s name with most of his money. it’s clear he thinks he’ll never see them again. geralt just goes absolutely feral trying to find him, but it’s ciri who’s able to track him down in the end, using the white hat skills jaskier had been teaching her

geralt goes to where jaskier’s hiding out and they both apologize for being fucking idiots and end up fucking for just hours and hours and hours, and then some more. but even then jaskier says he won’t come back and put ciri in danger, and geralt tries to assure him that he can keep him safe, and that’s of course when they’re attacked by a band of delightful blackwateresque mercenaries. geralt manages to fight them off and finally kills or injures enough to know that jaskier can escape, and then geralt collapses, showing that he’s been hiding how badly he was hurt in the melee. he tells jaskier he has to go, but jaskier refuses to leave him, and he calls for help knowing he’ll be apprehended along with getting help for geralt. he tells geralt he doesn’t care about anything else if it means losing geralt, and geralt thinks that this is it, he’s dying, so he tells jaskier that he loves him too and closes his eyes

geralt wakes up in the hospital with ciri by his bedside. he’ll live, but jaskier is in custody, and the government is not happy. however, it turns out that geralt still has some friends in high places who haven’t forgotten about him. his former fbi partner yennefer is now an assistant director, and after a whole lot of wrangling and string-pulling, jaskier gets a plea deal with only a few months in prison contingent on him working for the fbi’s cyber crimes unit under yennefer for, well, as long as she feels like it. geralt and ciri visit whenever permitted, and they’re waiting the day of his release to bring jaskier home

smash cut to: a very comfortable house in a lovely leafy neighborhood in d.c., where ciri is at the best school, geralt has started a thriving security consulting firm, and jaskier finds he really likes sticking it to tech criminals, even if he lives in perpetual fear and awe of his boss, yennefer. ciri has two dads who are madly in love, even if they keep up old habits and play at bickering a lot about it. ciri knows—and they know—that they have never been so happy or so lucky as they are now.

wait sorry was there a question? anyway. hacker aus, yeah, i’m done with those no way they’re still in my system at all

#the witcher #hacker au #geralt #jaskier #geraskier #ciri #yennefer #of course jaskier gets assistance from les amis at some point #special guest cameo from enjolras trying to message jaskier while grantaire sits on his lap causing distractions #the end

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grailfinders · 4 years ago

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Fate and Phantasms #61: Elisabeth Bathory (Halloween) (rerun)

Yep, we’re doing this again. For those of you who weren’t here the first time I made a Bathory build, I went way too hard on making sure Elisabeth could fly, and made a lancer build with like 17 levels of sorcerer. I ended up redoing that build entirely, and shifting the failed build over to Caster Liz. She deserves better though, so we’re giving Elisabeth Bathory (Halloween) a full redo, top-down designed for Halloween!

This Elisabeth is a Bardlock, getting her power from the College of Creation and her Hexblade for plenty of treats and tricks alike!

Check out the level-by-level breakdown below the cut, or build summary over here!

Race and Background

Instead of going the Dragonborn route, this time we’re making Elisabeth a Winged Tiefling, a race option I didn’t realize existed until I dusted off my copy of the Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide. No, I’m not incredibly mad that I missed this option the first time around, why do you ask?

Anyway, winged tieflings get +1 Intelligence and +2 Charisma, 60′ of Darkvision, Hellish Resistance to fire damage, and are Winged, giving them 30′ of Flying speed as long as you’re not in heavy armor. Shouldn’t be an issue.

You’re still a Noble, which still gives you proficiency in History and Persuasion, and just like before you don’t have to have zero empathy for the lower classes, but why would you want to?

Stats

Your highest ability score is going to be your Charisma; that’s where the magic happens-literally. It’s also what determines your performance checks: you’re not always good, but you are always memorable. Second is Dexterity, those dance moves idols pull off require some skill. Third is Constitution, hour-long concerts can take a lot out of you. Your Intelligence isn’t great, you were locked in a castle for a lot of your childhood. Your Wisdom is even worse, because even under that costume you’re still you. Finally, dump Strength, you absolutely don’t need it here.

Class Levels

1. Bard 1: First level bards are proficient with Dexterity and Charisma saves, as well as any three skills. Grab Performance and Acrobatics for a stronger stage presence, and Deception so you won’t have to share your candy with anyone you don’t want to.

You can also cast Spells, using your Charisma as your spell casting ability, and you get some Bardic Inspiration, a number of d6 equal to your Charisma Modifier that you can hand out as a bonus action to another creature, letting them add that die to one attack roll, saving throw, or ability check.

For your first cantrips, Dancing Lights will help you set the stage for your big concert, while Mending will keep your fancy dress in one piece during adventures. (You should probably put on some armor though.) Since we didn’t go dragonborn this time, we’ll have to make some noise the old fashioned way with Thunderwave. Animal Friendship will keep your relationship with any deerlets you find along the way strong, and Cure Wounds can be you throwing some halloween candy to your friends (or eating it yourself, I won’t judge). Finally, Silent Image will help you decorate the castle with ease.

2. Bard 2: Second level bards become a Jack of All Trades, adding half your proficiency bonus to checks you’re not proficient in. Idols have a lot of talents, so you always need to be on the lookout for your next charm point! You also learn how to play a Song of Rest, adding a d6 to healing done over short rests. We’re not getting the chef feat this time around, but feel free to flavor it the same way.

For your spell, Detect Magic will help you find that cup that started this whole mess in the first place...

3. Warlock 1: First level warlocks get to pick their patron: yours might be a cup, but it’s still a sentient piece of metal with awesome power, and that’s close enough to a Hexblade to count in my book. When you pick this patron, you learn even more magic that also uses your Charisma. Unlike most spellcasters, warlock slots don’t mix with your bard slots, though you can use one for the other’s spells. This just means you have three slots that recharge on long rests, and one that recharges on short rests.

You can also lay a Hexblade’s Curse once per short rest. For a minute afterwards, you add your proficiency to all damage rolls against that creature, crit on 19s and 20s, and gain HP equal to your warlock level + your Charisma modifier when it dies. You also become a Hex Warrior, gaining proficiency with Martial Weapons, and more importantly, you can use Charisma as your modifier for attack and damage rolls with a weapon you pick at the end of a long rest. I’d suggest grabbing a Trident if you haven’t already. It’s pretty much just a spear, but it’s what you use in this form, and if you get stuck in the ocean you won’t suffer negative effects for using it. Don’t think about it too hard.

It looks like you may have left your candy out too long- you’ve got a bit of an Infestation on your hands! Throw that candy at your enemies to deal some poison damage and make them run around. Grab Minor Illusion for even more decorations, Hellish Rebuke for some small explosive pumpkins, and Cause Fear for some Halloween spooks.

4. Warlock 2: Second level warlocks get Eldritch Invocations, giving you two new charm points to wow your fans! You can’t get one of them until next level, but make sure you pick up Armor of Shadows so you can show up to the fight in your fancy dresses.

For your spell, grab Comprehend Languages so you can understand all your screaming fans.

5. Warlock 3: Third level warlocks get a Pact Boon, a special gift given to you by your patron. The Pact of the Blade gives you a special weapon you can summon as an action. It counts as magical for resistance’s sake, and your Hex Warrior effects are automatically added to it. As is traditional, grab the Improved Pact Weapon invocation to add an extra point to its damage and attack rolls, and let you use it as your casting focus.

Speaking of casting, grab Darkness at this level to really set the mood for your big musical numbers.

6. Bard 3: At this level you finally graduate from college; the College of Creation sends you off with some Sweets of Potential, bonus effects added to your bardic inspiration. If used for an attack roll, it deals a burst of thunder damage in a 5′ radius from the target. Each creature in the area that fails a Constitution Save takes as much thunder damage as the original roll of the inspiration die. If used for a save, the creature using it can add a number of temporary hit points equal to their original roll plus your charisma modifier. If used on an ability check, they can roll the inspiration die with advantage.

Also thanks to Tasha’s changing things up, you can make a Performance of Creation at this level as well! You can spend an action to create a nonmagical item. As long as the item costs less than 20x your level in GP and is medium or smaller, you’re good. It lasts a number of hours equal to your proficiency bonus. You can use this once per long rest, or by spending a 2nd level spell slot, but you can only have one item at a time.

You also get Expertise in two skills, doubling your proficiency with them. Pick Performance and Persuasion to dominate the stage.

For your spell, Heat Metal will roast anyone silly enough to wear metal armor while fighting you. You are still Elisabeth Bathory, after all.

7. Bard 4: Use your first ASI to round up your Charisma and Constitution for more health and inspiration, as well as higher spell saves and better concentration. Grab Thunderclap for more thunder damage, and Locate Animals or Plants so you can start growing some pumpkins.

8. Bard 5: Fifth level bards see their Inspiration bump up to d8s, and you become a Font of Inspiration. This means you regain inspiration on short rests, rather than long ones. For your spell, grab Plant Growth to speed up that garden you started last level. This either turns a 100′ radius circle into super difficult terrain, quadrupling the movement cost within it, or you can cast it over the course of 8 hours, ensuring a bountiful harvest for a year.

9. Bard 6: Sixth level bards can perform a Countercharm, spending your action to give allies advantage against being charmed or frightened for the turn. For your spell, grab Speak with Plants to chat up those pumpkins you’ve been growing the last couple levels. You can also get them to perform little favors, turning difficult terrain into normal terrain, or vice versa. This doesn’t let them move around, though. For that, you’ll need your new Creation Bard feature, Animating Performance. As an action, you can bring an item to life, turning it into a Dancing Item, whose stat block is in the summary. You need to use your Bonus Action to command it, and you can only have one item dancing at a time. Also, you only get one free use per long rest- further uses require a third level or higher spell slot. More good news; unlike Animate Objects, this feature gives HP based on your level, not the item’s size. This means you can go for cuteness, rather than size, and still have a tough gourd to crack.

10. Warlock 4: Back in the warlock class, bump up your Charisma with another ASI for higher spell saves, stronger attacks, and more inspiration treats. You also get Eldritch Blast, because you can’t be a caster without caster balls, and Flock of Familiars. This lets you create three familiars that can function while within 1 mile of you, and you can still cast touch spells through them. Technically, these have to be a kind of creature you can get from the Find Familiar spell, but there’s got to be a homebrew SU Pumpkin stat block out there, somewhere, right?

11. Warlock 5: Fifth level warlocks get third level spells: grab Shatter for either one of your high notes or another pumpkin bomb. You also get another evocation at this level. Grab Lance of Lethargy to turn one Eldritch Blast per turn into a pumpkin that will wrap its vines around its target, reducing its speed by 10′.

12. Warlock 6: Hexblade Warlocks can make an Accursed Specter when they kill a creature. This creates a Specter (stats in the summary) with some extra temporary HP, and it gets an extra bonus to attack rolls equal to your charisma modifier. The spirit sticks around until you finish a long rest, and you can only make one per long rest as well. Ghosts are spooky-almost as spooky as being forced to listen to Liz’s practice sessions without corporeal hands to cover your ears.

Also, grab Tongues so you can be understood by anyone who knows a language, allowing you to become the true international idol you were destined to be.

13. Bard 7: Seventh level bards get fourth level spells. Hallucinatory Terrain lets you transform one natural terrain into another. This doesn’t change the physical nature of the world, but it will let you keep your pumpkin patch hidden to keep the teens from smashing them on mischief night.

14. Bard 8: Another ASI! Bump up your Dexterity for more AC, and grab Confusion-your music has that kind of effect on people.

15. Bard 9: Ninth level bards get fifth level spells, and their Song of Rest becomes a d8. This is the level you get Animate Objects, turning your pumpkin brigade into a true pumpkin army! You can animate 10 tiny or small pumpkins, five medium pumpkins, two-and-change large pumpkins, or one-and-change huge pumpkins. Most of your crop is probably in the small to medium range, if I had to take a guess. You need to use your bonus action to command them, but they’ll handle general commands over multiple turns, so you can have these and your Dancing Pumpkin up at the same time with just a little bit of difficulty.

16. Bard 10: At this level, you get another round of Expertise, doubling your Acrobatics and Deception proficiencies. Your Bardic Inspiration bumps up to d10s, and you learn Magical Secrets. These are two spells from any spell list, as long as you can cast them at this level. You also get a cantrip here. Grab Message to send notes to your manager, Fireball for a powerful pumpkin ball, and Contagion for more torture techniques.

17. Bard 11: You get your first sixth level spell this level. Grab Mass Suggestion for impromptu dance sessions.

18. Bard 12: Max out your Charisma for the strongest spells and trident pokes you can muster.

19. Bard 13: Your Song of Rest becomes a d10, and you learn a seventh level spell! Mirage Arcane lets you bring the Castle Csejte to life with real walls and everything!

20. Bard 14: For your final level, you enter your Creative Crescendo, allowing you to make multiple items at once, up to your charisma modifier. Only one item can be medium or larger, the rest must be small or tiny. You also no longer have to worry about gp cost. This means you can make the really fancy candy now!

You also get one last round of Magical Secrets. Use your Heroes’ Feast to stock your castle with some proper meals (or more candy, w/e), and Power Word Pain to welcome any party crashers.

Pros

Flight is good, especially when you don’t have to deal damage at a melee range.

You also have a small army of Pumpkins on hand to really spread out your battlefield control.

Speaking of controlling the battlefield, you can literally do that with spells like Plant Growth, Speak with Plants, Mirage Arcane, and Hallucinatory Terrain. Mess up the whole field, and fly over it all, raining down pumpkin-spiced death from above.

Cons

A lot of your spells require Concentration, extra actions, or both, so you’ll have to plan out your parties carefully.

Going a couple levels into warlock left you without 9th level spells. This definitely isn’t an issue compared to the melee classes, but you missed out on wish and plenty of other goodies.

Despite everything else, your Wisdom is really low, so you might end up getting charmed or mind-controlled by another bard.

Next up: She’s Tamamo, she’s Tamamo, she’s Tamamo too, wouldn’t you like to be Tamamo too?

#Fate Grand Order #fgo #Elisabeth Bathory (Halloween)#D&D 5e #Fate and Phantasms

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